Winter arrived completely three weeks later.
Monica could walk without the crutch.
Samuel gained weight.
Emma became Amos's shadow.
He taught her rabbit tracks, how to tell north from moss when the sky was hidden, how to stack wood so snow would not ruin it, and how never to approach a horse from behind.
Monica taught Emma reading each afternoon.
Then she began teaching Amos too.
Not because he could not read.
Because he pretended Shakespeare was useless.
"You own the book," Monica reminded him.
"Was my wife's."
"Have you read it?"
"No."
"Then you have no right to criticize it."
"I have rights over everything inside my cabin."
"Not literature."
Amos stared.
Emma giggled.
That was how it happened.
Not dramatically.
Not with declarations.
Life simply continued until the cabin stopped feeling like Amos's.
It became theirs.
One evening Monica realized she had stopped counting how many days since Daniel left her.
Instead she counted Samuel's new sounds.
Emma's lessons.
How much flour remained.
How many times Amos smiled when he thought nobody saw.
She also realized Amos had started coming home earlier.
He claimed winter traps required less time.
Monica knew better.
One night Samuel developed a cough.
Amos did not sleep.
Neither did Monica.
By morning it was gone.
But Monica had watched Amos pace the cabin for six hours.
Every time Samuel coughed, Amos's face went pale.
At sunrise she confronted him outside.
"You thought he was going to die."
Amos split a log.
"No."
"Don't lie."
Another log.
"I don't lie."
"You just did."
He drove the ax into the stump.
"What do you want from me?"
"The truth."
"Why?"
"Because we're living in your house. Because my children love you."
Amos flinched.
Monica continued.
"And because I think I do too."
Silence.
There.
It was done.
No taking it back.
Amos stared at her as though she had fired a rifle.
Monica's heart pounded.
"You don't have to say anything."
"Good."
That hurt.
She nodded.
"Fine."
She turned.
Amos caught her arm.
Not hard.
"That's not what I meant."
She looked back.
He released her immediately.
"What did you mean?"
Amos struggled.
The great mountain man who could skin a bear, survive blizzards, and intimidate armed men could not assemble a sentence.
Finally:
"I don't know how."
"How what?"
"Do this."
Monica's anger softened.
"Love someone?"
"Keep someone."
Her heart broke.
"You don't keep people, Amos."
"That's the problem."
"No."
She stepped closer.
"You love them while they're here."
"And when they leave?"
"You hurt."
"And that's acceptable?"
"It's life."
"I had that life."
"So did I."
He looked at her.
Monica continued.
"Daniel didn't die. But the man I trusted did."
Amos's expression changed.
"I buried that marriage in the desert."
"You still have him."
"No."
She shook her head.
"Not the way you mean."
Amos looked toward the cabin.
Emma's laughter came through the walls.
Samuel made a squealing noise.
Amos whispered, "I'm afraid."
Monica's eyes filled.
"I know."
It was perhaps the bravest thing he had ever said.
She put her hand against his chest.
His heart hammered beneath wool and buckskin.
"I'm afraid too."
Amos covered her hand with his.
For a moment they stood together beneath a clear winter sky.
Then Emma shouted from inside.
"THE STOVE IS SMOKING!"
Both adults ran.
The chimney damper had jammed.
Nothing serious.
They fixed it.
They laughed afterward.
Life continued.
Until February.
The fire began in the stable.
Amos woke to horses screaming.
He sat upright.
Smoke.
"Monica!"
She woke instantly.
"What?"
"Fire."
Amos ran outside barefoot.
Flames climbed one side of the stable.
Wind drove sparks toward the cabin roof.
"Emma!" Monica shouted. "Get your boots!"
Amos freed Ruth.
Then Boaz.
A burning beam fell.
He barely escaped.
Monica carried Samuel outside wrapped in blankets.
Emma followed.
"To the creek!" Amos shouted.
"What about you?" Monica screamed.
"Go!"
She obeyed.
