“Might ask Widow Bennett to preserve the whole town next.”
Caleb stopped.
Silas noticed.
“You defending her again?”
Caleb stepped closer.
“No.”
Silas smiled.
“Good.”
Caleb continued.
“She doesn’t need it.”
The smile faded.
Caleb bought nails and left.
Clara found out by evening.
“You threatened Silas.”
“I spoke.”
“You spoke like a man deciding which arm to break.”
“I didn’t decide.”
“Caleb.”
He sat at her table eating apple cake.
“It was good cake.”
“That has nothing to do with Silas.”
“I’m trying to change topic.”
“It won’t work.”
“It almost did.”
Clara crossed her arms.
Caleb looked at them.
Then at her face.
“Fine.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“No.”
“I don’t like hearing people mock you.”
“That is my problem.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
She sat opposite.
The cabin fire cracked.
Outside, November wind moved against the shutters.
Caleb looked at her.
“Can I ask something?”
“Depends.”
“Why does it bother you more when I defend you than when they mock you?”
Clara went still.
He waited.
She looked at the table.
“Because when they mock me, I know what it is.”
“And when I defend you?”
“I don’t.”
He understood too quickly.
“Clara.”
“No.”
“You think I pity you.”
She hated how accurately he said it.
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t need.”
She looked at him.
Caleb leaned back.
“I have never pitied you.”
“People pity widows.”
“Then people are fools.”
“They pity women who look like me.”
His expression changed.
“What does that mean?”
Clara gave a tired laugh.
“Do not pretend you haven’t heard them.”
“I’ve heard plenty.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
He did.
Her size had always been public property to others.
Women whispered about dresses.
Men made jokes about how much food she ate.
Children repeated what parents said.
Some men assumed a large woman should be grateful for attention.
Others treated her as though womanhood had been revoked by weight.
Benjamin had never done either.
He had looked at Clara like a woman.
Nothing more complicated.
After his death, she had become aware of that absence.
Caleb stared at her.
“You think I come here because I feel sorry for you?”
She looked away.
He stood.
Clara’s heart tightened.
She thought he was angry enough to leave.
Instead he walked around the table and crouched beside her chair.
For such a large man, the movement was surprisingly gentle.
“Look at me.”
She did.
His gray-green eyes were steady.