Because both had seen what happened when land existed only as numbers to people who never walked it.
Their marriage remained argumentative.
Deeply.
Eleanor reorganized Caleb’s workshop twice.
The second time he threatened divorce.
She reminded him legal paperwork was expensive.
He returned the tools.
Mostly.
Caleb attempted cooking once while Eleanor was ill.
He created something neither could identify.
She stared at the bowl.
“What is it?”
“Stew.”
“No.”
“Technically.”
“Under what law?”
He laughed.
They ate bread.
Years passed.
Children did not come immediately.
They did not know whether they would.
That hurt Eleanor more than she expected.
Silver Hollow offered opinions.
Of course.
Maybe she was too heavy.
Maybe Caleb had waited too long.
Maybe punishment.
Maybe fate.
Eleanor stopped listening.
Caleb once found her crying after a woman made a remark at church.
He asked:
“Do you want children?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Then one question is answered.”
“What about the other?”
“We see.”
No false promise.
No blame.
That steadiness carried her.
Their first daughter arrived four years after the contract marriage.
Then a son.
Then another daughter.
Caleb became absurd around babies.
The Mountain Wolf who frightened half the county walked for hours carrying a crying infant against his chest.
Eleanor watched from bed.
“You look ridiculous.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You're singing.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“She's upset.”
“So you're singing?”
“Poorly.”
“Very.”
He glared.
The baby stopped crying.
Caleb looked triumphant.
Eleanor threw a pillow.
Their daughters grew broad-shouldered like Eleanor.
Their son inherited Caleb’s height and Eleanor’s tendency to challenge every sentence.
Caleb called this revenge.
Eleanor called it genetics.
Silver Hollow changed too.
Slowly.
Some people who mocked Eleanor later hired her.
Some apologized.
Some did not.
One woman who had once said Eleanor would never marry came to her office asking help after a dishonest brother tried taking family land.
Eleanor read the documents.
Found the problem.
Helped anyway.
Caleb asked:
“Why?”
“Because I’m not her.”
That answer satisfied him.
Fletcher Rutherford eventually returned.
Older.
Less wealthy.
Consolidated had abandoned him after investigations.
He entered Eleanor’s office one rainy afternoon.
She looked up.
“Mr. Rutherford.”
“Mrs. Morgan.”
“What do you need?”
He placed a deed on the desk.
“My sister is trying to sell inherited timber land.”
“And?”
“I don't trust the buyer.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“You came to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you read everything.”
There was humility in it.
Not enough to erase history.
Enough to recognize.
She reviewed the deed.
Found an unfair mineral-rights clause.
Explained it.
Fletcher paid the normal fee.
No revenge.
No extra charge.
Afterward Caleb asked:
“You enjoyed that.”
“Immensely.”
“So much for moral superiority.”
“I never claimed sainthood.”
“Good.”
She kissed him.
They grew older.