“I didn't forge anything.”
Silas looked toward Sheriff Daniel Crowe standing near the barber shop.
The sheriff had been watching the entire time.
He suddenly seemed very interested in becoming involved.
“Pike.”
Amos cursed under his breath.
Silas turned back to the woman.
“Do you have a name?”
A pause.
“Evelyn.”
“Evelyn what?”
“Hart.”
“Evelyn Hart.”
He nodded once.
“My name is Silas Boone.”
“I know.”
That surprised him.
“How?”
“Everyone stopped laughing when you came.”
A few townspeople looked embarrassed.
Silas almost smiled.
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“Not here.”
“Money?”
“No.”
Each answer made Amos seem smaller.
Silas looked toward the northern road.
“My cabin has two rooms.”
Evelyn said nothing.
“One is mine. The other has been storage since last winter.”
The crowd began listening again.
“I can clear it.”
Silas continued.
“Door closes. There's a latch inside.”
Her covered face lifted.
“You would let me stay?”
“If you want.”
“For how long?”
“As long as you need to decide what comes next.”
Amos snorted.
“That's expensive charity.”
Silas did not look at him.
Evelyn whispered, “And what do you expect in return?”
“Nothing.”
Nobody believed him.
Not immediately.
Evelyn did not either.
Silas could hear it in the silence.
“I cook badly,” he added.
A few people blinked.
“You'll probably suffer.”
A tiny sound came from beneath the cloth.
Silas realized she had laughed.
Barely.
But she had.
“I think I can survive bad cooking.”
Silas extended his hand again.
Evelyn took it.
They left Black Creek together.
Silas's wagon was parked behind the livery.
It was considerably sturdier than Pike's.
Two gray horses waited in harness.
Silas helped Evelyn onto the bench without touching more than necessary.
She sat with the beige cloth still covering her face.
He climbed beside her.
People watched from the street.
No one laughed.
The wagon rolled north.
Black Creek disappeared behind them.
For the first three miles, Evelyn did not speak.
Silas did not ask questions.
That surprised her.
Most men filled silence by demanding something from it.
Names.
Explanations.
Gratitude.
Promises.
Silas simply drove.
Eventually Evelyn said, “You paid too much.”
“Probably.”
“Thirty pieces of silver.”
“Thirty-four.”
Her covered face turned sharply.
“Thirty-four?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silas shrugged.
“Had thirty-four in the pouch.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It's the one I've got.”
She stared at him through fabric he could not see through.
“You could have bought ten horses.”
“Not good horses.”
“You understand what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
Silas kept his eyes on the trail.
“Because nobody should sit on a wagon while strangers decide what they're worth.”
Evelyn became quiet.
A mile later she asked, “Do you really cook badly?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
“My biscuits have discouraged guests.”
Another faint laugh.
Silas liked the sound.
He did not say so.
The road climbed steadily.
Pine replaced cottonwood.
Black Creek vanished beneath the valley.
By afternoon, snow showed along the distant peaks.
Evelyn shivered.
Silas stopped the wagon.
He removed his fur-lined coat.
She stiffened when he leaned closer.
Silas froze.
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
He extended the coat.
She accepted.
The fabric swallowed her small frame.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then she asked something unexpected.
“You haven't asked about the cloth.”
“No.”
“Everyone else did.”
“You'll tell me when you want.”
“What if I never want?”
Silas considered.
“Then I'll eventually need to know where to put your coffee.”
Evelyn laughed again.
This time properly.
He smiled at the road.
The cabin appeared near sunset.
It stood beside a narrow mountain river, built from thick pine logs with a stone chimney and a covered porch.
A barn sat nearby.
Smoke curled from the chimney.
Evelyn stepped down.
“This is your home?”
“Yes.”
“You live here alone?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Horse thinks he owns it.”
She turned toward the barn.
“What is his name?”
“Caleb.”
“Your horse is named Caleb?”
“Long story.”
Inside, the cabin was warm.
Simple.
Clean in the way homes become clean when one person owns very little.
There was a large kitchen table.
Stone hearth.
Iron stove.
Two chairs.
A shelf of books surprised Evelyn.
She turned toward it.
“You read?”
Silas removed his hat.
“Sometimes.”
“What?”
“Whatever reaches town.”
She touched the spine of one book.
Dickens.
Another.
Shakespeare.
A medical guide.
She looked at him.
“You don't seem like a man people in Black Creek understand very well.”
“No.”
He walked toward the second room.
“Probably because I avoid Black Creek.”
He opened the door.
Inside were stacked hides, tools, blankets, and two broken chairs.
Silas looked at the mess.
“I may have exaggerated its readiness.”
Evelyn stood behind him.
For the first time, he heard amusement rather than fear in her voice.
“Slightly.”
It took an hour.
They cleared the room.
Silas brought in a narrow bed from the loft.
He found clean blankets.
Evelyn dusted shelves while still wearing the cloth over her face.
Silas never asked her to remove it.
When darkness came, he cooked stew.
It was not terrible.
Evelyn ate two bowls.
Afterward, they sat opposite each other at the table.
Firelight moved across the beige cloth.
Silas looked at his cup.
Evelyn noticed.
“You can look.”
“At what?”
“The cloth.”
“I've seen cloth.”
“You know what I mean.”
Silas raised his eyes.
“I don't know what's under it.”
“No.”
“Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“Whatever made you cover your face.”
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the spoon.
“Not physically.”
Silas waited.
She said, “Amos put it on me.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“He said men would pay more if they were curious.”
Silas's jaw hardened.
Evelyn continued before he could respond.