Amos grabbed buckets of snow.
The cabin roof caught.
"No!"
Everything he owned was inside.
His wife's Bible.
Anna's wooden horse.
Twelve years of trapping records.
Food.
Ammunition.
Winter supplies.
He climbed onto the porch roof.
Smoke swallowed him.
"AMOS!"
Monica had returned.
"Get back!"
She carried a wet blanket.
"I'm helping."
"I said go!"
"And I said no!"
He stared.
The last woman who ignored his warnings had died.
For one irrational second fury seized him.
"Monica!"
She threw him the blanket.
"Save the cabin!"
They fought together.
Emma carried small buckets despite orders to stay away.
Snow.
Water.
Blankets.
Hands blistered from heat.
After nearly an hour, the fire died.
Half the stable was gone.
One corner of the cabin roof blackened.
Amos collapsed into the snow.
Monica sat beside him.
He looked toward her.
"You came back."
"Of course."
"I told you to go."
"I heard you."
"You could've died."
"So could you."
"That's different."
"Why?"
He had no answer.
Monica took his burned hand.
"You don't understand yet, do you?"
"What?"
"You are not the only person allowed to save someone."
Amos looked at her.
She smiled through soot.
"Sometimes we save you too."
Later they discovered the fire had not been accidental.
Amos found oily cloth beneath the stable wall.
Bootprints led toward the southern trail.
One rider.
Monica saw his face.
"What?"
"Somebody set it."
"Who?"
Amos followed tracks half a mile.
Then returned.
"Daniel's horse shoe."
Monica went white.
"No."
"Same broken left rear edge."
"No."
Amos's jaw hardened.
Emma stood in the doorway.
"You think Papa did it?"
Monica turned.
"Go inside."
Emma did not.
"Did he?"
"No," Monica said quickly. "We don't know."
Amos said nothing.
Monica looked at him.
"What are you thinking?"
"Tracks head toward the trading station."
"You're going?"
"Yes."
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Amos—"
"No."
Monica stepped close.
"We've had this argument."
"This is different."
"Why?"
"Because if Daniel did this, I don't know what else he'll do."
Monica stared.
She did not want to believe it.
Daniel had failed her.
That did not make him a murderer.
But something else bothered her.
Daniel knew Amos's cabin.
He knew Monica had chosen to remain.
Jealousy could change a man.
Or reveal him.
The next morning Amos rode south.
Monica waited.
By afternoon he returned.
Not alone.
Daniel rode beside him.
And Daniel's hands were tied.
Emma ran outside.
"Papa!"
Daniel looked horrified.
"Emma, I'm sorry."
Monica stared at Amos.
"What happened?"
"He didn't set the fire."
Relief flooded her.
Then confusion.
"Why is he tied?"
Daniel answered.
"Because I know who did."
Amos removed a folded document from his coat.
"Bell's dead."
Monica's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"Shot two days ago."
Daniel lowered his head.
"The trading station was attacked."
"By who?"
Daniel looked at Monica.
"Men from the wagon company."
"What do they want?"
Daniel's eyes moved toward Emma.
Then Samuel.
Then Amos.
"To make sure nobody tells what really happened on the trail."
The fire was not jealousy.
It was a warning.
And the people who had abandoned Monica had not done it only because of failing oxen.
There had been money involved.
Supplies disappearing.
Families being pressured to leave possessions behind.
Bell had kept records.
Daniel had discovered them.
And now the men responsible believed Monica might know where those records had gone.
Amos looked toward the ridge.
Three dark riders appeared against the snow.
Then four.
Then six.
He reached for his rifle.
"Inside."
Monica picked up Samuel.
Emma grabbed her doll.
Daniel stared at the approaching men.
"What do we do?"
Amos loaded the rifle.
"Now?"
He looked at Monica.
At Emma.
At Samuel.
At the cabin he had once built to keep the entire world out.
"We protect the family."
Monica heard the word.
Family.
This time Amos did not correct himself.