Chapter 2 - The Sound of a Falling Mallet
Rufus did not ask the question again.
That surprised her more than if he had demanded an answer.
He remained crouched across the room until Dela’s breathing slowed.
Then he stood carefully.
“I’ll finish the beans.”
Dela stared at him.
“You cook?”
“No.”
Despite herself, something almost like laughter moved through her chest.
Rufus picked up the spoon.
“I can stir.”
He did.
Badly.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Dela eventually pushed herself upright using the wall.
Pain moved beneath her ribs.
Rufus noticed that too.
Of course he did.
But instead of offering a hand, he pulled one of the chairs away from the table and left it near her.
An invitation.
Not a command.
Dela sat.
Rufus continued stirring.
After a while he said, “You never have to explain anything you don’t want to explain.”
She looked toward him.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because whoever taught you to do that deserves my curiosity.”
“Curiosity?”
He glanced at her.
“Was trying for a polite word.”
That time she did laugh.
Barely.
But it was real.
Rufus’s expression softened for half a second.
Then he returned to the beans.
That evening, he moved his leather-working tools to the shed.
The next morning, Dela noticed the mallet was gone.
So was every other object likely to produce sudden hammering.
She hated how much that mattered.
For the next week, he behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.
And somehow that made it easier.
He still expected breakfast before sunrise.
He still left muddy boots by the door despite Dela reminding him twice that floors did not sweep themselves.
He still disappeared into the forest for hours.
Yet small things changed.
The water barrel remained fuller.
Heavy flour sacks mysteriously appeared on waist-high shelves instead of the floor.
When Rufus chopped wood, more half-sized pieces accumulated.
He never admitted why.
Dela never thanked him.
It became a language neither had agreed to speak.
Then one evening Rufus came home early.
Snow covered his shoulders.
He carried a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
He placed it beside Dela’s plate.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything.”
“I know.”
Suspicion rose immediately.
Dela did not touch the parcel.
Rufus sat opposite her.
“It’s not a trap.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re looking at it like it might explode.”
Reluctantly, she opened the paper.
Inside lay a wool scarf.
Dark blue.
Plain.
Warm.
Dela stared.
“The one you wear is worn through,” Rufus said.
Her fingers tightened around the cloth.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much did it cost?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You bought it.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you want?”
Rufus’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
“What?”
“What do you want in return?”
Nothing moved in the cabin except firelight.
Finally Rufus put the spoon down.
“Is that how it worked?”
Dela immediately regretted speaking.
“How what worked?”
“Kindness.”
She looked away.
Rufus understood.
Again.
Too quickly.
“No,” he said.
She frowned.
“No what?”
“You don’t owe me.”
“Everyone wants something.”
“Maybe.”
He nodded at the scarf.
“I wanted you not to freeze.”
“That’s something.”
Rufus considered this.
“Then you caught me.”
Dela almost smiled.
He resumed eating.
She touched the scarf.
No invoice followed.
No expectation.
No hand reached for her afterward.
That night she lay awake behind the curtain of the sleeping alcove, holding the wool against her chest.
She hated how dangerous hope felt.
Three days later, Rufus returned from checking traps carrying a rabbit and a newspaper.
He tossed the paper onto the table.
“From town.”
Dela’s hand froze over the bread dough.
“What town?”
“Timber Crossing.”
“How far?”
“Fourteen miles.”
She relaxed slightly.
Not Butte.
Rufus noticed that too.
He hung his coat.
“You read?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
“How?”
“You look at labels before putting jars away.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Proves you care what they say.”
After supper, Rufus read beside the stove while Dela repaired a tear in her sleeve.
An hour passed.
Then the newspaper slipped in his hands.
Only slightly.
Dela noticed.
She had become good at noticing changes in men.
“What?”
Rufus folded the paper.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His gaze rose.
Dela immediately regretted the sharpness in her voice.
But Rufus merely said, “Fair.”
He slid the newspaper toward her.
There was a notice on the second page.
MISSING WOMAN.
Dela’s stomach dropped.
The notice described Delilah Marsh, wife of prominent Butte banking representative Warren Marsh.
Twenty-nine years old.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
Believed to be emotionally distressed and possibly confused.
Her husband was offering a reward for information leading to her safe return.
Dela read the final sentence twice.
Mr. Marsh fears his wife may be exploited by persons aware of her vulnerable condition.
The cabin seemed suddenly too small.
“He’s looking for you,” Rufus said.
Dela folded the paper with shaking hands.
“My name is Dela.”
“Paper says Delilah.”
“Only Warren calls me that.”
Rufus remained very still.
“You married?”
“Yes.”
The word felt like a chain dragged from a grave.
Rufus’s eyes moved to her right side.
Then to the corner where she had collapsed.
“He the one?”
Dela could not answer.
Rufus’s jaw tightened.
“That enough of an answer.”
She stood.
Too quickly.
The room tilted.
“I need to leave.”
“No.”
Her fear sharpened.
Rufus immediately lifted both hands.
“Wrong word.”
She stared.
He tried again.
“You don’t need to leave tonight.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand there’s a storm coming.”
“If someone saw me get off the coach—”
“Driver know where you were going?”
“Yes.”
“Then Warren might eventually know too.”
“You see?”
“I see.”
Rufus folded the newspaper.
“So we prepare.”
Dela stared at him as though he had spoken another language.
“We?”
“You work here.”
“That doesn’t make this your problem.”
“No.”
He looked directly at her.
“But someone hurting a woman and calling her confused when she runs from him irritates me.”
“Irritates you?”
“Trying for polite again.”
Dela paced toward the stove.
“Warren has money.”
“So?”
“He has friends.”
“So?”
“He knows judges. Policemen. Bankers.”
Rufus leaned back.
“I know mountains.”
“That won’t matter.”
“It usually does.”
“You cannot simply hide me forever.”
“No.”
His calmness frightened her almost as much as Warren’s newspaper notice.
“What happens when he comes?”
Rufus answered immediately.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you want to go with him.”
Dela stopped.
He continued.
“If you say yes, I’ll saddle a horse myself.”
“And if I say no?”
Rufus’s expression became unreadable.
“Then nobody takes you through my door because they tell me they own you.”
Something inside Dela cracked.
Not loudly.
Not completely.
But enough that tears suddenly burned her eyes.
She turned away before Rufus saw them.
Or perhaps he saw and chose to pretend he had not.
That night, snow began falling.
Long after Rufus slept, Dela sat beside the dying stove with Warren’s notice open before her.
Her husband had told Montana she was confused.
Vulnerable.
Missing.
He had turned her escape into evidence against her.
At the bottom of the notice was an address for correspondence.
And beneath it, written in smaller print, was something Dela had missed.
REWARD: FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.
More money than many men earned in months.
Dela looked toward Rufus’s sleeping form.
Five hundred dollars could change a man’s life.
She had known Rufus Conn less than four weeks.
She wanted to believe he was different.
But Warren had taught her the most expensive lesson of all:
May you like
Every person had a price.
She only had to wait to discover Rufus’s.
