Mara said nothing about her suspicion for four days.
Not because she feared Abel.
Because she feared being wrong.
She had wanted many things in her life.
A home nobody could take.
A husband who respected her.
Land.
Freedom.
But she had learned early that wanting something too openly gave disappointment a sharper blade.
So she waited.
The day after Rourke’s arrest, Wolfjaw felt different.
Not safer exactly.
But lighter.
Abel repaired the broken door.
Mara rehung the blue curtain after carefully sewing the torn edge.
“You could buy another,” Abel said.
“I like this one.”
“It’s damaged.”
“So are most worthwhile things.”
He looked at her.
Mara smiled.
“You are learning.”
Mercy Hollow changed too.
People who once predicted Mara would flee began stopping her in the street to ask about mountain life.
Mr. Pike remained in jail.
Judge Caldwell ordered an investigation into years of falsified claims.
Several families discovered Rourke had manipulated deeds and debts.
The great empire of Silas Rourke began collapsing faster than anyone expected.
Yet the moment people talked about most was not the arrest.
It was Mara Bell Stone head-butting the richest man in the county.
At the general store, one woman whispered, “Is it true?”
Mara looked at her.
“Which part?”
“That you broke his nose?”
“I believe the floor contributed.”
By spring, Wolfjaw transformed.
Snow retreated from the lower meadow.
Creeks swelled.
Pines smelled sharp and alive.
Mara planted onions despite Abel insisting he hated them.
“You can plant anything else.”
“I like onions.”
“I live here too.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like agreement.”
“It isn’t.”
He looked toward the garden.
“How many did you plant?”
“Two rows.”
“Mara.”
“Marriage requires sacrifice.”
“You are making me sacrifice.”
“Exactly.”
She started laughing before he finished complaining.
Their marriage deepened through ordinary days.
That surprised Mara most.
She had expected passion to arrive dramatically.
Maybe during danger.
Maybe in moonlight.
Instead love seemed to grow through a hundred small acts.
Abel warming her boots near the stove before she woke.
Mara leaving biscuits wrapped in cloth when he rode to the high meadow.
His hand finding the small of her back whenever they entered a crowded place.
Her fingers brushing snow from his beard.
The way he listened when she spoke.
The way she refused to let him hide behind silence.
One April morning, Mara became sick behind the barn.
Abel heard.
He came running with a rifle.
Mara straightened.
“Why are you armed?”
“I heard you making a terrible noise.”
“I was vomiting.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You thought someone was murdering me?”
“Yes.”
“With what? Spoiled oatmeal?”
Abel lowered the rifle.
Then froze.
Mara saw the realization in his face.
“When did you last—”
She pointed a finger.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
His mouth closed.
Mara wiped her mouth.
“I was planning to tell you tonight.”
His eyes widened.
“You know?”
She nodded.
“I saw Dr. Keller yesterday.”
Abel did not move.
Mara suddenly became nervous.
“Abel?”
“You’re…”
“Pregnant.”
His knees nearly failed.
Mara caught the fence and laughed.
“Sit down before the giant of Wolfjaw becomes the first man killed by good news.”
He sat heavily on a chopping block.
Mara approached.
For several seconds he only stared at her stomach.
There was barely anything to see.
Then his eyes filled.
Mara had seen Abel furious.
Amused.
Afraid.
Tender.
She had never seen him cry.
He covered his face.
Her laughter stopped.
“Oh, Abel.”
She crouched awkwardly in front of him.
He took her hands.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I.”
“What if—”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No borrowing tragedy from tomorrow,” she said.
His thumbs moved across her fingers.
“A baby.”
“Yes.”
“Ours?”
Mara raised an eyebrow.
“I strongly recommend you stop there.”
He laughed through tears.
Then he pulled her into his arms.
The months that followed nearly drove Mara insane.
Not pregnancy.
Abel.
“Don’t lift that.”
“It weighs six pounds.”
“Still.”
“Don’t climb that.”
“It has two steps.”
“Still.”
“Don’t ride alone.”
“I am going to the mailbox.”
“Still.”
One afternoon Mara finally threw a dish towel at him.
“I am pregnant, Abel Stone, not made of glass.”
He caught the towel.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I worry.”
“You have turned worry into a profession.”
He approached.
“Can I help it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Trust me.”
He sighed.
“I do.”
“Then act like it.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I’ll try.”
He did.
Mostly.
Summer arrived.
Mara’s belly grew.
The image Mercy Hollow had once held of her—the unsuitable bride, the loud woman, the too-large woman—seemed almost absurd now.
She thrived on Wolfjaw.
She hauled water.
Cooked.
Managed accounts.
Helped with livestock.
Shot at coyotes when necessary.
Argued with merchants.
And carried Abel’s child with a fierce joy that terrified her.
Then came the letter.
Silas Rourke was awaiting trial in Denver.
One of his former partners had purchased several of his debts.
Among them was an old lien supposedly attached to Wolfjaw.
