Chapter 4 - The Road Into the Mountains
Charlene did not read the letter.
Not that night.
For several long minutes she stood beside the bed with Sarah Russell's folded paper between her fingers.
Then conscience won.
The letter had not been addressed to her.
She folded it again and carried it downstairs.
Jeb was making a bed near the fireplace.
He looked up.
Charlene held out the paper.
“This was upstairs.”
Everything in his face changed.
He crossed the room immediately.
“Where?”
“Under the blanket.”
He took it carefully.
His eyes recognized the handwriting.
For a moment he looked almost sick.
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
Charlene felt oddly insulted.
“No.”
“I wasn't accusing—”
“You asked.”
“Because it matters.”
“I gathered that.”
Jeb looked at the letter.
“Sarah wrote these before she died.”
“These?”
“There were several.”
Charlene waited.
“What happened to the others?”
“Burned some.”
“Why?”
His fingers closed around the paper.
“Because dead people ought not control the living.”
Charlene glanced toward Sarah's portrait.
Jeb followed her eyes.
“That's different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the edge of the hearth.
For perhaps the first time, Charlene saw fear in him.
Not fear of weather.
Not fear of danger.
Fear of memory.
“She knew she wasn't getting better,” he said.
“So she was ill.”
“Yes.”
“Ruth said—”
“I know what Ruth said.”
Charlene remained silent.
Jeb stared into the fire.
“Sarah had fever after Toby was born.”
Charlene's heart softened.
“She recovered some.”
His voice roughened.
“Then she started having spells. Weakness. Pain. Couldn't breathe right. Doctor came twice.”
“And?”
“Nothing helped.”
Charlene looked at the letter.
“What does she mean by ‘If I die’?”
Jeb laughed once without humor.
“What do you think?”
“I think people don't normally write letters unless there's something they cannot say aloud.”
His eyes lifted.
“You always talk this straight?”
“When I'm frightened.”
That surprised him.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
Charlene considered.
“Of what you aren't saying.”
Jeb looked away.
Then footsteps sounded above them.
Conversation ended.
The next morning, winter announced itself with frost on every window.
Charlene rose before dawn.
By six, she had discovered three things.
First, Jeb had somehow kept five children alive while possessing absolutely no system for household organization.
Second, Ruth had been quietly doing half the work their mother once handled.
Third, everyone on Wolverine Ridge believed socks reproduced spontaneously and therefore saw no reason to keep track of them.
Charlene instituted baskets.
Caleb objected.
“I know where my things are.”
“Then placing them in a basket should cause no hardship.”
“They don't need baskets.”
“Your shirt was hanging from a deer antler.”
“It was drying.”
“For four days?”
Caleb glared.
Charlene smiled.
By afternoon, she had reorganized the pantry.
Not because she wanted control.
Because she understood what Ruth meant about food running out.
The supplies were plentiful but poorly tracked.
Two sacks of oats had spoiled from dampness.
Dried apples sat forgotten behind lamp oil.
Beans were stored in three places.
Flour had mice.
Charlene made a list.
Jeb returned from checking traps and found her standing in the pantry.
“How bad?”
“Your children survived despite you.”
He leaned against the doorway.
“That's reassuring.”
“You have enough food for winter if nobody wastes anything.”
“And if they do?”
“We eat Caleb.”
From the hallway came an offended voice.
“I heard that.”
Jeb laughed.
Charlene smiled.
It was becoming easier.
Dangerously easy.
That evening, she baked bread.
The smell brought every child into the kitchen.
Toby sat on the floor staring at the oven.
Noah asked whether it was done every three minutes.
Eli stole dough.
Ruth quietly watched Charlene knead another loaf.
“Can you teach me?”
Charlene looked up.
“Of course.”
“Mama did.”
The room stilled.
Ruth's face fell.
“Sorry.”
“For mentioning her?”
Ruth nodded.
Charlene wiped flour from her fingers.
“You never have to apologize for loving your mother.”
Ruth's eyes filled.
