Chapter 15
Martha found Eliza waiting for her at the kitchen door the following morning, already dressed for going out.
That alone was enough to make Martha suspicious.
Eliza usually moved through the inn in a blur of work from the moment she woke.
She would have been up before Martha, checking the stove, starting coffee, and making certain there was enough bread for breakfast. This morning, however, she stood with her bonnet tied beneath her chin and her hands clasped in front of her.
Martha stopped halfway across the kitchen. “You’re dressed to leave,” she observed.
Eliza’s smile appeared almost immediately. “I am.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need the day off.”
Martha glanced toward the stove, then toward the dining room beyond it. Breakfast was already underway, and nothing appeared to be burning. “You’re asking me?”
“I am.”
“Then yes.”
Eliza blinked. “That easily?”
“You have worked nearly every day since the last storm. You can have today.”
A grin broke across Eliza’s face.
Martha narrowed her eyes. “There’s something else.”
“There isn’t.”
“There absolutely is.”
Eliza reached for the door, but Martha caught her by the sleeve. “You're practically glowing.”
Eliza laughed and looked down at herself. “I am not.”
“You are.”
Martha lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Is this about the man I think it is?”
The flush that rose into Eliza’s cheeks answered before she did.
Martha’s own smile widened. “There it is.”
“Don’t.”
“You have to tell me now. Besides, I already know enough!”
Eliza glanced toward the hallway, checking that no one was nearby. “Reuben asked me to the winter market.”
“I thought you two were having a bit of trouble?” Martha asked, but she was smiling, thrilled to see her friend looking so vibrant, so happy.
“So did I.”
That made Martha laugh.
Eliza smiled despite herself, then tucked a loose strand of hair beneath her bonnet. “He’s been coming into town more often.”
“I’d noticed that much.”
“I see him in the mornings when I go to the general store.” Eliza's smile turned shy. “We started talking.”
“And now he’s taking you to the market.”
“Yes.”
Martha squeezed her arm. “I’m happy for you.”
Eliza’s expression turned grateful, soft with a shy pleasure. “Thank you.”
“Now go on, and you’d better enjoy yourself.”
“I intend to.” She slipped out before Martha could tease her again.
Martha stood alone in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the scrape of chairs in the dining room and the muted conversations beyond the swinging door.
Then her thoughts turned, as they had been doing with increasing frequency. Though this time, having just been speaking about his brother, it felt a bit more natural, to think of Jonas.
She could picture him too easily.
His dark hair pulled back from his face. The scar along his cheek. The quiet way he watched people when he thought they weren’t watching him. The warmth of his hand around hers when she had shown him how to knead bread.
Her stomach fluttered, and Martha pressed a hand against it as though she could settle the sensation.
This was foolish. She was a widow. She had loved Amos.
A year was not long enough to forget that.
And yet, when Jonas smiled at her, something inside her answered before she had time to stop it.
The happiness lasted only a moment, quickly followed by the guilt.
It wasn’t just the lingering feeling of disloyalty to Amos. It was also, perhaps more importantly, about the fact that Jonas did not know everything about her.
He knew about the orphanage. He knew she had traveled before settling in Willow Crossing. He knew she had made choices she did not like discussing.
He did not know about Gideon Voss.
He did not know what she had done for the gang.
Most of all, he did not know that the same men who had killed his father had once considered her one of them.
Martha's stomach tightened.
If he ever learned the truth, would he still look at her the way he did now?
She doubted it.
That was the danger of letting herself want something.
Eventually, the truth always came looking for her.
***
By evening, the inn had filled and emptied with visitors to the center of Willow Crossing out to see the winter market.
It was held every year before spring, when the worst of winter was beginning to loosen its grip but the ground remained too hard for planting.
Traders brought what they had saved or made through the cold months: carved wooden toys, knitted goods, preserved food, leatherwork, candles, tools, and small luxuries that made a long winter easier to bear.
The town hung lanterns from ropes between several of the buildings, and Martha could see them from her own window, their cheery flames flickering whenever the wind slipped down the street.
