A pause. Then because you kept them that way. The words landed differently than she expected. Clara looked away. The wind picked up, lifting strands of her hair across her face.
She pushed them back. "If I agree," she said. "You won't move them until spring. " "I won't. And you pay half now. " "I will. " She studied him one last time. This stranger.
This man who stood like a mountain in the snow and spoke like he had nowhere else to be. All right, she said. We have a deal. He stepped closer. Careful.
Always careful. When he reached out his hand, it looked too large to belong in the same world as hers. Clara hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, gentle in a way she did not expect. "Thank you, Mrs.
Matthews. " She pulled her hand back quickly. "You can call me Clara. " Something shifted in his eyes. "Clara," he repeated. "Her name sounded different in his voice. She turned away before he could notice. " "The weather's turning," she said.
"You should head back. " He glanced at the sky. Dark clouds were rolling in fast. I will. He stepped toward his horse, then paused. You got enough firewood?
Clara stiffened. I'll manage. He studied the small pile beside the cabin, then looked back at her. Without a word, he walked past her, picked up the axe, and set a log in place. The first strike split it clean in two.
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn't come. She stood there instead, watching as the sound of steel meeting wood echoed through the valley again and again and again. The first crack of the axe echoed longer than it should have. Clara stood near the porch, arms folded tight, watching him. Elijah did not rush.
Each swing came steady, clean, measured. Wood split under his hands like it had been waiting for him. She had spent weeks trying to build that pile. He doubled it in minutes. The wind pushed harder across the valley, biting through her shawl.
Still, she did not go inside. She stayed, watching the way his shoulders moved beneath his coat, watching the rhythm of his breath, watching a stranger work her land like he belonged there. That thought unsettled her. When he finally stopped, the pile reached nearly to the window, enough to last deep into winter. Elijah leaned the axe back where he found it.
"No pride in it, no show. " He wiped his hands on his coat and turned toward her. "You should be all right now," he said. Clara didn't answer right away. Her eyes moved from the wood to him, then back again. "You didn't have to do that. " "I know.
Then why? He shrugged once. Because it needed doing. Simple. Too simple.
Clara stepped aside and opened the door. Come inside, she said. Before you freeze. He hesitated. Just a second.
Then stepped through. The cabin felt different the moment he entered. Smaller, warmer. The fire crackled low, casting a dull glow across the room. Elijah ducked slightly under the beam.
His presence filling the space in a way that made Clara suddenly aware of every detail around her. The worn table, the chipped cups, the quiet signs of a life stretched thin. "Sit," she said, moving toward the stove. "I'll make coffee. " He lowered himself carefully into the chair. It creaked under his weight.
Clara poured water into the pot, her hands steady out of habit, not ease. You always take in strangers? He asked. No. Then why me?
She didn't turn. Because you didn't act like one. Silence followed that. The kind that lingered, not empty, just waiting. She set the cup in front of him.
Their fingers brushed for the briefest second. Heat passed through her faster than the fire ever could. Clara pulled her hand back and busied herself with her own cup. "You said you came from the north," she said. I did.
What's out there? Land, work, quiet. That all? That's enough. She sat across from him, studied his face in the firelight.
Lines cut deep from years she couldn't see. A scar near his jaw. Another near his brow. A man shaped by hard days. "You got family? " she asked.
He looked into his cup before answering. "I did. " Clara waited. He didn't speak right away. Then my wife. The words settled heavy between them.
Clara lowered her gaze. I'm sorry. He nodded once. Been a while. What happened?
A wagon lost control in town. His voice stayed steady. Too steady. She didn't have time. Clara's hand tightened around her cup.
The room felt smaller again. She understood that kind of quiet, the kind that comes after something ends too fast. I buried my husband in spring, she said. Elijah looked up, their eyes met. No questions.