Charlene lowered her voice.
“Never.”
Caleb stood in the doorway.
He heard.
Something in him softened.
Not enough to speak.
But enough that he did not leave immediately.
After supper, Jeb brought out a fiddle.
Charlene stared.
“You play?”
“Poorly.”
“He plays terrible,” Eli said.
“I play better than you.”
“I don't play.”
“Exactly.”
Jeb tuned the strings.
Then he played.
He was not terrible.
He was rusty.
The tune was old and quiet.
Noah began humming.
The same three notes from the campsite.
Charlene realized this was Sarah's song.
Ruth lowered her head.
Caleb stared into the fire.
Jeb finished.
Silence lingered.
Then Toby climbed onto Charlene's lap.
“Again.”
Jeb looked at her.
Charlene nodded.
“Again.”
He played a second time.
Something happened in that room.
No ghost disappeared.
No grief was healed.
But memory became less sharp.
Perhaps love did not require removing what came before.
Perhaps it only required making enough room for what came next.
Later, after the children slept, Jeb remained near the fire.
Charlene descended wearing her shawl.
“You're still sleeping here.”
“Yes.”
“You're my husband.”
“Yes.”
“That is normally not where husbands sleep.”
His eyes met hers.
“You said affection had to grow.”
“It does.”
“So I'm giving it room.”
Charlene stood very still.
Nathaniel had never given her anything room to grow.
Not grief.
Not uncertainty.
Not herself.
She sat opposite Jeb.
“Tell me about Sarah.”
He stiffened.
“Why?”
“Because pretending she didn't exist won't make this marriage stronger.”
His gaze moved toward the portrait.
“She was stubborn.”
Charlene smiled.
“So are you.”
“Worse.”
“Impossible.”
He almost laughed.
“She came west with her father. Hated mountains first year.”
“Why?”
“Too quiet.”
Charlene looked around.
“I understand.”
“Then she got so she hated town.”
“Also understandable.”
He smiled.
They talked for nearly an hour.
Sarah had loved blackberry jam.
She snored when exhausted.
She once chased a black bear from the chicken coop with a broom.
Charlene laughed so hard she covered her mouth.
Jeb's smile faded into something tender.
Then sad.
“She would've liked you.”
Charlene's chest tightened.
“You cannot know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
His eyes held hers.
“She never trusted people who enjoyed being cruel.”
The words landed deeply.
Charlene glanced at the letter.
Jeb had left it on the mantel.
“Will you read it?”
His expression closed.
“Not tonight.”
“Have you read it before?”
“No.”
Charlene frowned.
He had said there were several.
“You burned letters without reading them?”
“Some.”
“Why?”
“Because Sarah knew how to reach inside a man's chest even after she was gone.”
Charlene understood more than she wanted to.
She stood.
“Good night, Jeb.”
“Good night.”
She reached the staircase.
Then Caleb screamed.
Everyone woke.
Jeb reached the loft first.
Caleb was thrashing beneath blankets.
“No!”
Jeb grabbed his shoulders.
“Son.”
“No, Mama!”
Caleb's eyes opened.
Wild.
Terrified.
He shoved Jeb away.
Charlene remained near the doorway.
Caleb looked at her.
Then he began crying.
Not like a twelve-year-old trying to hide tears.
Like a much younger child.
“She was outside.”
Jeb froze.
Caleb gasped.
“In the snow.”
Ruth appeared behind Charlene.
Her face went white.
“No.”
Caleb covered his ears.
“I heard her calling.”
Jeb sat beside him.
“It was a dream.”
“No!”
“You're safe.”
“You left her!”
The words exploded through the room.
Jeb stopped breathing.
Caleb sobbed.
“You left Mama out there!”
Charlene stared at Jeb.
Ruth began crying.
Jeb's face drained of color.
And suddenly Charlene knew the children had not merely watched their mother die of illness.
Something had happened outside.
In winter.
May you like
Something Jeb had spent two years refusing to tell.
And the first real snow of the season had begun falling beyond the window.
