She laughed softly.
“Good.”
He almost smiled.
“Why good?”
“Because I’m terrified.”
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Of believing you.”
That hurt him.
She saw.
But he did not retreat.
“Then believe me slowly.”
Clara’s eyes filled again.
Caleb stood.
Walked around the table.
She looked up.
He stopped close.
Very close.
Still waiting.
Clara took his hand.
Placed it at her waist.
His breath caught.
She whispered:
“I’m tired of slowly tonight.”
He bent.
Kissed her.
Gentle.
No urgency.
No performance.
Clara’s whole body softened.
His other hand touched her cheek.
The kiss deepened only when she pulled him closer.
For a few seconds, storm, hunger, fear, and fifty sleeping people disappeared.
Then a child coughed loudly from across the room.
Clara broke away.
Caleb rested his forehead against hers.
She laughed silently.
“Perfect timing.”
“I hate this settlement.”
“No you don’t.”
“Tonight I do.”
She touched his beard.
“Tomorrow?”
“Ask me after breakfast.”
Morning brought worse news.
Snow reached the window ledges.
The north pass had fully collapsed beneath an avalanche.
No freight for at least three weeks.
Possibly four.
The church opened as a communal shelter.
Clara’s cabin could not hold everyone.
People moved downhill carefully in groups.
Clara went too.
Caleb tried to stop her.
“The trail is dangerous.”
“So is staying here alone.”
“I’ll come back.”
“When?”
He hesitated.
Exactly.
Clara dressed warmly.
Two shawls.
Heavy boots.
Caleb fashioned a broad wooden sled for supplies.
Then another for Clara if she needed it.
She stared.
“I am not riding that.”
“You might.”
“I will burn it.”
“You’d have to catch me first.”
She glared.
He smiled.
They made it halfway before Clara’s legs began trembling.
Snow came nearly to her knees.
At her size, every step required enormous effort.
She said nothing.
Caleb noticed.
“Stop.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“Caleb.”
“Sit.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You are breathing badly.”
Clara’s embarrassment flared.
Several neighbors were watching.
Old instinct returned.
Do not be the burden.
“I can walk.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“I know.”
“Then let me.”
“I am letting you.”
He pointed toward the sled.
“I am also asking you not to collapse proving something nobody asked you to prove.”
Her face burned.
He lowered his voice.
“This is not humiliation.”
“It feels like it.”
“I know.”
Clara looked toward the sled.
Then at the people.
Mae stepped forward.
“I rode it ten minutes ago.”
Clara blinked.
Mae shrugged.
“My ankle hurts.”
Nobody laughed.
Nobody stared.
Clara swallowed.
Then sat.
The sled held.
Of course it did.
Caleb had built it for her weight.
Not pretending otherwise.
Not ashamed.
Prepared.