Chapter 4
She stared at him.
Most men noticed her size.
Jedodiah had noticed her pain.
“I can't feel my feet.”
He crouched.
“Climb on.”
Matilda actually laughed.
“You'll break your back.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Woman, I carried an elk farther than this.”
Her face fell.
Jedodiah sighed.
“That came out wrong.”
Despite everything, Matilda laughed again.
It was the first genuine laugh she could remember making in months.
She climbed onto his back.
Jedodiah rose as if she weighed half what she did.
Through the storm he carried her.
Matilda pressed her face against the bearskin coat and listened to the giant man's steady breathing.
No complaint.
No cruel joke.
No disgust.
Eventually she saw light.
A golden square appeared through the snow.
“The cabin,” Jedodiah said.
Matilda nearly cried.
His home was larger than she expected—a sturdy log structure tucked beneath a granite ridge, protected from the worst wind by towering pines.
Inside, warmth enveloped them.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall.
Bundles of dried herbs hung from ceiling beams.
Shelves held preserved berries, beans, flour, coffee, and jars of honey.
The place was rough but astonishingly clean.
Jedodiah immediately knelt before Matilda.
She stiffened.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking your feet.”
“You don't have to.”
“Boots.”
Something in his voice discouraged argument.
He removed them carefully.
Her toes were pale but not frozen.
“Good.”
He rubbed them through a wool blanket until feeling returned.
Matilda watched him in confusion.
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He glanced up.
“Why what?”
“Why did you help me?”
Jedodiah sat back.
For several seconds, only the fire answered.
Finally he said, “Because nobody helped my mother.”
Matilda went still.
Jedodiah stared into the flames.
“My father drank. Hit her. Town knew.”
His jaw tightened.
“Everybody knew.”
“What happened?”
“She ran one winter.”
Matilda already knew the answer from his eyes.
“She froze?”
He nodded.
“I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don't be. Just understand something.”
He looked at her.
“When somebody begs not to be thrown into the cold, I listen.”
Matilda felt tears gathering.
She turned away before he could see them.
“There's a bed upstairs,” Jedodiah said. “You take it.”
“And you?”
“Chair.”
“I can't take your bed.”
“You can tonight.”
Matilda looked around.
“I could cook tomorrow.”
“You don't owe me.”
“I know.”
Those words felt strange.
No one had said them to her before.
“I'd still like to.”