Chapter 10
Nearly two weeks after his fall by the river, Dr. Keller finally told Jonas he could ride again.
The examination took place in the small ground-floor room Jonas had come to know too well.
Weak winter sunlight showed through the frost feathering the windows, and the coal fire had burned hot enough to leave the room close and dry.
Jonas sat on the edge of the bed while Dr. Keller pressed along the healing wound in his thigh and watched for a reaction.
The cut had closed into a dark, tender line. The surrounding skin no longer carried the angry heat that had worried Martha several days before, and Jonas could bend the leg without feeling as though the flesh might tear apart again.
Dr. Keller straightened and wiped his hands on a cloth.
“I believe that a careful ride would do you no harm, though you must take it easy. And even then, this will only be true provided you don’t act as if you had returned to full strength.
” He gave him a stern look. “That means no racing, no long hours in the saddle, and no lifting anything heavy enough to strain the healing muscle.”
Jonas agreed with more patience than he felt.
The doctor gave him a look that suggested he had heard similar agreements from men who later required stitching a second time, packed his instruments into his leather case, and went to find Martha before leaving.
Jonas remained seated after the door closed.
He had spent most of the previous week waiting for exactly this news. Each morning, he had measured the strength returning to his leg by how far he could walk before the ache deepened. First the common room. Then the dining room. The stable yard once, despite Martha's disapproval.
Now he could go home.
The thought should have settled something in him.
Instead, his attention drifted to the sounds beyond the door.
The inn was full again. Someone dragged a trunk across the lobby while Percy directed them with more confidence than most twelve-year-old boys had any right to possess.
Pots knocked together in the kitchen. Through the wall came the muted rise and fall of Eliza speaking to a guest who wanted breakfast after breakfast had already ended.
Above all of it, Jonas heard Martha.
He could not make out the words, only her voice moving from one problem to the next.
In less than two weeks, he had learned how much of the inn depended upon her noticing what everyone else overlooked.
She checked lamps before they emptied, counted sheets before they disappeared upstairs, remembered which guest had not paid, and somehow knew when Percy had skipped a meal even if the boy claimed otherwise.
The west wing remained behind a temporary barrier, exactly as it had after the collapse.
The worst debris had been shifted only far enough to keep it from pulling down anything else.
Snow lay across fallen boards where the outside wall had opened, and several sound lengths of timber remained trapped beneath ruined plaster and shingles.
Jonas thought of the Dalrymples and wondered how they were doing.
This winter was a cold one, the storms plentiful.
He wondered if his brothers had gone to help them.
Though he knew they would have, since he had asked, no matter how begrudgingly they might have done it, and how often they might have cursed his name on the ride out.
He found Martha shortly before noon in the lobby, kneeling beside a wooden crate of lamp chimneys. She was wrapping each glass cylinder in old newspaper before placing it beneath the desk, pausing every few moments to answer a question or direct someone elsewhere.
When Jonas approached without the walking stick, she noticed at once.
“Dr. Keller released you?”
There was no reason the question should sound different from any other practical matter she handled that morning, but Jonas caught the brief glance she gave his leg before returning to the glass in her hands.
“For riding,” he said. “Carefully.”
Martha tucked another chimney into the crate. “I assume he defined carefully.”
“He tried.”
That earned a small smile.
Jonas rested one hand on the front desk and looked toward the canvas blocking the west corridor. “I've been thinking about the collapsed section.”
Martha's smile disappeared.
She rose, brushing newspaper dust from her skirt. “Unless your thoughts involve three hundred dollars appearing beneath the floorboards, I suspect I've had the same ones.”
Jonas ignored the figure for the moment.
He had thought long and hard about how to broach this with her.
He knew if she caught even the slightest whiff of charity or condescension, her answer would be a hard and fast no.
Keeping his tone even, he said, “The frozen ground will make rebuilding impossible, but there’s nothing to prevent us from clearing the fallen material now.
As we find sound boards, we can stack them, cover them, and save them for spring when it’s time to rebuild.
