Salt pork.
Biscuits.
Miles chopped onions at the table.
Efficiently.
He could not reach the upper shelf.
Evelyn handed him a pan.
Their fingers touched.
Both withdrew.
Dinner passed mostly in silence.
Miles asked whether Vernon had given her all the claim documents.
“Yes.”
“Did he open the envelope?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone else?”
“Why are you interested?”
Miles cut his biscuit.
“Land interests me.”
“Worthless land?”
“All land interests somebody.”
Evelyn watched him.
“You specifically asked for it.”
He looked up.
“Did Vernon tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Miles became very still.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“There is that word again.”
Miles changed the subject.
Evelyn noticed.
After supper, she washed dishes while he banked the fire.
The strange domesticity irritated her.
They looked like a married couple.
They were not.
They were two strangers connected by thirty dollars and a signature.
Night settled fully.
Snow thickened.
Evelyn finally asked:
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“The bed.”
“And you?”
“I told you.”
“The chair.”
“Yes.”
“That is absurd.”
“I’ve done it before.”
“You have another room.”
“Storage.”
“Loft?”
“Cold.”
Evelyn wiped her hands.
“So you will sit in that chair all night because your new wife occupies your bed.”
Miles looked at her.
“Yes.”
She could not understand him.
That made her angrier.
“You could have hired a housekeeper.”
“Yes.”
“A cook.”
“Yes.”
“A nurse.”
“I don’t need one.”
She gestured toward his wheelchair.
His eyes cooled.
Evelyn regretted it immediately.
Not because the observation was false.
Because cruelty was easy when embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.”
Miles looked toward the fire.
“It’s fine.”
“No.”
She dried her hands.
“That was unkind.”
A pause.
Then he nodded.
“Thank you.”
Somehow that made everything worse.
Evelyn went behind the hanging quilt.
Changed into her nightdress.
The bed was enormous.
Probably made for Miles.
She climbed beneath the bearskin blanket and stared at the ceiling.
Outside, wind screamed around the chimney.
Inside, Miles remained near the window.
One hour passed.
Then another.
Evelyn could see his silhouette through the thin gaps beside the quilt.
Still awake.
Still watching outside.
Finally anger defeated exhaustion.
She sat up.
“If you bought me because you wanted a wife, you can stop pretending.”
No answer.
Evelyn pushed back the blanket.
“I know why Vernon agreed.”
Silence.
“If you expect something from me, get it over with.”
The wheelchair creaked.
Miles approached.
Stopped outside the quilt.
His voice was low.
“You think I paid thirty dollars for your body?”
Evelyn swallowed.
“What else does a man buy a wife for?”
“To make certain people believe exactly what they already believed about me.”
She frowned.
“What?”