Mara read the legal notice twice.
Abel cursed.
“I thought this was finished.”
“It is never finished with men who use paper like bullets.”
The lien claimed Abel’s father had borrowed money against the southern portion of Wolfjaw.
If valid, they could lose nearly four hundred acres.
Including the cabin.
Mara folded the letter.
“Who bought the debt?”
“Charles Vane.”
“Know him?”
“No.”
Three days later, Charles Vane arrived.
Unlike Rourke, Vane did not threaten.
That made him more dangerous.
He wore an expensive coat.
He smiled politely.
“I don’t want trouble.”
“Then leave,” Mara replied.
Vane ignored her.
He offered Abel a compromise.
Sell the mineral rights.
Vane would forgive the debt.
Abel refused.
Vane sighed.
“You people never learn.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“What people?”
“Proud people.”
“You mean people who notice theft?”
His smile cooled.
“I can legally take this property.”
“Can you?”
“I have the lien.”
Mara held out her hand.
“May I see it?”
Vane hesitated.
Then gave her a copy.
Mara studied it.
This time she found no immediate mistake.
Dates aligned.
Signatures seemed accurate.
Abel’s father apparently had borrowed money.
Mara’s heart sank.
After Vane left, Abel sat at the table.
“My father had debts.”
“Did you know?”
“Not this.”
“What was happening that year?”
He thought.
“That was when the cattle died.”
“How many?”
“Half the herd.”
“He may have borrowed to survive.”
Mara nodded.
“What happened to the loan?”
“I don’t know.”
Again, paperwork.
Again, the past.
Only now Mara was eight months pregnant.
And furious.
They searched old records.
Nothing.
Mara visited the county office.
Nothing.
She questioned former bankers.
Nothing.
Then Samuel Whitaker remembered something.
“Your mother,” he told Abel. “She sold land.”
Abel frowned.
“What land?”
“Property in Kansas.”
Mara leaned forward.
“When?”
“The same year.”
“Why?”
Whitaker shrugged.
“To pay something, I assumed.”
Mara and Abel looked at each other.
A repayment.
They traveled to the old bank records office.
After hours of searching, a clerk found a ledger.
Payment received.
Loan satisfied.
Full amount.
Mara nearly shouted.
“Receipt?”
The clerk shook his head.
“Ledger is official.”
Charles Vane’s lien was worthless.
They returned to Wolfjaw victorious.
That evening Mara stood beside the old well laughing as Abel tried to wash mud from his arms in a wooden bathing barrel.
“You smell like livestock.”
“I was repairing fence.”
“The cattle smell better.”
“Helpful.”
Mara’s belly was enormous now.
She had tied her skirt higher to avoid mud.
She pulled the well rope, raising a bucket.
Abel looked suspiciously at her.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“I know that expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one before you do something foolish.”
Mara smiled sweetly.
Abel pointed.
“Mara.”
She tipped the bucket.
Water crashed over his head.
Abel came up sputtering.
Mara laughed so hard she nearly dropped the rope.
“MARA BELL STONE!”
The horses startled.
A ranch hand in the distance turned.
Mara raised one fist triumphantly.
“You needed rinsing!”
Abel stood inside the barrel.
Water streamed down his beard.
“You realize I can pick you up.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He climbed out.
Mara backed away.
“Abel.”
He advanced.
She laughed.
“You’re soaking wet!”
“That appears to be your fault.”
She tried running.
At eight months pregnant, running consisted of moving quickly while complaining.
Abel caught her within six steps.
He lifted her carefully.
She squealed.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
“You giant menace!”
“You started a war.”
Their laughter echoed against the mountains.
For perhaps the first time since Eli died, Wolfjaw truly sounded alive.
Then Mara suddenly stopped laughing.
Abel froze.
“What?”
Her eyes widened.
A warm trickle ran down her leg.
“Abel.”
His face went pale.
“What?”
“I think…”
Another contraction seized her.
Mara grabbed his shoulders.
“Oh!”
Abel’s panic was immediate.
“The baby?”
Mara breathed through the pain.
“Yes.”
“It’s early.”
“I know.”
“What do I do?”
“You can begin by putting me down.”
He nearly dropped her trying to obey.
Within fifteen minutes Abel had harnessed the wagon incorrectly twice.
Mara watched from the porch between contractions.
“Abel.”
“What?”
“The horse goes in front.”
He stared at the tangled harness.
“I know that.”
“Your current arrangement suggests otherwise.”
“I’m nervous!”
“So am I!”
The nearest doctor was in Mercy Hollow.
Forty miles away.
And dark storm clouds were already gathering over Wolfjaw.
By the time they started down the mountain, rain had begun.
Halfway to town, the bridge over Black Creek was gone.
Abel stared at the flooded water.
Mara gripped the wagon seat as another contraction came.
“Abel.”
He turned.
Her face told him everything.
They were not going to Mercy Hollow.
Their baby was coming on Wolfjaw Mountain.
Tonight.
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