However, any boards that are damaged beyond usefulness could still serve another purpose elsewhere. ”
Martha followed his gaze toward the damaged wing.
Jonas mentioned the Dalrymples then. “Assuming my brothers have done enough by now to get their shelter secured for the rest of the winter, Fergus will need timber if he wants to build a proper cabin.” He moved to one of the stacks of wood, pushing past the canvas and lifted a piece, balancing it in one hand as he turned back to her.
“Some of the fallen boards will be too scarred or short for rebuilding the inn, yet they’d be perfectly usable for interior braces, bunks, shelving, or patching a rough homestead. ”
Martha folded her arms.
For several moments, she studied the corridor without speaking. Jonas had already learned that silence meant she was calculating rather than refusing.
“The foundation can't be touched until the ground thaws,” she said at last. “And I'd want anything reusable here separated out and set aside first. I can’t be giving away good lumber for free.”
“Of course.”
“When something leaves this property, I see it first.”
“Also reasonable.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly at his ready agreement.
Jonas continued before she found another objection. The work would give him something useful to do during the remaining winter weeks, when tracking jobs were scarce and there was little need for him to guide settlers. Reuben and Tobias could manage the cattle without him for a while longer.
More importantly, he owed Martha more than sitting around in her common room while his leg healed. And wording it this way, like he was only looking out for the Dalrymples, seemed to be the best way of getting her to agree.
She looked at him sharply. “You don't owe me anything, you know, if that’s what this is about.”
“I was unconscious in the snow, and you carried me by yourself back to your inn, where you have since fed and cared for me,” he pointed out evenly.
“That still doesn't make you an indentured servant.”
“No. It makes me a healed man who is now capable of clearing broken timber.”
Martha almost smiled again.
Jonas knew enough not to press too hard. He waited while a guest crossed the lobby and asked Martha about fresh towels. She directed him toward Eliza, waited until he disappeared upstairs, then turned back.
“If you're taking anything to the Dalrymples, I'm going with you.”
Jonas had expected her to bargain over the value of the boards. He had not expected that.
“The road is longer by sleigh.”
“I've ridden farther than that.”
“You haven't ridden with me while I'm under orders not to overdo anything.”
“Then I'll have the pleasure of reminding you.” Her tone made clear the matter was settled.
Jonas found himself pleased by it.
He agreed, and Martha immediately began rearranging her afternoon as though she had been planning the journey all week.
An hour later, Jonas brought one of the inn's sleighs around from the stable.
The day had warmed enough to soften the upper layer of snow, though the packed road remained hard beneath the runners.
He had chosen a broad-backed gray gelding that showed no inclination to rush and spent longer than necessary inspecting the harness.
His thigh tolerated the work, but the dull ache returned whenever he forgot himself and twisted too quickly.
He had just finished laying a buffalo robe across the seat when he went around to the front entrance to help Martha carry whatever she intended to bring.
She was already outside.
Jonas stopped on the path.
Martha stood beside a small collection of supplies arranged beneath the porch roof: three wool blankets, a bundle of clothing tied in cord, two sacks of dried goods, and a woven fish trap.
None of it was new. One blanket had been patched near the edge, and the children's clothing looked as though it had passed through more than one family.
Martha was adding a small sack of beans when she noticed him.
“This isn't much,” she said, glancing down at the pile. “But it's what I can spare.”
Jonas looked from the supplies to her.
He knew that the butcher would deliver no meat to the inn. He knew she counted every lamp chimney, every nail, every match. The inn had lost an entire wing, and she still had gathered food and blankets for people she had never met.
“You don't need to give them all this.”
Martha bent to lift one of the sacks. “I know.”
Jonas took it from her before she could straighten. She gave his healing leg a pointed look, but the sack weighed little more than a few pounds, and after a moment she allowed him to carry it.
“I put fish traps along the river when I think supplies may run short,” she explained as they loaded the sleigh. “Fergus can use this one once the water opens enough. It won't feed three people by itself, but it might help.”
Jonas placed it carefully atop the blankets.