Then the roof.
Sarah objected.
He charged her labor.
One cent.
She threatened to throw him out.
He increased it to two.
In February, Gracie became ill.
Fever.
Cough.
Sarah panicked because illness had taken her husband.
Jack rode through a snowstorm to bring Dr. Harris.
Gracie recovered in three days.
Jack spent two nights in a chair beside the bed.
Sarah saw him asleep there one morning.
The sight terrified her more than the fever.
Because she was falling in love with him.
She did not want to.
Love created things you could lose.
By March, snow began melting.
Sarah started receiving offers for cooking work at a hotel in town.
Steadier wages.
A small room included.
She did not tell Jack immediately.
Then one afternoon she did.
They stood in the barn.
Jack was repairing harness leather.
“I've been offered work.”
He stopped.
“Where?”
“Dawson Hotel.”
“In town?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“April.”
He looked back at the harness.
“Good.”
Sarah felt something fall inside her.
“Good?”
“Steady work.”
“Yes.”
“Better pay?”
“A little.”
“Then you should take it.”
She stared.
“That easy?”
Jack looked confused.
“Shouldn't it be?”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“I suppose.”
He saw the hurt too late.
“Sarah.”
“No.”
She stepped backward.
“You're right.”
“That's not what I meant.”
“You don't owe us anything.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She left before he could stop her.
Jack stood alone in the barn.
Idiot.
He called himself that several times.
Did nothing.
Because telling Sarah not to take secure work sounded dangerously close to asking her to depend on him.
And Jack refused to trap her with gratitude.
So April approached.
Sarah prepared to move into town.
Gracie understood only that she would see Jack less.
She hated it.
The last Saturday before the move, Sarah cooked dinner at the farmhouse.
Not paid.
Her choice.
They ate quietly.
Afterward Gracie fell asleep upstairs in Lucy's room.
She had begun sleeping there occasionally.
Jack had moved Lucy's most precious belongings into a cedar chest.
Not hidden.
Preserved differently.
Sarah washed dishes.
Jack dried.
Neither spoke.
Finally Sarah said:
“The hotel room is small.”
Jack nodded.
“But warm.”
“Good.”
“And near the school Gracie can attend eventually.”
“Good.”
Sarah set down a plate.
“If you say good one more time, I might break something.”
Jack looked at her.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don't know.”
“That's difficult.”
“Maybe I want you to care that we're leaving.”
Jack placed the towel down.
“I care.”
“You haven't acted like it.”
“Because what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“I don't know.”
“Ask you to refuse steady work?”
“No.”
“Tell you to stay dependent on my wages?”
“No.”
“Tell you your daughter should remain here because I can't stand my own empty house?”
Sarah's eyes filled.
“No.”
Jack continued:
“Then what?”
Sarah whispered:
“Tell me what you want.”
Silence.
Jack stared at her.
That was harder.
Want was dangerous.
Need felt safer.
Duty.
Work.
Obligation.
Want meant admitting life had opened again.
He looked toward the stairs.
Then at Sarah.
“I want you here.”