Snow's 3 ft deep in the pass. Drifts are higher. A horse would break its leg. A man would freeze. That ain't my problem, Hiram shot back.
This ain't a boarding house. Gideon slowly stood up. He reached into the leather pouch at his belt and pulled out a silver dollar. He tossed it through the air. It hit the wooden table with a sharp clack and spun, coming to a rest right next to Cora's sewing hand.
For the floor, Gideon said. His voice was entirely devoid of respect. It was a transaction. Hiram stared at the coin. A silver dollar was more than a week's wages at the mill.
His greed fought a brief, losing battle with his pride. He snatched the coin off the table and shoved it into his pocket. "You leave at first light tomorrow. " Hiram muttered, turning away to find his boots. "And stay out of my way. " Gideon didn't reply. He walked back to the door and stepped outside again.
Cora stared at the spot on the table where the coin had been. It was the first time she had seen someone buy Hiram's compliance. It made her husband look small, small, cheap, and entirely manageable. She stood up to start boiling water for the oats. As she lifted the heavy iron kettle, a sharp jolt of pain shot through her right side.
She gasped, dropping the kettle with a loud clang. It rolled across the floor, splashing leftover water onto the boards. Hiram spun around, his face dark. "You clumsy, stupid [ __ ]. Pick it up. " Cora clutched her side, trying to breathe through the clicking in her ribs.
"I'm sorry. My grip slipped. " "Pick it up. " Hiram roared, taking three rapid steps toward her. The anger he couldn't unleash on Gideon found its familiar, easy target. Before he could cross the room, the window darkened. Gideon was standing outside, looking in through the frosted glass.
He wasn't doing anything. He was just standing there, an axe resting easily on his shoulder, his cold, gray eyes locked on Hiram. Hiram stopped. He looked at the window, then at Cora. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He was trapped in his own home, emasculated by a silent shadow. He let out a breathless sound of pure frustration, turned on his heel, and grabbed his heavy coat off the peg. "I'm going to the shed to check the traps. " Hiram spat. "Have the oats ready when I get back, or God help you. " He slammed the door behind him. Cora stood alone in the quiet cabin.
She slowly bent down, wincing, and picked up the kettle. She walked to the window and looked out. Hiram was trudging through the snow toward the tree line, his shoulders hunched. Gideon was still standing by the chopping block. He met her gaze through the glass.
He didn't smile, and he didn't offer a reassuring nod. He just picked up another log, set it on the block, and brought the axe down in a single, devastating arc. By mid-afternoon, the silence in the cabin was stretched so tight, it felt like it might snap and take off someone's head. Hiram had returned from the shed with a bottle of clear, foul-smelling corn liquor he had hidden in a grain barrel. He sat at the table, drinking steadily.
With every hour that passed, his resentment festered. He glared at Gideon, who sat on his bedroll by the fire, methodically greasing his boots. Hiram couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand the sight of the mountain man sitting in his house, breathing his air, making him feel like a coward. He needed a victory.
He needed to prove he was still the master of his domain. He slammed his empty glass onto the table. "Cora. " Hiram barked. Cora, who had been trying to mend a shirt in the corner, stiffened. "Yes, Hiram. " "Go down to the creek.
Get a fresh bucket of water. This well water tastes like dirt. Cora looked out the window. The snow was knee-deep, undisturbed since the blizzard. The creek was a quarter mile away, down a steep incline.
The creek will be frozen solid, Hiram, she said quietly. I'd have to break the ice. Then take the iron bar and break it, he snapped, his voice rising. Did I ask for your back talk? I said I want fresh water.
She looked at her right arm, pressed close to her injured ribs. Wielding an iron bar to smash through 3 in of creek ice was a two-handed job. It would be agony. Hiram knew this. That was the point.
Hiram, please, let me just boil some snow. Hiram was out of his chair in a flash. The liquor made him fast, overriding his usual lethargy. He grabbed her by the shoulder of her dress, his fingers digging into her collarbone. I said, he hissed, his face inches from hers, get the water.
He shoved her hard toward the door. Cora stumbled, crying out as the sudden movement jarred her broken ribs. She hit the doorframe and slid to the floor, gasping for air. From his spot by the fire, Gideon stopped greasing his boots. He set the rag down.
The movement was slow, deliberate. Hiram saw it. He pointed a shaking finger at Gideon. Don't you even think about it. She's my wife.
I tell her what to do. You're a guest here, Rush. You sit there and keep your damn mouth shut. Gideon didn't say a word. He just watched.
Cora pulled herself up, biting her lips so hard she tasted blood. She wouldn't look at Gideon. She couldn't bear the thought of him watching her humiliation. She grabbed her thin wool coat, took the wooden bucket and the heavy iron breaking bar from the corner, and stepped out into the freezing air. The cold hit her like a physical blow.