Martha had just finished clearing the last of dinner when Eliza came through the door. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her eyes were bright.
Martha smiled immediately. “You had a good time, it seems.”
Eliza put both hands over her heart. “I had a wonderful time.”
“I want details.” Martha leaned in and clasped her hands over her heart.
Eliza pulled off her gloves and rolled up her sleeves. “You are not getting them while the kitchen looks like this.”
Martha laughed as Eliza began collecting plates. “You're avoiding the question.”
“I am preserving your humble attitude, that’s all.”
“My what?”
“You heard me. You don't need to know everything.”
Martha shook her head as Eliza carried the dishes toward the kitchen, but she stopped before she made it all the way there and cast a look at Martha. “You should go.”
Martha followed her, her own arms full of dishes. “Where?”
“To the market.”
“I’m tired enough as it is from working all day.”
“That is exactly why you should go.”
Martha began stacking cups. “With whom?”
Eliza looked at her pointedly.
Martha understood. “No.”
“You're already smiling.”
Martha set down the cup she was holding. Before she could answer, the front door opened.
Jonas stepped inside, brushing snow from his coat.
His gaze found Martha almost immediately before turning to Eliza.
“Eliza,” he greeted. “Martha.”
Eliza smiled at him. “I was just telling Martha she should go to the market.”
Jonas glanced at Martha. “Would you like some company?”
Martha's heart gave one hard beat.
She looked toward the window, where lantern light moved across the snow outside. “Yes,” she said, before her head could catch up to her tongue. “I’d like that.”
Eliza's smile became unbearable.
Martha pointed at her. “Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
Jonas looked between them, clearly amused.
A clatter sounded from the staircase, and Percy appeared. “I’ll come too!” he shouted eagerly, quickly getting bundled into his coat, eager to see the market.
They stepped outside together, making their way to the warm, bright lights just a short walk away from the front door of the inn, Percy chattering about all they could do together.
He lasted less than half an hour beside Martha before spotting several boys he knew near one of the stalls, however, and looked to her eagerly.
“Can I go?”
Martha looked toward the group.
“Stay where I can see you.”
Percy grinned. “I will.”
“And don't wander off.”
“I won't.” He was already halfway gone as he answered.
Martha watched him disappear into the crowd.
Jonas handed her a tin cup. “Coffee.”
She accepted it, enjoying its warmth in her hands. “Thank you.”
They walked slowly between the stalls.
The market was louder than the inn ever became. Merchants called out prices, children ran between adults, and horses shifted restlessly in the cold. The scent of coffee, roasted nuts, smoke, and wool mingled in the sharp evening air.
Martha stopped beside a table covered with small carved animals. She picked up a wooden fox.
“Percy would like this.”
“He would.”
She turned it over in her hand. “When I was his age, I think I would have liked it too.”
Jonas looked at her. “Is that so? What was young Martha like?”
Martha set the fox down. “Restless.”
“I can believe that.”
She laughed.
“It seems strange for someone restless to open an inn. Did you always have that interest?” Jonas asked.
Martha smiled faintly. “Not always. When I was little, I wanted to draw.”
“You still do, and very well, as I well know.”
“Not as much as I should. I used to fill every scrap of paper I could find. My mother would give me pieces she didn't need, and I thought each one was important. I was convinced I would grow up and become very important because of it.”
Jonas laughed softly. “Did you?”
“No.” She looked down the busy street. “I grew up and discovered that being an adult mostly means discovering how many things you don't know. And besides, what room is there for that sort of work for a woman? A widow, no less?”
“That sounds about right.”
She laughed, and some of the tension left her shoulders.
“When I was young, I thought everything would be easier once I was grown. I thought I would have my own place, make my own decisions, and never have to worry about anyone telling me what I could or couldn't do.”
“And now?”
“Now I know better.”
“What did you think you'd do with all that freedom?” his voice was soft and thoughtful.
Martha considered the question. “I don't know,” she admitted. “Something different, I suppose. Something that belonged entirely to me.”
