The leather was stiff from cold, and Nora’s hands shook as she worked at the buckle.
Annie climbed off the bed without being told, pulling the quilt tighter around Pearl. Will stood beside his mother, bare feet on the cold plank floor, trying to look like a man and failing only because his chin trembled.
Inside the saddlebag, Nora found no money.
Only Caleb’s worn gloves, a twist of tobacco, and an oilcloth packet tied with black thread.
Eli had said debt. Cora had said Christmas. The county would say what men always said when a widow had no paper strong enough to answer them.
But Caleb had kept something hidden.
Nora laid the packet on the table beside the dripping tin pan. The oilcloth was cracked at the corners, and across the outside, in Caleb’s own hand, were three words:
For Nora only.
Annie made a small sound and sat down hard on the edge of the bed, one hand flying to her mouth.
Will reached for the packet, but Nora caught his wrist.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
Because outside, just beyond the cabin wall, a horse blew hard in the dark.
Then came the sound of boots on the porch again.
Not one pair.
Two.
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