“That sounds remarkably like asking.”
“I’m wondering aloud.”
“Wonder quieter.”
He nodded.
Then ate.
Five minutes passed.
The woman sighed.
“You are infuriating.”
“I’m eating.”
She looked toward the stove.
Then at the rain.
Perhaps near-death weakened judgment.
Perhaps warm rooms did.
Perhaps his earlier refusal to judge her body had loosened something she had kept tied too long.
She spoke.
“There was an academy in Boston.”
The mountain man put down his spoon.
He did not interrupt.
“My uncle taught mathematics.”
“Your father?”
“Sold machines.”
“Textile equipment.”
“Pumps.”
“Steam fittings.”
“Anything factories needed.”
She traced one finger along the edge of the bowl.
“I liked the machines more than the customers.”
The mountain man smiled.
“Reasonable.”
“My uncle started teaching me privately.”
“Geometry.”
“Statics.”
“Mechanical advantage.”
“Material stress.”
“Basic hydraulic principles.”
“When the academy expanded its lecture program, he convinced them to let me attend.”
“A woman?”
“One woman.”
The mountain man understood.
“Did they make it easy?”
She laughed.
“No.”
“I sat in the last row.”
“Men deliberately blocked the board.”
“Professors asked me questions they did not ask anyone else.”
“One man said my body proved I lacked discipline.”
The mountain man’s face hardened.
She continued.
“I received the highest marks anyway.”
“First honors.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward where the medallion rested beneath her borrowed shirt.
“What happened?”
The woman’s face changed again.
“There was a bridge.”
The mountain man waited.
“Industrial footbridge inside a mill complex.”
“My uncle’s firm reviewed modifications.”
“I found a load problem.”
“One support had been changed during construction.”
“Cheaper iron.”
“Wrong thickness.”
“I calculated failure under maximum shift traffic.”
“Did you tell them?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They ignored me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Because you were a woman?”
“Because replacing it would cost money.”
“Being a woman made dismissing me easier.”
She stared at the stove.
“A year later, the bridge collapsed during shift change.”
The mountain man stopped breathing.
“How many?”
“Eleven dead.”
His eyes lowered.
“Twenty-three injured.”
“I testified.”
“What happened?”
“The company said I had altered calculations afterward.”
His head snapped up.
“They blamed you?”
“They did worse.”
“They made uncertainty useful.”
“Some professors supported me privately.”
“Not publicly.”
“My uncle tried.”
“They destroyed him professionally.”
She touched the medallion unconsciously.
“So I left.”
“Boston?”
“Everything.”
“Why California?”
“No one here knew me.”
The mountain man looked around the cabin.
“Until now.”
Her eyes met his.
“Yes.”
Rain filled the silence.
Then he asked:
“Did you alter anything?”
The woman stared.