Chapter 9 - Christmas NightThey packed immediately.
Caleb wanted to stay long enough to eat a hot meal.
Mave refused.
“We have the money.”
“I know.”
“The bank opens in the morning.”
“I know.”
“You think the money is safer bouncing fifty miles through darkness?”
“I think I won’t believe we saved the ranch until Garrison stamps the paper.”
Caleb understood.
They secured the cash box beneath Mave’s blanket.
The market disappeared behind them as the wagon rolled into the night.
Christmas lanterns shrank into points of light.
Then vanished.
The horses were tired.
So were they.
Caleb’s entire body hurt.
Mave leaned against the side of the wagon, one hand resting on the cash box.
For several miles, neither spoke.
Finally Caleb said, “You were right.”
“About what?”
“The market.”
“That must be painful.”
“You have no idea.”
She smiled faintly.
He looked at her.
“And I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“More things.”
“That sounds healthier.”
Caleb laughed quietly.
Then his face became serious.
“About you.”
Mave looked toward him.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“When I wrote that advertisement, I thought I needed someone who could make the house less empty.”
She said nothing.
“I never asked what you knew. What you wanted to build. I imagined a wife before I imagined a person.”
Mave pulled the blanket tighter.
“That isn’t unusual.”
“No.”
“It also isn’t flattering.”
“I know.”
He glanced at her.
“I’m sorry.”
This apology felt different from the first one.
Then he had apologized because he had been caught.
Now he understood more clearly what he had done.
Mave looked forward again.
“My father used to say apologies are like repairs.”
Caleb smiled.
“Of course he did.”
“He said you can tell whether a man means it by whether the same thing breaks twice.”
Caleb nodded.
“That sounds fair.”
Snow began falling lightly.
Not enough to slow them.
Just small flakes crossing the lantern light.
Near midnight they stopped to rest the horses.
Caleb built a tiny fire in the shelter of rocks.
Mave sat beside it.
Her bandaged hands rested in her lap.
“What happens after tomorrow?” she asked.
Caleb looked at her.
“We pay the bank.”
“I know.”
“Then we work.”
“That is your entire plan?”
“Apparently I’m learning from you.”
Mave smiled.
Caleb added, “The ranch still needs repairs. Feed. Fences. The forge has orders.”
“Those are my orders.”
“The forge is on the ranch.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a man claiming ownership.”
“No.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“That’s not what I mean.”
He thought carefully.
“You should keep the forge income.”
Mave frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It’s your work.”
“And the forge uses your building, coal, property, horses, wagon, and account book.”
“Our account book.”
The word slipped out.
Mave noticed.
Caleb did too.
Neither corrected it.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said.
“Partnership?”
She gave him a warning look.
“Careful.”
He smiled.
They returned to the wagon.
Christmas morning arrived as the eastern sky lightened.
When the ranch appeared on the horizon, Caleb’s throat tightened.
Nothing had changed.
The barn still sagged.
The fence still leaned.
The windmill still carried its cracked blade.
But it no longer looked like a graveyard.
Smoke stains marked the forge chimney.
New hardware shone against old doors.
Work waited everywhere.
For months Caleb had looked at the ranch and seen only what was dying.
Now he saw what could be repaired.
They reached the house shortly after sunrise.
Mave carried the cash box inside.
She placed every coin and bill on the table.
Counted it again.
Caleb removed his coat.
“You think some disappeared?”
“No.”
“You’ve counted three times.”
“Four.”
He sat.
Mave finally finished.
“All here.”
Caleb looked toward the window.
“The bank opens at nine.”
Mave sat opposite him.
Neither had slept properly in days.
Neither seemed able to sleep now.
Caleb made coffee.
Real coffee.
He had been saving a small amount for Christmas.
Mave took one sip.
Her eyebrows rose.
“This is actually coffee.”
“I’ve been hiding it.”
She stared.
“No more lies.”
“It was Christmas coffee.”
“Still deception.”
He laughed.
Mave did too.
The sound filled the little cabin.
It was the first time laughter had lived there in years.
At eight-thirty they put the money back into the box.
Caleb stood at the door.
Then stopped.
The foreclosure notice was visible across the yard.
Paper moving in the winter wind.
Nine days earlier, it had looked like a death sentence.
Now he walked past it.
Not yet.
First the bank.
Then the notice.
He and Mave climbed into the wagon together.
The cash box sat between them.
For the first time since she arrived, Caleb did not feel like he was taking her toward one of his problems.
They were going toward something they had solved together.
Or almost solved.
Until Garrison stamped those documents, nothing was certain.
May you like
Caleb flicked the reins.
The wagon moved toward town.
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