"No! " Clara cried out, stumbling up from the chair. She ran to him, grabbing his arm. He was like a stone statue. He did not stop. He dragged her a few steps before stopping at the door.
"Let go, Clara. They hurt you. They put a rope on you. " "If you go there," Clara said, her voice shaking. "You will die. They have 20 men.
You will kill one, maybe two, and then they will cut you down, and I will be alone. I cannot let this stand, Eli shouted, the control finally snapping. He slammed his hand against the doorframe. I am a man. I am supposed to protect you.
If I do not kill him, I am nothing. I am weak. He slumped against the door, the rifle clattering to the floor. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders heaving with dry, tearing sobs. I am weak.
I am just a coward who hides behind fences. Clara picked up the rifle and set it aside. She walked to him. She reached up and pulled his hands away from his face. "Look at me," she commanded.
He looked at her, his face wet with tears of shame. "You are not weak," she said fiercely. "Pike is weak. Vance is weak. They use power to hurt because they are small. " "You," she touched his chest.
"You have the power to kill, and you choose not to. That is not cowardice, Eli. That is the hardest thing a man can do. She pressed her forehead against his. You did not become him.
You did not become your father. You stayed you, and that is the man I need. I do not need a dead hero. I need a living husband. Eli shuddered, the tension draining out of him, leaving him hollow.
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. Careful of the bruise. I wanted to, he whispered. God, Clara, I wanted the blood. I know, she soothed, stroking his hair.
I know, but you stayed. They stayed like that for a long time, the shadows lengthening across the floor. The violence of the afternoon faded, replaced by a desperate, aching need for connection. They moved to the bed, not letting go of each other. The intimacy that followed was not about pleasure.
It was about affirmation. It was a frantic, tender reclaiming of life in the face of death. They clung to each other, skin against skin, whispering reassurances in the dark. I am here. You are here.