Chapter 6 - The First Test of Mrs. Morgan
Three days later, Caleb returned from the barn carrying a dead chicken.
Eleanor stared.
“What happened?”
“Fox.”
“Again?”
“Third one.”
She followed him outside.
Tracks crossed the snow behind the coop.
Caleb crouched.
“Too many.”
“What does that mean?”
“Foxes don’t usually keep coming this close while I’m around.”
“You think someone is leaving food?”
He looked toward the tree line.
“I think someone wants the household to look badly maintained.”
Rutherford.
Neither needed to say the name.
The attacks continued.
A fence latch mysteriously broke.
A bag of grain disappeared.
Then a section of the barn roof was loosened during a night without wind.
Caleb climbed up to repair it.
Eleanor stood below.
“This is deliberate.”
“Yes.”
“Can we prove it?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“We fix it.”
She stared up at him.
“That is your answer to everything.”
“It usually works.”
It became their answer together.
Eleanor reinforced the chicken coop.
Caleb reset the fencing.
They moved grain inside the cabin.
They worked until their hands cracked from cold.
At night, Eleanor tracked every repair in a notebook.
“If Rutherford says the property is neglected,” she explained, “we show dates, materials, and expenses.”
Caleb looked impressed.
“You kept accounts for your father.”
“Yes.”
“You were good at it.”
“I was very good at it.”
“Then why did your uncle end up with everything?”
The question hurt.
“Because being good at something and being legally protected aren’t the same.”
Caleb nodded slowly.
“Maybe they should be.”
Eleanor looked at him.
It was not a grand statement.
But coming from a man raised in a world where women rarely owned anything, it mattered.
Their first genuine argument arrived two days later.
Caleb planned to ride to the lower ridge.
Eleanor blocked the door.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“The weather is turning.”
“I know.”
“You nearly froze last time.”
“I know.”
“So wait.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“The water channel is clogged. If it freezes solid, we lose flow to the barn.”
“Then I’ll come.”
“No.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“This isn’t a household chore.”
“It affects the household.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“And apparently you’re immortal?”
Caleb glared.
Eleanor glared back.
Finally he said, “You’re staying.”
She stepped closer.
“I signed a marriage contract, not enlistment papers.”
“This is my mountain.”
“And according to the county, my household.”
Silence.
Caleb dragged a hand across his face.
“You have no idea what that trail is like.”
“Then teach me.”
That ended the argument.
An hour later they were both outside.
Caleb taught Eleanor how to read buried trail markers.
How to test snow depth.
How to listen for shifting ice.
She learned quickly.
At the channel, they worked side by side until water began moving again.
On the return journey, snow started falling.
Caleb looked back.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
“Tired?”
“Yes.”
“Regretting this?”
Eleanor smiled.
“No.”
Something in his face softened.
That night her hands shook from exhaustion.
Caleb noticed.
He brought a basin of warm water.
“Sit.”
She laughed.
“You’re using my orders now?”
“They seemed effective.”
He placed her hands in the water.
The warmth hurt at first.
Then soothed.
Caleb sat opposite her.
Their knees nearly touched.
“You were right,” he said.
Eleanor stared.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Don’t ruin it.”
She smiled.
“About what?”
“Teaching you.”
He looked at her hands.
“If something happens to me, you should know the mountain.”
The thought disturbed her.
“Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“But you can promise not to behave like your life doesn’t matter.”
His eyes lifted.
“To the property?”
“To me.”
The words escaped.
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Caleb did too.
The water between their hands became suddenly fascinating.
Finally he said, “All right.”
She looked up.
“All right what?”
“I promise.”
It was the smallest vow either had made.
And somehow more intimate than their wedding.
Days later, county official Brooks returned.
He inspected the barn.
The food stores.
The repairs.
He examined Eleanor’s notebook.
“These records are yours?”
“Yes.”
He turned several pages.
“They’re better than most commercial accounts in town.”
Caleb looked at her with unmistakable pride.
Brooks noticed.
“So, Mrs. Morgan, whose household is this?”
Eleanor answered without hesitation.
“Ours.”
Brooks closed the notebook.
That evening, as his horse disappeared down the mountain, Caleb stood beside Eleanor.
“He believed you.”
“He believed the records.”
“He believed you.”
She looked up at him.
“How can you tell?”
“Because I did.”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
Then Caleb’s expression changed.
“What?”
He pointed toward the snow beside the barn.
Boot prints.
Fresh.
Someone had been watching the inspection from the trees.
May you like
And this time, whoever Rutherford had sent had come close enough to leave evidence.
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