We moved to Wyoming when I was pregnant with Jonah. Daniel said he'd build us a house, start his own logging company, make us rich. But he didn't. No, he tried. God, he tried so hard.
But everything he touched seemed to fall apart, business deals that went south, investments that failed, and the children kept coming, and the money kept running out. And she stopped, swallowed hard. I loved him. Even when he was drowning us in debt I didn't know about. I loved him.
But I was so angry, Silas. So angry that he left me with nothing. That he died and left me to clean up his mess. Silas reached across the space between them and took her hand. "You're allowed to be angry." "I shouldn't be.
He's dead. I should just You're allowed," Silas repeated firmly. "Love doesn't mean you can't be angry when someone hurts you, even if they didn't mean to." Mara's eyes filled. "Were you angry when your wife died?" Silus stared into the fire. Furious at God, at the world, at myself for not being there, I carried that rage for years, drank myself half to death trying to drown it, picked fights with men twice my size, hoping one of them would finish what I couldn't.
He looked at her. And then one day, I woke up in a ditch outside Billings, Montana, covered in my own blood, and I realized I had a choice. I could die angry, or I could live anyway. What made you choose life? Nothing noble.
I just got tired of hurting. He squeezed her hand. But I'm glad I did because it led me here. Mara leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. I'm glad, too.
They sat like that until the fire burned low, not saying anything, not needing to, just being. It was enough. But peace, Mara was learning, was a fragile thing. 2 weeks after Silas stayed, Mara made the mistake of going into town. She needed supplies, flour, sugar, thread, and Silas had offered to take her. They left the children with Jonah in charge, hitched the wagon, and rode the 15 mi to Sweetwater Station, the closest thing to a town in that part of Wyoming.
It wasn't much, a general store, a saloon, a church, and maybe 20 houses scattered along a single muddy road. But it was civilization, and Mara felt her shoulders relax as they pulled up to the store. "I'll get the flower," Silas said, climbing down. You get what you need for the kids. Mara nodded, took his offered hand, and stepped into the store.
The shopkeeper, Mrs. Henley, was a stout woman with shrewd eyes and a mouth that loved gossip. She looked up when Mara entered, and her expression shifted. Surprise, then calculation, then something that looked almost like pity. "Mrs.
Ellington," she said slowly. "I'd heard you'd left the county." "I'm still here," Mara said, forcing a smile. just needed some thread and sugar. Mrs. Henley's gaze flicked to the door where Silas was loading flower sacks into the wagon. That's Silus Hawthorne with you, isn't it?
Yes, he's been helping us. Helping? Mrs. Henley's tone made the word sound obscene. That what we're calling it?
Mara's spine stiffened. I don't know what you're implying, Mrs. Henley, but Oh, I'm not implying anything, dear. just observing. You've been seen with him quite a bit, and you, a widow with seven children. People talk, you understand?" Mara's face burned.