Seth's injury changed the Mercer household in ways no one discussed openly.
The first change was that Seth stopped spitting near Cora's boots.
The second was that Caleb began trusting her enough to argue honestly instead of merely glaring.
The third was more dangerous.
Cora began caring whether Wyatt came home safely each evening.
Winter settled over the mountains in earnest.
Snow piled against the lower windows.
The mountain road disappeared beneath white.
For weeks, the Mercer family lived in its own little world.
Cora resumed lessons as soon as Seth could sit downstairs with his leg elevated.
At first, he complained.
"If I'm injured, shouldn't I get a vacation?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Your brain isn't injured."
"Feels injured."
"Arithmetic will cure it."
"Arithmetic caused it."
Cora narrowed her eyes.
"Explain."
"I was counting trees when I fell."
Caleb laughed so hard he nearly dropped his slate.
Even Wyatt chuckled from his chair.
It became easier after that.
Laughter.
Meals.
Stories.
Small routines.
Without anyone deciding it, Cora became the center around which the house turned.
She learned to bake edible cornbread.
Then good cornbread.
The first time Seth asked for seconds, she nearly framed the moment.
Wyatt taught her how to handle a rifle safely, not because he expected danger but because anyone living that far from town needed to know.
Cora taught Wyatt to read more fluently.
That surprised her.
"You own thirty books."
"Mary liked books."
"You don't?"
"I like them."
"But?"
"Reading was slow for me."
Cora understood immediately.
"You were never taught properly."
"I went to school some."
"How much?"
"Enough."
"That means almost none."
Wyatt gave her a look.
She gave him one back.
So after the boys slept, sometimes they sat beside the fire.
Cora read.
Wyatt followed.
He hated being corrected until he realized she never mocked him.
Eventually, he began reading paragraphs aloud.
One night he reached the end of an entire page without stumbling.
Cora smiled.
"You did it."
Wyatt looked absurdly pleased.
Then embarrassed to be pleased.
"No one's ever said that to me about reading."
Cora's smile faded.
"Then everyone before me failed you."
Their eyes met.
The fire cracked.
Neither moved.
There were moments now when the agreement between them felt too small for what was growing inside it.
Cora sometimes caught Wyatt looking at her when he thought she wasn't watching.
Not at her body.
At her.
When she laughed.
When she taught.
When she tucked a blanket around Seth.
When she praised Caleb.
Wyatt noticed how Cora's face changed around the boys too.
At first, she had regarded them as a responsibility.
Now Seth leaned against her while she read.
Caleb sought her opinion.
One evening, Caleb brought Cora a carved wooden bird.
"I made it."
"It's beautiful."
He shrugged.
"You can have it."
Cora stared at him.
"For me?"
"Don't make it strange."
She smiled.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
That night she placed it beside her bed.
The most important moment came during Christmas week.
A storm trapped them inside.
Cora suggested decorating.
Seth asked what for.
"For Christmas."
"We never decorate."
"Why?"
Caleb looked toward Wyatt.
Their father was silent.
Mary had loved Christmas.
After her death, Wyatt simply stopped celebrating.
Cora understood.
She didn't force the issue.
Instead, she gathered evergreen branches and placed them in a pitcher.
The next day Caleb added pinecones.
Seth cut crooked paper stars.
Wyatt returned from the barn and discovered his sons laughing while flour covered half the kitchen.
He stood in the doorway.
For a second his face looked devastated.
Cora worried she had crossed a line.
Then Wyatt walked to a cabinet.
He removed a small wooden box.
Inside were ornaments wrapped in cloth.
"My wife made these."
Silence fell.
Cora touched one carved star.
"They're lovely."
Wyatt swallowed.
"Boys probably don't remember."
"I remember the red horse," Caleb said.
Wyatt looked at him.
Caleb picked it up carefully.
"Mama put it above the fireplace."
Seth stared at a painted angel.
"Was this hers?"
"Yes."
Cora stepped away.
This wasn't her moment.
Wyatt noticed.
"Cora."
She turned.
He held out the angel.
"Help us?"
Her eyes burned.
She nodded.
Christmas morning, Seth gave Cora a drawing.
It showed four people standing beside a house.
The largest figure was Wyatt.
Caleb stood beside him.
Seth stood on the other side.
Cora was between the children.
At the top, in awkward handwriting, Seth had written:
OUR FAMILY.
Cora stared at it too long.
"Don't you like it?"
She pulled him into her arms.
"I love it."
Seth froze.
Then hugged her back.
Caleb looked away quickly.
Wyatt did too.
That evening after the boys slept, Cora found Wyatt on the porch.
Snow glittered beneath moonlight.
"You'll freeze."
"I'm used to it."
She stood beside him.
After a while he said, "The agreement was until spring."
Cora's heart tightened.
"Yes."
"Spring's not far."
"You want me to leave?"
Wyatt turned.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Cora's breath caught.
He looked almost angry with himself.
"I don't know how to say things the right way."
"Try."
"I don't want the old house back."
She understood.
"The quiet one."
"Yeah."
He looked through the window.
Seth's drawing hung near the fireplace.
"I didn't know how bad it was until you came."
"The boys?"
"Everything."
His eyes returned to hers.
"I thought feeding them and keeping them alive was enough."
"You loved them."
"Didn't always know how to show it."
"You do better than you think."
Wyatt stepped closer.
"Cora."
Her heart began beating faster.
"Yes?"
"I didn't marry you because I wanted a wife."
"I remember."
"I know."
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
"But somewhere along the way, I started wanting one."
Cora could barely breathe.
"Wyatt—"
A floorboard creaked inside.
They jumped apart.
Seth appeared at the window.
He pressed his face against the glass.
"ARE YOU KISSING?"
Cora burst out laughing.
Wyatt closed his eyes.
"No, Seth."
"WHY NOT?"
Caleb's voice came from inside.
"Stop spying, idiot."
"I'm not spying!"
"You've got your nose on the glass."
Cora laughed harder.
Wyatt shook his head.
The moment was gone.
But the question wasn't.
And both of them knew it.