Who told you? Silas looked at her as if the answer might wound her more than his silence ever had. Your uncle Charles. Clara's face turned cold. Uncle Charles.
Silas nodded. He found me when I returned to the valley. He said you had married Arthur and wanted nothing more to do with me. Clara looked toward the distant hills. After her mother died, Charles had taken control of the family accounts and collected their mail from town.
He had never tried to hide his dislike for Silas. Charles had called him a penniless ranch hand with foolish dreams. He had warned Clara that love could not feed children or keep a roof standing through a Montana winter. He knew I was waiting, Clara said. Every week I asked whether a letter had come, and every week he told me there was nothing.
Silas lowered the water jar. Did he hate me enough to hide six letters? He feared poverty more than he feared hurting me. The truth stood between them, cruel and simple. Charles had not needed a gun to tear them apart.
A locked drawer and a few lies had been enough. Clara looked at Silas. Why did you leave in the first place? My father became sick. I had to take my family north before winter.
I thought I would be gone for 3 months. His jaw tightened. He died on the journey. My mother and sisters had no one else. So, I stayed until they were safe.
You could have returned sooner. I know. You could have faced me even after hearing I was married. I know that too. Silas made no excuses.
Somehow that hurt Clara more than anger would have. I waited 2 years, she said. Then Arthur asked me to marry him. He was kind, and I was tired of waiting for a man I believed had forgotten me. Toby's mother was kind, too, Silas replied.
She deserved more years than she received. Clara studied his face. Their lives had continued without each other. They had loved other people, buried them, and learned to survive the silence left behind. "We cannot erase those years," she said.
"I would never ask you to. And we cannot treat Arthur or Toby's mother as if they were mistakes. They were not. Clara nodded slowly. Then we stop allowing someone else's lie to decide what happens next.
Silas finally drank from the jar. His fingers brushed Clara's as he returned it. Neither of them moved away at once. The touch lasted only a second, but Clara felt the memory of another summer. She remembered Silas waiting outside her father's gate with wild flowers hidden behind his back.
She remembered believing that nothing could separate them. She stepped away before the memory grew stronger. For the next two days, Silas worked from sunrise until darkness. He repaired the north fence, cleaned the mud from the well, and replaced a damaged windmill gear with one he shaped by hand. Clara worked beside him whenever she could.