“What do you see?”
She looked at the scar.
Then his enormous hands.
Then the blue eye.
“A man who stops when I flinch.”
Elias’s throat moved.
“What do you see?”
He looked at her with such intensity she almost regretted asking.
“A woman who keeps walking while people laugh.”
Her eyes filled.
Elias continued.
“A woman who finds numbers other people hope she’ll miss.”
“A woman who fills a house without asking permission to exist inside it.”
His thumb moved across her knuckles.
“And a woman I think about in my bed when I’m pretending I’m perfectly comfortable alone.”
Mabel’s breath stopped.
Elias looked alarmed by his own honesty.
She smiled.
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Comfortable alone?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stood.
Held out her hand.
Elias stared.
“Mabel.”
“You’re my husband.”
His face tightened slightly.
She smiled.
“That was not permission.”
He understood.
Mabel continued:
“This is.”
She kept her hand extended.
Elias stood.
Huge.
Nervous.
The butcher of Red Ridge looked nervous.
Mabel almost laughed.
She led him toward the house.
That night, they shared a bed for the first time.
Nothing about it resembled the jokes Red Ridge men had made.
No conquest.
No humiliation.
No dramatic proof that Elias could “handle” the town’s heaviest woman.
They talked longer than they kissed.
Mabel told him when she was nervous.
Elias stopped whenever she stiffened.
Every time.
Eventually she became the one pulling him closer.
Later, under blankets while winter wind moved along the cabin walls, Mabel rested her head against his chest.
Elias traced lazy circles over her shoulder.
She whispered:
“Do you regret it now?”
He looked down.
“Marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Still early.”
She slapped his chest.
He laughed.
Mabel smiled into him.
Then Elias grew serious.
“No.”
“Why?”
He thought.
“Because before you came, nobody in this house ever argued with the pantry.”
Mabel stared.
“That’s your answer?”
“You reorganized it three times.”
“The shelves were wrong.”
“You labeled salt.”
“You confused salt and sugar.”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
Elias kissed her forehead.
Mabel smiled.
The humor faded.
He whispered:
“The real answer scares me.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Elias looked toward the ceiling.
“I built this place thinking silence was peace.”
“Then you came.”
She waited.
“Now when you’re in town, the quiet feels wrong.”
Mabel’s eyes filled.
She moved closer.
“You should have started there.”
“I’m learning.”
They left for Helena the next morning.
The mountain pass nearly stopped them.
Snow.
Ice.
One wagon wheel cracked.
They spent a night in a hunting cabin without a proper stove.
Mabel complained.
Elias fixed the chimney.
She cooked beans.
He drew her while she slept.
Mabel discovered the sketch the next morning.
She stared.
He had drawn her lying under blankets, hair loose, one hand beneath her cheek.
No caricature.
No attempt to slim her.
Her body filled most of the bed exactly as it did in life.
And the drawing was beautiful.
Mabel’s throat tightened.