Chapter 17 - A Home She Refused to Be Given
Spring arrived slowly.
First the creek cracked.
Then snow slid from the southern slopes.
Then one morning Cora stepped outside and saw mud instead of white.
She had never been so happy to see mud.
The hens began laying again.
The cow recovered.
Small green shoots appeared near Caleb’s apple trees.
Life did not return dramatically.
It returned stubbornly.
Exactly as Cora did.
Boon remained at the syndicate ranch.
But he visited often.
Too often, according to Mrs. Russell.
Not often enough, according to Cora, though she would never admit it.
Sometimes he brought business.
Sometimes supplies.
Once he arrived with absolutely no reason.
Cora stood on the porch.
“What do you want?”
“Coffee.”
“You rode six miles for coffee?”
“Yes.”
“The ranch has coffee.”
“Not yours.”
“My coffee is terrible.”
“I know.”
She stared.
Boon smiled.
“That was almost romantic until the last part.”
“I’m improving.”
They sat outside.
The valley had changed.
Restored families rebuilt fences.
Hyram’s old employees were paid directly under new contracts.
Boon divided the syndicate into smaller operations.
He created a permanent land board with three settler representatives.
One seat belonged to Cora.
She refused.
He asked again.
She refused.
He sent paperwork.
She burned it.
Finally he arrived personally.
“Why?”
“I don’t want charity.”
“It is a voting position.”
“Still your company.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I’m told.”
Boon stood.
“What would make you accept?”
“Election.”
“What?”
“Let the valley choose.”
He considered.
“Fine.”
Cora won by forty-one votes.
There were forty-three eligible families.
She suspected Boon had not voted.
“Who voted against me?”
Tom Jensen raised his hand.
Cora stared.
“Why?”
He grinned.
“You scared me.”
She chased him halfway down Main Street.
By May, Bitterroot changed again.
The railroad selected another route.
Less profitable for Boon.
Better for the farms.
The newspapers stopped visiting.
Life became quieter.
Then Boon did something foolish.
He offered Cora a house.
Not verbally.
He arrived with an architect.
Cora saw the plans.
Two-story home.
Six rooms.
Wraparound porch.
Stone hearth.
She looked at Boon.
“What is this?”
“A proposal.”
Her heart stopped.
Then he added:
“For construction.”
Her heart resumed.
Violently.
“No.”
He blinked.
“You haven’t looked.”
“No.”
“The cabin roof leaks.”
“I fixed it.”
“The bedroom is ten feet wide.”
“I fit.”
“The kitchen—”
“Boon.”
He stopped.
She folded the plans.
“I do not want a house you give me because I saved you.”
“That is not why.”
“Then why?”
He looked toward the architect.
The man quickly walked away.
Coward.
Boon faced her.
“Because I want you comfortable.”
“I am comfortable.”
“You live in one room.”
“It is my room.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Cora.”
“I will not become another property you improve.”
That hurt him.
She saw it immediately.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I need you to understand.”
She softened.
“I spent eleven months believing I was losing everything.”
She looked at the cabin.
“Now I know it is mine.”
She looked back.
“I need time to own my life before somebody builds another one around me.”
Boon understood.
Slowly.
“All right.”
“No house.”
“No house.”
“No barn.”
“I didn’t mention a barn.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was.”
“No barn.”
“Fine.”
He rolled the plans.
Cora smiled.
“Coffee?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How terrible?”
“Especially.”
He stayed until sunset.
As he prepared to leave, Cora asked:
“Why didn’t you ever ask?”
“Ask what?”
She immediately regretted beginning.
Boon waited.
Cora crossed her arms.
“You know.”
“I truly don’t.”
She glared.
Then he realized.
The amusement vanished.
“Cora.”
“Never mind.”
“No.”
“It’s late.”
He stepped closer.
“You mean why I never asked if you would…”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the mountains.
“Because you were grieving.”
“I still am.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“Because every powerful man in your life seems to have spent the last year deciding what should happen to you.”
Cora became still.
Boon continued.
“I didn’t want to become another one.”
Her eyes burned.
“That might be the first intelligent thing you’ve said.”
“Thank you.”
“But…”
He waited.
“But someday you could ask what I want.”
Boon looked at her.
Neither moved.
Then he nodded.
“Someday.”
He mounted Cyrus.
Cora watched him ride away.
That night, she took the Hudson’s Bay blanket from her chest.
Winter stains remained near one corner.
She pressed the wool to her face.
It smelled faintly of cedar.
Not Boon.
She told herself she was disappointed by that only because cedar was boring.
Two weeks later, Boon stopped visiting.
Three weeks.
Cora became irritated.
At four weeks, she rode to the syndicate ranch.
A ranch hand looked surprised.
“Mr. Tagot isn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“Helena.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe another month.”
Cora stared.
“He left?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Without saying goodbye?”
The man looked nervous.
“I believe he thought—”
“What?”
“That you wanted space.”
Cora closed her eyes.
Men.
Across America, she decided, men were probably misunderstanding women at this exact moment.
She rode home furious.
On the porch sat a package.
No note.
Inside was a new Hudson’s Bay blanket.
Thicker than hers.
Beautiful.
Cora touched it.
Then found an envelope beneath.
One sentence.
I said I would return the favor, but I know better than to replace what is yours.
—B.
Cora smiled.
Then she noticed a second line.
When I return, I am going to ask you what you want.
Her heart began beating faster.
And for the first time, Cora realized the next chapter of her life frightened her more than Hyram Cole ever had.
Because this time—
May you like
she wanted what might be coming.
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