Clara caught his eye.
He smiled.
Fully.
There it was.
People said Caleb Morgan had forgotten how.
They were wrong.
He simply did not waste smiles.
He gave them where they belonged.
That night, Clara found him outside splitting wood.
Again.
Always work.
She stepped into the snow.
“Come inside.”
“I’m almost done.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
“Last stack.”
Clara folded her arms.
He looked up.
“What?”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Caleb drove the axe into the block.
Clara waited.
Finally he said:
“There are seventy people inside.”
“So?”
“So I am trying not to make a fool of myself in front of seventy people.”
Clara smiled.
“How?”
“By looking at you.”
Her expression softened.
“That sounds manageable.”
“It isn't.”
He stepped closer.
“You’ve spent three weeks telling everybody what to eat, when to eat, how much wood to burn, which chickens are allowed to live.”
“I saved your stomach.”
“You did.”
“You should be grateful.”
“I am.”
His voice dropped.
“More than grateful.”
Clara’s pulse shifted.
He continued.
“I wake up thinking about you.”
“I spend all day trying not to stand too close.”
“I come back at night and look for you before I take my coat off.”
Clara stared.
Caleb rubbed his face.
“There.”
“Happy?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
“That was miserable.”
“Do it again.”
“No.”
She laughed.
He stepped closer.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“I had a wife.”
“I know.”
“A boy.”
“I know.”
“I loved them.”
“I know.”
“I still do.”
“I know.”
He looked almost frustrated by her calm.
“I don’t know how to do this without feeling like I’m leaving them.”
Clara’s expression softened.
She moved closer.
“You are not walking away from them.”
“It feels like it.”
“Then carry them.”
He frowned.
“In here.”
She touched his chest.
“Bring them with you.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Say their names.”
“Miss them.”
“I am not asking you to make your past smaller so I can fit.”
Caleb’s eyes filled.
Clara smiled faintly.
“I know enough about being told to become smaller.”
That broke him.
He pulled her close.
Not violently.
Desperately.
Clara wrapped both arms around him.
His face buried against her shoulder.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then he whispered:
“Anna.”
Clara tightened her arms.
“My wife.”
“I know.”
“Jacob.”
His son.
“Seven.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Caleb continued.
“He hated carrots.”
She almost smiled.
“Then he would have suffered under my cooking.”
Caleb laughed through tears.
The sound hurt and healed at once.
Clara kissed his temple.
“There.”
“What?”
“You said their names.”
He looked at her.
“And I’m still here.”
“Yes.”
“So are they.”
His eyes closed.