The second storm trapped them for four days.
By the end of the first, Emma had discovered every drawer in Amos's cabin.
By the second, she had named a mouse living near the flour barrel.
By the third, she had asked Amos thirty-seven questions about trapping, eleven about bears, six about whether wolves could climb trees, and one that nearly made him drop an iron skillet.
"Did you love your little girl?"
The cabin went silent.
Monica looked up from mending Emma's coat.
"Emma."
"What?"
Amos stood at the stove.
He did not turn.
"Yes."
Emma nodded.
"What was her name?"
"Anna."
"Was she my age?"
"Five."
"Oh."
Emma seemed to understand enough not to continue.
She went back to drawing with a piece of charcoal.
Five minutes later she placed the picture beside Amos.
Four stick figures.
A large woman.
A girl.
A tiny baby.
And an enormous man.
Above them she had drawn a square cabin with smoke.
Amos stared.
"That's you," Emma explained.
"I gathered."
"You're too tall."
"I gathered that too."
Monica hid a smile.
The storm passed.
Life began forming strange routines.
Monica's ankle slowly improved.
Amos made her a crutch.
Emma helped feed Samuel.
Amos checked traps and cut wood.
At night they ate together.
Monica cooked once she could stand safely.
The first meal she prepared was rabbit stew with dried onions and dumplings.
Amos took one bite.
Stopped.
Monica watched him.
"Bad?"
He took another.
"No."
Emma grinned.
"Mama cooks better than anybody."
Amos finished three bowls.
Monica said nothing.
The cabin changed.
A shawl appeared near the door.
Emma's doll occupied a chair.
Baby clothes dried near the fire.
There was laughter.
Amos told himself it was temporary.
Every morning he repeated the same plan.
When Monica could walk, he would take them to Fort Bridger or the nearest settlement.
They would find passage west.
He would return alone.
Simple.
Then Samuel smiled at him.
Amos had been holding the child only because Monica needed both hands for bread dough.
Samuel stared at his beard.
Then smiled.
Amos looked toward Monica.
"Something's wrong with him."
She stared.
"What?"
"His face."
Monica came closer.
Samuel smiled again.
She laughed.
"He's smiling."
"Why?"
"Because he's happy."
"He's three weeks old."
"Almost four."
"He doesn't know anything."
"He knows you."
Amos handed the baby back faster than necessary.
Monica watched him retreat outside.
She understood now.
Every small attachment felt to Amos like the beginning of a funeral.
Two weeks after Emma returned, a rider appeared.
Amos saw him from the ridge.
One man.
Gray horse.
Coming hard.
Amos reached the cabin first.
"Inside."
Monica looked up.
"What?"
"Rider."
Emma ran to the window.
"Papa!"
Monica froze.
Daniel Hale dismounted before the cabin.
Amos stepped outside.
Daniel looked exhausted.
His beard had grown wild.
His coat was torn.
"Where are they?"
"Inside."
"I need to see my family."
Amos blocked the door.
"Ask them."
Daniel stared.
"She's my wife."
"Ask her."
The door opened.
Monica stood with her crutch.
Daniel's face changed when he saw her.
"Monica."
She said nothing.
Emma peeked from behind her.
Daniel's eyes filled.
"Emma."
Emma did not move toward him.
That hurt more than he expected.
Daniel removed his hat.
"May I come inside?"
Monica studied the man she had once trusted with everything.
The man who had chosen movement over her life.
Finally she nodded.
Daniel entered.
He saw Samuel.
"He's alive."
Monica's expression hardened.
"Yes."
Daniel took one step.
"Can I hold him?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Daniel stopped.
"I deserve that."
"No," Monica said. "You don't deserve anything from me yet."
He lowered his head.
Amos remained near the door.
Daniel glanced at him.
"Could we speak privately?"
Monica answered.
"No."
"This is between us."
"It stopped being between us when he found me dying."
Daniel flinched.
Monica continued.
"Say what you came to say."
Daniel looked at Emma.
Then Samuel.
Then Monica.
"I was a coward."
No excuse.
That surprised her.
"I kept telling myself we had no choice."
He swallowed.
"But there was a choice."
Emma's face tightened.
Daniel looked at her.
"I chose wrong."
She whispered, "You said Mama would die anyway."
Daniel shut his eyes.
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because if I believed she was already going to die, I could pretend leaving wasn't killing her."
Monica's eyes filled with anger.
Not tears.
"You don't get to make that easier for yourself."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"You took my daughter."
"I thought Emma had a better chance with the train."
"You didn't ask what she wanted."
Daniel nodded.
"No."
"You left Samuel."
His face collapsed.
"I know."
"Seventeen days old."
"I know."
"And you never came back."
"I tried."
Amos's eyes narrowed.
Daniel noticed.
"Three days later, I tried. Bell refused to split the train. Then the snow came."
