Hannah pointed toward the hall. Bed. He hesitated, then went. An hour later, she opened the door and found him asleep on the floor outside Grant's room with his back against the wall. Molly slept beside him under a blanket.
Hannah stood looking at them, then went downstairs, brought up another quilt, and covered both children without waking them. The second night passed much the same. By dawn of the third day, Grant's fever had broken. He woke hungry. That pleased Hannah more than she admitted.
He ate half a bowl of oatmeal and complained it needed salt. "You're better," she said. Grant looked up. "How can you tell? You've started criticizing breakfast." "I always criticize breakfast." "No, usually Henry does it for you." Grant gave a tired smile.
His face looked thinner beneath the beard. Hannah picked up the tray. He caught her hand before she moved away. Not firmly. Just enough.
You stayed. She looked at him. Yes. All night. Parts of it.
Grant glanced toward the chair beside the bed. The blanket she had used was still folded there. His thumb moved once across the back of her hand. Hannah. She waited.
He seemed about to say something. Then footsteps sounded in the hallway. Henry. Grant released her hand immediately. The loss of contact felt louder than it should have.
Henry came in carrying the household ledger. Walter says you're not allowed to work. Grant looked offended. Walter says. Hannah says too.
Mutiny. Henry placed the ledger on the dresser. You can look at numbers. Grant sighed. I've raised traitors.
Hannah carried the tray downstairs before either of them saw her smile. Within 4 days, Grant could walk through the house without tiring. Within six, he was back at the dining table. The old habits returned slowly. Coffee at the western window.
Henry's arithmetic. Molly asleep beside Hannah. Grant reading ranch figures with his injured arm supported against the chair. But something had changed. Hannah felt it every time their hands came close.
Every time Grant looked at her and then looked away. Every time one of the children said her name, and his attention shifted automatically toward her. She was running out of days. The storm had delayed the road, but not time. Her 8 weeks were nearly done.
The mountain pass toward Elk Crossing remained muddy and half blocked by snow. Yet Walter believed the lower road would open within a week. Hannah knew because she asked. Grant did not. Or if he did, he said nothing.
One afternoon, she found her little calendar again. Four days had been crossed out since the storm. She stared at the remaining blank squares, then folded it and placed it back beneath her stockings. That evening, Grant went upstairs early. Henry and Molly remained near the parlor fire.