“You were stubborn before you could stand.”
Abigail laughed.
Simon continued.
“Then you made my cabin feel like somebody expected me home.”
Her eyes filled.
Her mother’s words.
Food was proof a house expected you back.
She whispered:
“I love you.”
Simon looked at her.
“Still?”
“Unfortunately.”
He smiled.
“Same.”
Josiah Sterling died before either of them.
Not ruined.
Not dramatically defeated.
History rarely punished people neatly.
His empire fractured among heirs.
Several holdings were sold.
The Prescott claims remained outside it forever.
Abigail read the obituary.
Simon watched her.
“What do you feel?”
She considered.
“Nothing simple.”
“Good.”
She folded the newspaper.
“I hated him.”
“I know.”
“I feared him longer.”
“I know.”
“And part of me once desperately wanted him to want me.”
Simon remained silent.
Abigail continued:
“That used to shame me.”
“Does it now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because wanting to be loved was never the mistake.”
She looked at Simon.
“Believing I had to surrender myself to earn it was.”
He reached for her hand.
Years later, Abigail would tell that sentence to a young woman visiting their home.
The woman was twenty-two.
Tall.
Thin.
Beautiful by every conventional measure.
And engaged to a man who read her letters without permission.
Abigail listened.
Then asked:
“Does he make you feel safe?”
The woman said yes.
Then cried.
Abigail knew.
Safety was a word controlling people loved.
She said:
“Anyone can say safe.”
“Watch what happens when you disagree.”
That became one of Abigail’s rules.
Simon liked it.
He added:
“Watch what happens when you say no.”
Together, those two questions helped more than one person.
Their story became known around the Bitterroot settlements.
Of course it changed in retelling.
People claimed Simon fought twenty bounty hunters alone.
He did not.
Some claimed Abigail discovered silver personally by breaking open a rock.
She did not.
Others claimed Simon carried her ten miles through a blizzard.
It was closer to two.
Still difficult enough.
Abigail corrected anyone who exaggerated.
Simon did not.
“Let them improve me.”
She smacked his arm.
The strangest part was how often people described Abigail as lucky.
Lucky Simon found her.
True.
Lucky he loved her.
Also true.
But the word occasionally irritated her.
It erased her choices.
She had escaped.
She had survived the mountain long enough to be found.
She had testified.
She had challenged Sterling.
She had chosen Simon.
She had learned the claim.
Negotiated leases.
Built a life.
Simon did not mind when she corrected people.
One newspaper interviewer asked him:
“So you rescued your wife?”
Simon looked toward Abigail.
Then answered:
“Once.”
The interviewer smiled.
“From the snow?”
“Yes.”
“And after?”
Simon shrugged.
“After that, mostly she rescued herself.”