Monica laughed bitterly.
"So you let another man decide again."
Daniel absorbed the blow.
"Yes."
Silence.
Finally Monica asked, "Why are you here now?"
Daniel reached into his coat.
Amos's hand went toward his gun.
Daniel stopped.
"Letter."
He slowly removed folded paper.
He handed it to Monica.
"What is this?"
"From Bell."
She opened it.
The wagon train had turned back.
Several families had decided to winter near the trading station.
Two people had died during the storm.
Three children were ill.
The westward journey was over until spring.
Daniel had left the group to find his family.
Monica lowered the paper.
"What do you want?"
"To make things right."
"You can't."
"I know."
"No, Daniel. Listen to me."
Her voice shook.
"You cannot make those three days disappear."
He nodded.
"You cannot make Emma forget screaming from that wagon."
Emma began crying silently.
Daniel looked shattered.
"You cannot make me forget begging my husband to stay while he climbed aboard."
"I'm sorry."
"And sorry does not put trust back where you broke it."
"I know."
"Stop saying that!"
Samuel woke and cried.
Monica closed her eyes.
Daniel backed away.
"I'm sorry."
Amos spoke for the first time.
"You said that."
Daniel turned toward him.
"I don't expect you to understand."
Amos's gaze became cold.
"I understand abandoning people."
Daniel stiffened.
"You don't know me."
"No."
Amos stepped closer.
"But I know what Monica weighed in your decision."
Daniel flushed.
"You think you're better than me?"
Amos looked toward the graveyard hidden beyond the trees.
"No."
The answer surprised everyone.
"I think fear makes cowards of men who imagine they're practical."
Daniel frowned.
Amos continued.
"I spent twelve years avoiding responsibility because I lost people."
Monica watched him.
Amos had never admitted it so plainly.
"You left Monica because you were afraid of losing everything else."
Daniel whispered, "Yes."
"Different fear. Same cowardice."
Daniel stared.
"And what changed you?"
Amos glanced toward Samuel.
The baby had quieted against Monica.
"I found something I couldn't ride past."
That sentence filled the cabin.
Daniel looked at Monica.
Then he understood.
Something had grown here.
Not necessarily romance.
Not yet.
But belonging.
A kind Daniel no longer possessed automatically simply because he wore the word husband.
He lowered his eyes.
"What do I do?"
Monica answered.
"You go back to the trading station."
Daniel looked up.
"Monica—"
"No."
"I came for you."
"You don't get to come and collect us."
"What about Emma?"
Emma stepped behind Monica.
Daniel's shoulders collapsed.
Monica's voice softened slightly.
"She will decide when she wants to see you."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"And you?"
"I don't know."
That was the truth.
"Can I return?"
Monica looked toward Amos.
He said nothing.
This had to be hers.
"Not for a while."
Daniel nodded.
He turned toward Emma.
"I love you."
Emma whispered, "I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Daniel's eyes filled.
Emma did not say it back.
He left.
Monica watched through the window as he mounted and rode away.
She expected relief.
Instead she felt grief.
Not for Daniel exactly.
For the marriage she had believed she possessed.
Emma slipped her hand into hers.
"Are you going back to Papa?"
Monica crouched.
"Not now."
"Do you still love him?"
Children.
Always the hardest questions.
"I loved who I thought he was."
"That's not what I asked."
Monica looked at her daughter.
"I don't know."
Emma nodded.
Then she glanced toward Amos chopping wood outside.
"Do you love Amos?"
Monica nearly dropped her crutch.
"Emma!"
"What?"
"Go check your brother."
Emma grinned and ran away.
That evening Monica carried Samuel to the porch.
Amos sat on the steps sharpening a knife.
"You heard."
"Most of it."
"Emma asks questions too loudly."
"Yes."
Monica sat.
"What would you have done?"
"When?"
"If Daniel had refused to leave."
Amos kept sharpening.
"Encouraged him."
"With your Colt?"
"Possibly."
She smiled.
Then became serious.
"You told him fear made you a coward."
"It did."
"You're not a coward."
Amos looked at her.
"You don't know enough."
"I know you rode into a storm to find my daughter."
"That was stupid."
"It was brave."
"Same thing sometimes."
Monica laughed softly.
Their shoulders almost touched.
The sun dropped behind the ridge.
After a while Amos said, "When your ankle heals, I can take you to Fort Bridger."
Monica turned.
He stared ahead.
"There are families. Work. Churches. School for Emma."
"You want us to leave?"
His jaw tightened.
"Want doesn't matter."
"Then answer anyway."
Amos stood.
"Cold's coming."
He walked inside.
Monica stayed on the porch.
For a man who could track wounded elk across stone, Amos Calder was remarkably talented at running from a woman sitting three feet away.
She looked down at Samuel.
"Your sister may be right."
Samuel yawned.
Monica sighed.
"That's what worries me."