Chapter 24
“Well what?”
“It still needs cleaning.”
I stared at her.
She walked inside.
I followed.
For the next two weeks, we rebuilt what Elias had damaged.
A neighbor from lower in the valley helped raise a new shed.
I repaired the porch.
Cora patched bullet holes.
She also reorganized my tools.
I objected.
She ignored me.
I discovered that marriage consisted largely of losing arguments I had not realized were occurring.
It also consisted of small things.
Two cups near the stove instead of one.
Someone humming while kneading bread.
Boots beside mine.
Her hairbrush near the washbasin.
The smell of soap.
The sound of pages turning after dark.
Cora liked novels.
I owned four books.
Three were trapping manuals.
The fourth was the Bible my mother had given me.
The next time I went to town, I bought two novels from the general store.
I left them on the table.
Cora found them after supper.
She picked one up.
Then looked at me.
“What are these?”
“Books.”
“I know what books are.”
“That saves time.”
“You bought these?”
“No. They migrated here for winter.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Wyatt.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I shrugged.
“Cabin needed improving.”
For once, she had no reply.
Later that night, I found her reading near the stove.
She did not know I was watching.
She touched the cover once with the gentleness of someone handling something rare.
That was when I understood how thoroughly Elias and his family had trained her to distrust gifts.
Anything given could later become a debt.
So the next morning, I said, “Those books are yours even if you leave.”
She went still.
I pretended to work on a trap.
After a moment, she said, “Thank you.”
That became important between us.
Even if you leave.
I said it about the blue wool cloth she bought in town.
About the revolver when I repaired the worn grip.
About the money she earned sewing for two families down the valley.
Her money.
Her books.
Her choices.
I wanted her to know our marriage was not another locked door.
But sometimes freedom creates its own fear.
Because if a person is free to leave, they might.
As winter deepened, I began wondering whether Cora would.
She had never said she would stay permanently.
Neither had I asked.
At first I told myself I was giving her time.
Then I admitted the truth.