Chapter 5 - THE CABIN IN FLAMES
Henry ran.
Snowshoes made running impossible.
He ran anyway.
Clara stayed behind him for the first half mile.
Then he realized she was falling back.
He stopped.
She waved him forward.
“Go!”
“No.”
“The cabin!”
“No.”
“Henry!”
He doubled back.
Her face was red from cold and exertion.
“You go at my pace or we both go home.”
“Our home is burning.”
“And breaking your neck won’t improve it.”
He hated that she was right.
They moved faster than safe.
Slower than panic wanted.
By the time they reached the ridge clearing, flames were climbing the west wall.
The roof had caught near the chimney.
Henry dropped his pack.
“Stay clear.”
Clara ignored him.
Of course.
They formed the smallest fire brigade in Montana.
Snow.
Buckets.
Blankets.
Henry hacked burning shingles loose with an axe.
Clara dragged furniture from the cabin.
Crate of flour.
Bedding.
Her carpetbag.
His ammunition box.
She came back for the table.
Henry yelled:
“Leave it!”
“It’s your table!”
“It’s wood!”
She left the table.
Then returned for the coffee tin.
Henry nearly strangled her.
Smoke rolled beneath the rafters.
A beam cracked.
“Out!”
Clara appeared through the doorway carrying something against her chest.
Henry grabbed her and pulled her clear.
The roof over the bed collapsed seconds later.
They fell into the snow.
Henry stared.
“What did you get?”
Clara opened her coat.
Ruth’s photograph.
Henry stopped.
He had kept it tucked behind a shelf near the bed.
Clara must have seen it when cleaning.
“You went back for that?”
“You couldn’t.”
He stared at the photograph.
Ruth at twenty-four.
Summer dress.
Half smiling because she disliked cameras.
Henry looked at Clara.
Soot streaked her face.
Again.
History had repeated itself so absurdly that he almost laughed.
Then saw burns on her wrist.
His humor vanished.
“You’re hurt.”
“Small.”
“You went into a burning cabin.”
“So did you.”
“I live there.”
“So do I.”
That sentence stopped him.
Their cabin.
Our mountain.
So do I.
Henry looked at the burning remains.
Then kissed her.
No planning.
No caution.
One second she was arguing.
The next his hand was against her soot-blackened cheek and his mouth on hers.
Clara froze.
Henry immediately pulled back.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widened.
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You stopped.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
Then grabbed his coat and kissed him back.
Harder.
Henry forgot cold.
Fire.
Land claims.
Daniel.
Everything.
Then Clara coughed.
Reality returned.
“We need shelter.”
“The line shack.”
Three miles south.
Barely more than logs and a roof.
Still better than open mountain.
Before leaving, Henry circled the cabin.
Fire had started outside.
Near the west wall.
Kerosene smell.
Not chimney.
Arson.
He found tracks near the woods.
Horse.
Two men.
One print had a distinctive heel plate shaped like a crescent.
Henry had seen it the day before.
Caleb Voss’s boots.
Clara saw his face.
“What?”
“Voss.”
“You’re sure?”
“Close.”
She looked at the ruins.
Anger replaced exhaustion.
“He burned our house because you wouldn’t sell.”
“Yes.”
“Then he assumes we’re either dead or desperate.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Henry frowned.
“Good?”
Clara smiled without humor.
“He’s careless when confident.”
Henry stared.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Daniel.”
The line shack had one bunk.
No canvas.
No argument.
They reached it at dusk.
Henry built a fire.
Clara sat wrapped in blankets while he dressed her wrist.
The burn was red.
Painful.
Not severe.
“Hold still.”
“You say that often.”
“You move often.”
“Character flaw.”
Henry tied the bandage.
Then sat across from her.
The small cabin smelled of pine smoke.
Outside, snow began falling.
Again.
Clara looked at Ruth’s photograph resting on the shelf.
“She was beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
No jealousy.
No discomfort.
Just truth.
Clara nodded.
“I’m glad I saved it.”
Henry looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because loving someone before me doesn’t threaten me.”
The word before hung between them.
Henry swallowed.
“Clara.”
She looked at him.
“I don’t know what this is becoming.”
“Neither do I.”
“I hired an agency because I didn’t want love.”
“You didn’t hire me.”
“I paid a fee.”
“That is deeply flattering.”
He smiled.
She continued:
“And I came because I wanted somewhere Daniel could not control.”
“Not a husband.”
“A door.”
Henry understood.
Montana had been her door.
He had been part of the landscape beyond it.
“I don’t want to become another cage.”
Clara’s face softened.
“You haven’t.”
“Could.”
“So could I.”
He frowned.
“How?”
“People control with need too.”
She looked toward the fire.
“I don’t want either of us staying because we’re afraid to be alone.”
Henry stared.
The woman the agency described as fragile had just articulated something he had spent eight years avoiding.
He had lived alone not because he preferred solitude.
Because he feared wanting something death could take.
Clara whispered:
“Ruth dying taught you loving someone can destroy you.”
His throat tightened.
“Daniel taught me loving someone can be used to own you.”
She met his eyes.
“We both learned the wrong lesson.”
Silence.
Then Henry asked:
“What lesson should we learn?”
Clara smiled faintly.
“Ask me in spring.”
He laughed.
There it was.
Real.
Warm.
Not because his nephew fell into a fountain.
Not because soot looked ridiculous.
Because Clara had said something that made living past winter imaginable.
The next morning, Henry inspected their remaining supplies.
Not enough.
Most food burned.
A little flour.
Beans.
Coffee.
Salt.
Jerky in the trail pack.
Maybe five days.
They needed help.
The nearest ranch belonged to Thomas Carter.
Same man whose smoke concern brought Dr. Walsh.
Six miles lower.
Henry and Clara left after sunrise.
Halfway down the ridge, they encountered a rider.
Deputy Trent.
He looked horrified.
“Mercer.”
Henry’s hand moved near the rifle.
Trent raised both palms.
“I’m not with Voss.”
“You rode up with him.”
“I made a mistake.”
Clara said:
“Convenient timing.”
Trent looked ashamed.
“After I left yesterday, I checked county records.”
Henry waited.
“Your claim was altered.”
There.
“By who?”
“County clerk received supplemental survey paperwork six months ago.”
“Filed by?”
“Caleb Voss.”
Henry’s jaw tightened.
Trent continued.
“I confronted him last night.”
Clara looked toward the burned ridge behind them.
“And?”
“He told me to mind my job.”
“He burned the cabin.”
Trent stared.
“What?”
Henry described the tracks.
Kerosene.
Boot plate.
Trent swore.
Then he removed a folded sheet from his coat.
“Original county copy.”
Henry took it.
His boundary was exactly where he remembered.
Voss’s survey was fraudulent.
Relief lasted two seconds.
Then Trent said:
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“Voss filed emergency petition in Helena this morning.”
“For what?”
“To declare your homestead abandoned after fire.”
Henry stared.
“He moved fast.”
“Too fast.”
Clara understood first.
“He knew the cabin would burn.”
Trent nodded.
“And there’s a witness swearing Henry Mercer left the property voluntarily before dawn.”
Henry’s eyes hardened.
“Who?”
The deputy looked at Clara.
“Daniel Shaw.”
Clara went still.
May you like
Her brother had not merely followed her to Montana.
He had helped burn down her new home.