“And did you find it?”
She looked at him then, at the kind and genuine curiosity in his brown eyes. “I thought I had.” She paused, feeling carefully for her next words. “I made some choices I wouldn't make now,” she admitted.
Jonas glanced toward her. “Bad choices?”
“Questionable ones.” She took a sip of coffee. “Some of them led me to Amos.”
Jonas waited, and she stared out into the cozy, brightly lit space, wondering how much she could tell him. The line between what he could and couldn’t know about her past was buried within the truth of her history and how she had ended up there. She bit her lip.
“And, well, eventually to this place.” She gestured toward the inn in the distance. “So I can't regret every choice that brought me here.”
He nodded. “I understand that.”
Martha looked at him. “You do?”
“I've made choices I wouldn't repeat.”
“Choices you regret?” Jonas was so assured, so constant and seemed to always know precisely what to do no matter what the situation, it was hard to imagine him having any regrets.
Jonas considered the question. “Some.”
The answer seemed honest enough that she smiled. They continued down the row of stalls.
A woman sold ribbons from a wooden box. Beside her, a man displayed silver buttons and small brooches. Martha paused over one shaped like a leaf.
Jonas noticed. “You like it.”
“I do.”
“Then buy it.”
She laughed. “I don't need it.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Martha touched the brooch with one gloved finger before stepping away.
They reached the quieter edge of the market, where the stalls thinned and the river could be seen beyond the buildings.
Martha stopped.
“Jonas?”
He turned toward her.
“Have you ever been in love?”
She could see that the question surprised him. For several seconds, he simply looked at her.
Martha felt the cold against her cheeks, though she suspected the warmth spreading through them had nothing to do with the weather.
“No,” he said finally.
She waited for more to follow.
“I never thought much about it.”
“And now?”
His gaze remained on hers. “I'm thinking it might be a good thing that it didn’t happen in the past. Because I’ve found myself considering it now.”
Martha forgot how to breathe, and Jonas did not look away.
The noise of the market seemed to recede around them.
She could hear her own heartbeat.
Then someone laughed nearby, the sound harsh, followed by a rising chatter of voices.
Martha looked over.
Two women stood beside a stall several yards away. One leaned toward the other, whispering behind her gloved hand.
From where they were standing, Martha could catch only fragments of what they were saying, though it could not have been clearer that they were talking openly about Jonas and Martha.
She heard, “Widow… All those proposals… Now him.”
The other woman glanced snidely toward Jonas, and her expression made the meaning unmistakable.
Martha's stomach dropped.
Jonas noticed her expression. “Leave it,” he said quietly, nudging her with his shoulder.
She stared at him. “They're talking about you.”
“I know.”
“And you don't care?”
“No.”
Martha looked toward the women again. One of them met her eyes and Martha felt something old and hot rise beneath her ribs.
She had spent a year listening to people decide what kind of woman she was.
A poor widow.
A foolish businesswoman.
A woman who ought to accept the first respectable man who offered her a ring.
Now they had decided she was something worse because she had chosen to walk through a market beside Jonas.
She stepped toward them.
Jonas caught her arm gently. “Martha.”
She stopped. “They don't know anything about us.”
“They don't need to.”
“They have no right to talk about us in that manner.”
His hand loosened around her arm and Martha turned back toward the women. Her voice carried farther than she intended as she called out to them, “If you have something to say about me, say it where I can hear you.”
The conversations nearby faltered and several heads turned. The two women went silent.
Martha's heart hammered, but she refused to lower her eyes.
One of the women finally gave an awkward shrug. “We were only talking.”
“Then talk about your own life,” Martha shot back without hesitation.
Jonas stepped beside her.
“Martha.”
She looked at him.
His expression held no anger, only concern, and for one second, she wondered if she had embarrassed him.
Then she looked around at the faces watching them and realized she was no longer ashamed.
Not of Jonas.
Not of herself.
And certainly not because Willow Crossing had decided it had a right to judge who stood beside her.
There was no other place she’d rather be than by his side.