“He thought mystery was more valuable than truth.”
“What truth?”
She did not answer.
Silas nodded.
“Fair enough.”
That stunned her.
“Fair enough?”
“You don't owe me the answer.”
“I thought you would insist.”
“Why?”
“Because you paid.”
Silas leaned back.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“The idea that silver bought you.”
“You gave him silver.”
“To stop him having leverage.”
“He said I was yours.”
“He lies.”
The fire cracked.
Evelyn's voice became softer.
“What if I am ugly?”
Silas looked at the cloth.
“I've known beautiful people I couldn't tolerate for five minutes.”
“And ugly ones?”
“Same.”
Despite herself, she smiled beneath the cloth.
Silas continued.
“You've been here three hours.”
“Yes.”
“You helped clear a room without being asked. You laughed at my horse's name. You ate bad stew without complaining.”
“It wasn't bad.”
“Don't lie in my house.”
She laughed again.
He looked at her.
“That is enough for tonight.”
Evelyn slept with the door latched.
Silas noticed in the morning.
He was glad.
The next week established a rhythm.
Evelyn woke early.
She insisted on helping.
At first Silas refused.
Then she became angry.
“I am not a guest.”
“You're recovering.”
“From sitting on a wagon?”
“From whatever came before.”
She crossed her arms.
The blue dress had been washed and mended.
The beige cloth remained.
“I cannot sit beside your stove indefinitely.”
Silas looked at her.
“What can you do?”
“Cook.”
“Good.”
“Sew.”
“Useful.”
“Read.”
“Also useful.”
“Keep accounts.”
He paused.
“Very useful.”
“Milk cows.”
He looked toward the barn.
“No cows.”
“Chickens?”
“Six.”
“Garden?”
“Dead.”
“Winter.”
“Exactly.”
Evelyn put both hands on her hips.
“Then stop treating me as though I will break.”
Silas's expression softened.
“All right.”
That afternoon, she repaired two shirts.
The next morning, she made biscuits.
Silas ate six.
Evelyn laughed.
“You truly were hungry.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“These are good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
She threw a cloth at him.
For the first time, the cabin began to feel lived in.
A blue shawl appeared over the chair.
A hairbrush appeared near the washbasin, though Silas still had not seen the hair it belonged to.
Evelyn rearranged his pantry.
He complained.
She ignored him.
She found a cracked jar.
He argued it still worked.
She threw it away.
He retrieved it.
She threw it away again.
Eventually he surrendered.
They argued about coffee.
Silas made it too strong.
Evelyn diluted hers.
He called it brown water.
She told him his could remove wagon paint.
Every evening they sat by the fire.
Slowly, Evelyn spoke.
Not about everything.
Enough.
She had grown up in St. Louis.
Her father died when she was seventeen.
Her mother remarried.
The new husband controlled the household.
Evelyn married at twenty-two.
His name was Henry Hart.
Silas listened.
“Was he good to you?”
“No.”
The word was simple.
Heavy.
Silas did not ask how bad.
Evelyn continued because he did not.
“He liked beautiful things.”
Silas looked at the cloth.
“He liked owning beautiful things.”
Understanding settled.
“He chose my dresses. Decided where I could go. Decided which friends were acceptable.”
Her voice tightened.
“When I refused him, he called it ingratitude.”
Silas said nothing.
“Then he died.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm not.”
Silas nodded.
Evelyn turned toward him.
“You think that's cruel?”
“No.”
“Most people would.”
“Most people weren't married to him.”
Her shoulders loosened.
“There was debt.”
“His?”
“Yes.”
“Pike?”
“Henry owed Pike's brother money.”
Silas's face hardened.
“After Henry died, Amos appeared with papers claiming the debt transferred to me.”
“Debt doesn't work that way.”
“I know that now.”
“What happened?”
“He offered transport west.”
Silas understood before she finished.
“He said Black Creek needed wives.”
“Yes.”
“And then claimed you owed him for bringing you.”
“Yes.”
Silas stared into the fire.
Evelyn's voice became smaller.
“He originally planned to advertise me openly.”
“But then he covered your face.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
This time it lasted a long while.
Finally Evelyn reached up.
Her fingers touched the edge of the beige cloth.
Silas looked away.
She stopped.
“Why did you do that?”
“You haven't decided.”
“I was going to show you.”
“Were you?”
Evelyn's hand remained raised.
“I think so.”
“That isn't the same as wanting to.”
Slowly her hand fell.
Silas picked up his coffee.
“Show me when you know.”
That night Evelyn cried.
Quietly.
Behind the latched door.
Silas heard.
He did not enter.
In the morning there was a cup of coffee outside her room.
Not his.
Hers.
Diluted exactly the way she liked it.
Two weeks passed.
Then three.
Black Creek began sending rumors into the mountains.
A trapper named Samuel Finch visited Silas with salt and news.
“People are saying you married her.”
Silas looked toward the house.
“People say many things.”
“Pike says you bought her.”
Silas's expression changed.
Samuel raised both hands.
“I'm telling you what he says, not what I believe.”
“What else?”
“He says there was a reason for the sack.”
Silas's voice cooled.
“Did he say what?”
“No.”
Samuel glanced toward the cabin.
“Town's curious.”
“Town can remain curious.”
The next morning, Evelyn announced she wanted to go to Black Creek.
Silas stopped repairing a bridle.
“No.”
Her covered head turned.
“No?”
He immediately regretted the word.
“Road's bad.”
“Try again.”
Silas sighed.
“People will stare.”