Chapter 4 - The Storm That Changed the Contract
Winter deepened.
So did the lies Eleanor told herself.
She told herself she waited by the window because Caleb’s safety affected the household.
She told herself she added an extra biscuit to his plate because he worked hard.
She told herself she knew the sound of his footsteps because there was nobody else around.
She told herself she could stop caring whenever she chose.
That was the largest lie.
Caleb changed too.
He began returning earlier.
He brought wildflowers once, though finding anything alive beneath the snow must have taken effort.
They were tiny mountain asters, dried by cold.
He placed them on the table without explanation.
Eleanor looked at them.
“What are these?”
“Flowers.”
“I can see that.”
“You said the room needed color.”
“I said that three weeks ago.”
Caleb removed his coat.
“You talk a lot.”
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
She placed the asters in a chipped jar.
Two days later, a county official arrived.
His name was Nathaniel Brooks.
He carried documents.
And questions.
Rutherford’s challenge had begun.
Brooks sat at their table while Eleanor poured coffee.
“How long have you known Mr. Morgan?”
“Since December.”
“You married immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Eleanor answered carefully.
“Because the arrangement benefited both of us.”
Brooks raised an eyebrow.
“You call it an arrangement?”
Caleb stiffened.
Eleanor continued.
“Every marriage is an arrangement of some kind.”
Brooks almost smiled.
“Do you share household responsibilities?”
“Yes.”
“Finances?”
“The contract defines payment.”
“Separate sleeping arrangements?”
Silence.
Caleb’s jaw hardened.
“That question is not relevant to county property law.”
Brooks looked at him.
“The will specifies a maintained household.”
“It does not specify a bedroom.”
Brooks nodded.
“That is true.”
He continued questioning.
What did Caleb eat for breakfast?
How was the barn heated?
Where did Eleanor keep flour?
Who repaired the west fence?
The questions seemed absurd.
But Eleanor understood.
Brooks was looking for inconsistencies.
So she answered everything honestly.
Caleb ate eggs when available, cornmeal otherwise.
Flour stayed on the second shelf because mice had once reached the first.
The west fence had not been repaired because the ground was frozen.
Caleb split wood every morning.
Eleanor tracked household stores.
By the time Brooks finished, three hours had passed.
He closed his notebook.
“One more question.”
Eleanor waited.
“Mrs. Morgan, if the North Slope property were not at risk, would you have married Mr. Morgan?”
The room became completely still.
Caleb did not look at her.
Eleanor stared at Brooks.
“That is a different question.”
“Yes.”
“And it has nothing to do with whether I am legally married now.”
Brooks studied her.
“No. It doesn’t.”
He rose.
After he left, Caleb walked outside.
Eleanor found him behind the barn splitting wood.
The blows came too hard.
Too fast.
“Caleb.”
He kept chopping.
“Caleb.”
The axe stopped.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
He did.
“You’re angry.”
“No.”
“You’re murdering that log.”
He glanced down.
The log had become kindling.
Eleanor folded her arms.
“You didn’t like his last question.”
“It was insulting.”
“To me?”
“To both of us.”
She stepped closer.
“What would your answer be?”
His eyes met hers.
“To what?”
“You heard him.”
He looked toward the mountains.
“I wouldn’t have asked anyone to marry me if the land weren’t at risk.”
That answer should have been obvious.
It still hurt.
Eleanor hated that it hurt.
She nodded.
“Of course.”
She turned.
“Eleanor.”
“I have bread rising.”
He caught her wrist gently.
Not trapping.
Barely touching.
She stopped.
Caleb immediately loosened his fingers.
“I didn’t finish.”
She looked down at his hand.
He released her.
“If the land weren’t at risk,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t have walked into that tavern asking for a wife.”
Eleanor waited.
“But if I had met you anyway…”
He stopped.
“What?”
Caleb looked suddenly uncomfortable.
This man could cross a mountain in a blizzard.
He could face Rutherford without blinking.
But three simple words seemed impossible.
“If you had met me anyway?” she prompted.
He exhaled.
“I think I would have noticed you.”
Eleanor’s throat tightened.
“In Silver Hollow, most men noticed me.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
She knew.
That was the problem.
He stepped away.
The conversation ended there.
But that evening Eleanor saw him differently.
Not as the Mountain Wolf.
Not as her employer.
Not even simply as Caleb.
She saw a man who had spent years alone, who thanked her when she made a room feel lived in, who read poetry when nobody watched, who gave her the bed because he would rather be uncomfortable than frighten her.
A dangerous tenderness began growing inside her.
And she knew tenderness could ruin everything.
Because March was coming.
May you like
And in March, the contract ended.
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