“You like him.”
Clara stared.
“He has been here six hours.”
“That does not answer me.”
“He is bleeding on our bedding.”
“Also not an answer.”
Clara pulled the blanket over him.
“Sleep.”
Her father smiled.
“Ordering again.”
She kissed his forehead.
“Yes.”
When she returned to the main room, the cabin felt strangely different.
Samuel occupied the narrow bed beside the fire.
One large hand rested over his stomach.
The other lay beside him.
His brown leather vest hung open.
Clara had removed his shirt to clean the wound.
Lantern light moved across his chest.
She tried not to notice how powerfully built he was.
Failed.
Then became annoyed with herself for failing.
She poured water into the wash basin.
Cleaned blood from the cloths.
Fed the fire.
Banked the stove.
Ordinary tasks.
Samuel remained still.
Outside, wind moved through dry grass.
The first light snow began tapping the window.
Clara looked toward the ceiling.
Winter coming.
Her father weakening.
Money thinning.
Spring impossibly far away.
A pressure she had carried for months settled heavily across her chest.
She sat at the table.
Then, for reasons she could never fully explain later, she lowered herself onto her knees.
Clara prayed often.
Usually briefly.
Grace before meals.
A sentence before sleep.
Requests for weather.
Safety.
Her father’s pain.
This was different.
She folded her hands.
Closed her eyes.
“Dear Lord.”
Her voice barely carried beyond the table.
“I know I should not ask for much.”
The fire cracked.
Samuel’s breathing remained slow.
“Father is growing weaker.”
Clara swallowed.
“And I don’t know what happens when I can’t do enough anymore.”
Her eyes burned.
She hated crying.
Especially alone.
It always seemed self-indulgent when there was work waiting.
A tear escaped anyway.
“I’m tired.”
The confession felt enormous.
She had never said that aloud.
Not to her father.
Not to anyone.
“I’m tired of being grateful that I’m strong enough.”
Another tear.
“I’m tired of everyone telling me how lucky Father is to have me when sometimes I want someone to ask if I’m all right.”
Behind her, Samuel’s eyes opened.
Clara did not see.
He had not been asleep for several minutes.
Pain had dragged him awake.
Then her voice kept him still.
He listened.
Clara continued.
“Please don’t let me become bitter.”
Her hands tightened together.
“I love him.”
“I would choose him again.”
“But I’m afraid.”
The words trembled now.
“I’m afraid one morning I’ll wake up and realize my whole life became caring for everyone who needed me.”
She bowed her head.
“And nobody ever wanted me.”
Samuel stared at the ceiling.
Something in his chest tightened.
Clara wiped her cheek.
Then glanced toward him.
His eyes were closed again.
She believed he slept.
“And that man.”
Her voice softened.
Samuel almost smiled despite himself.
“He looks like he has spent his whole life carrying pain.”
His smile disappeared.
“If he really has nobody waiting for him, please give him somewhere to go.”
Samuel’s throat tightened.
Clara breathed.
“And if You can spare kindness for me…”
She stopped.
Embarrassed even before God.
Then forced the words out.
“Give me a home where I am loved.”
“Not merely needed.”