Caleb did not have an answer for that.
The cabin came into view just as the sun started dropping behind the western peaks. It was not much, a single room, a stone fireplace, a small barn set back about 50 yd, but it was solid, built to last. Clara climbed down from the wagon before Caleb could offer help. She stood there studying the buildings with the same careful assessment she had given the pastures.
“Foundation’s good,” she said finally. “Roof needs patching on the barn. When’s the last time you cleaned your chimney?”
“Last spring.”
“You’re overdue.” Clara picked up her bag. “Where do I sleep?”
The question caught Caleb off guard. He had been so focused on whether she would come at all that he had not considered the practical arrangements.
“Cabin’s only got 1 room,” he admitted.
“I noticed.”
“I can sleep in the barn.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s October in Montana. You’ll freeze.” Clara walked toward the cabin as though she owned it. “I assume you have extra blankets.”
“I’ll make a bedroll by the fire.”
Caleb followed her. “Clara.”
She stopped at the door and turned. “Let’s establish something right now, Caleb. I’m not some delicate flower who needs protecting from reality. I’ve shared sleeping quarters with my sisters in spaces half this size. I know how to maintain proper boundaries, and I’m certainly not worried about my virtue with a man who can barely look me in the eye.”
The words should have stung. Instead, they felt oddly respectful.
“All right, then,” Caleb said.
Clara nodded and went inside.
That first evening set the pattern for the days that followed. Clara did not ask permission. She observed, made decisions, and acted. She found the woodpile low and spent her first morning splitting logs with an efficiency that made Caleb’s back hurt just watching. She did not swing the axe like she was trying to prove something. She swung it like someone who had done this work before and knew the most effective angle for the least wasted energy.
“You’re favoring your right side,” she called out during one of his trips past the woodpile.
Caleb stopped. “What?”
“When you walk, you favor your right side.”
“Old injury. Took shrapnel at Shiloh. Doesn’t affect my work.”
Clara sunk the axe into the stump and straightened. “I didn’t say it did. But if you’re sleeping on hard ground night after night, it’s making it worse. Your bedroll needs more support on the left.”
She was right. Caleb had been waking up stiff for months now. “How would you know that?” he asked.
“My uncle took a bullet in his hip during a trading dispute. Watched him limp for 15 years before he figured out the same thing.” Clara pulled the axe free and lined up another log. “Rolled canvas makes decent padding. I’ll show you tonight.”
She did. And that night Caleb slept better than he had in a year.
3 days passed. Clara did not break, complain, or falter. On the 4th morning Caleb found her in the barn before dawn, examining the foundation stones.
“You’ve got groundwater seeping under the north corner,” she said without preamble. “Another winter of freeze-thaw and this whole section could shift.”
“I know.”
“So why haven’t you fixed it?”
Caleb leaned against the doorframe. “Because fixing it properly takes 2 people, and I’ve been working alone.”
Clara nodded. “Then today we fix it.”
“Clara—”
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