No sympathy, just recognition. The wind rattled the walls. The fire snapped. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Elijah leaned back slightly.
You're still here. Clara gave a small breath through her nose. Didn't have anywhere else worth going. That's not why. She frowned.
What do you mean? You stayed because you wanted to. Clara shook her head. You don't know that. I know what it looks like when someone walks away.
His eyes stayed on hers. You didn't. Something tightened in her chest. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup with her thumb. I thought about it, she said quietly.
Every day. But you didn't go. No. Why? Clara lifted her head slowly.
Her voice came softer than before. Because if I left, then everything we tried to build here meant nothing. Elijah nodded once. That answer was enough. The fire burned lower.
The light shifted across his face. You shouldn't be doing this alone, he said. I am doing it. That's not the same thing. She leaned forward slightly.
And what would you have me do? Run back east? Let someone else decide what happens to my land? No. Then what?
Elijah held her gaze. Let someone stand beside you. The words sat between them, unmoved. Clara felt something stir, something she hadn't let surface in months. She stood up abruptly.
"I've managed this long, and you'll keep managing," he said calmly. But it doesn't mean you have to. She turned toward the window. Snow had started falling. Soft at first, then heavier, covering tracks, quieting everything.
Elijah, she said. It felt strange using his name, like stepping into something she didn't fully understand. You should go, she added. The storm's coming. He didn't argue.
He stood, pulling his coat back on. For a second, he lingered near the door like there was something left unsaid. Clara stayed where she was, didn't turn around. Clara. She closed her eyes.
Yes, I'll be back. Her breath caught before she could stop it. For the cattle, she asked. A pause, then for that and more. She turned then.
Too late. He had already stepped out into the snow. The door shut behind him with a dull thud. Clara stood alone in the quiet cabin. The fire flickered.
The wind rose. And somewhere beyond the storm, a man who had no reason to return had just promised that he would. The storm did not pass. It stayed for 3 days. The wind clawed at the cabin like it wanted in.
Snow piled high against the walls, burying the path, swallowing the fence, erasing every sign that the world existed beyond her door. Clara worked without stopping. Fire, water, feed, repeat. Her hands cracked. Her breath burned.
Sleep came in short pieces. Never enough. On the second night, the well froze. She stood over the pump, striking it with numb hands, listening to the hollow sound echo back at her. Nothing.
The bucket by the door sat empty. Clara stared at it for a long time. Then she grabbed her coat and stepped into the storm. The cold hit like a blade. She pulled her scarf tight and forced her way toward the creek.
Each step sinking deep into snow that reached her knees. The world had gone silent except for the wind. No birds, no distant sounds, just white. She broke the ice with a rock, filled the bucket, turned back. Halfway to the cabin, her foot slipped.
The bucket spilled. Water vanished into the snow. Clara stood there breathing hard, staring at nothing. Then she bent down, picked it up, and went back again. By the time she reached the cabin, her fingers would not close.
She forced them open one by one, set the bucket inside, closed the door, leaned against it. Her body shook, not from the cold, from the weight of it all pressing down at once. She slid to the floor and sat there, still listening to the storm try to tear the world apart. A sound broke through it, faint, distant hooves. Clara's head lifted slowly.
She didn't move at first. Then the sound came again, closer. Her heart began to pound. She pushed herself up and reached for the rifle. The door rattled under a hard knock.
Clara, his voice. She froze for a breath, then opened the door. Elijah stood there covered in snow, shoulders white with frost. His horse stood behind him, sides heaving, steam rising from its body. You shouldn't be out in this, she said.