Chapter 18
Jonas saw the color leave Martha's face. Silas had said something, something too low for him to hear from where he was standing.
For a moment, she stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on Silas.
Then she stepped back, her eyes lowering, her cheeks whiter than the snow outside.
Jonas moved before he had time to think. “Silas,” he called out, “Get away from her.”
Silas turned toward him. The smile he had worn a moment earlier disappeared. “This doesn't concern you.”
“It does now,” Jonas growled. “When it comes to her, it concerns me,” he said the words without thinking them through, without coming to terms with precisely how they would sound and what he was really saying.
Silas straightened, rolling his shoulders as though preparing for a fight. “Does it?” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you just finally ready to know what she's been hiding?”
Jonas felt Martha's gaze flick toward him, but he didn't look away from Silas.
“You like alluding to some hidden truth. If you have something to say, why don’t you just go on and say it?” Jonas had no fear of whatever half-baked insult this windbag kept shouting about.
Before Silas could answer, footsteps sounded behind him.
“Jonas.” Reuben appeared at his right side, Tobias at his left.
Reuben looked from Jonas to Silas. “Is there a problem?”
Silas gave a humorless laugh. “Your brother seems to think there is.”
“Then it seems to be that it would be best for you to stand down,” Reuben said.
Silas looked at him with a smirk. “And if I don't?”
Tobias stepped forward. “You should.”
The saloon had gone nearly silent.
Jonas could feel every eye in the room turned toward them. Men had stopped talking. Someone near the bar lowered his glass without drinking from it.
He glanced at his brothers.
Reuben's jaw tightened. “Go on,” he said quietly, and the threat there was unmistakable.
Silas glared between them before finally stepping back, back again, and taking his seat.
Jonas looked at Martha, who was still pale. “Let's go.”
She didn't argue. Jonas followed her out into the cold. The saloon door swung shut behind them, muting the voices inside that had piped back up now that the threat had passed.
Martha walked quickly down the street.
“Martha.”
She kept going.
“Martha, wait.”
She stopped but didn't turn around.
“What was Silas talking about?” Jonas asked. It was time they got this out in the open. At some point, Silas would spill everything. He’d like to know the actual truth before Silas told his nasty version of it.
“Nothing.”
Jonas stared at her back, confused by her stubbornness. “That wasn't nothing.”
“He was trying to frighten me.”
“Why?”
She turned then. “I don't know.”
“You do. You’ve known since the moment he got here. Just tell me. I won’t judge you for it. I’ve made my own mistakes, some ten times before learning from them.”
Her eyes flashed. “I said I don't.”
Jonas took a breath, trying to keep his voice calm. “I can't help you if I don't know what's happening. I can ask the sheriff to look into him, my brothers and I can kick him out! We can figure out a solution together.”
Her face went pale at that. “I don't need your help. And I don’t recall ever asking for it.”
She turned away again.
Jonas followed, though he kept a few steps between them.
“You've told me that before.”
“Because it's true.”
“No.” He stopped walking. “It isn't.”
Martha stopped too.
The wind caught a loose strand of her hair and pushed it across her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear without looking at him.
“Nothing is happening,” she said. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Jonas felt something inside him tighten.
He wanted to believe her.
That was the worst part.
He wanted to believe every word she said, even when he knew she wasn't telling him the whole truth.
And it hurt. Especially now, after all they had been through together. “You keep shutting me out.” He was surprised at how raw his voice sounded as he said it, how vulnerable.
Martha looked at him and then looked down, her eyes sad. “I have my reasons,” she said, her voice low.
“I know.”
“You don’t know, though; that’s the thing,” she said, and her voice had an ache in it now that was so sharp it cut him.
“Maybe not.” He took a step closer. “But I know what I feel.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
Jonas hadn't planned to say it. He wasn't even certain he could say it without making things worse.
But he was tired of pretending he didn't care.
“I care about you, Martha.”
She went still.
“I care what happens to you. I care when you're frightened. I care when you won't tell me what's wrong because you think you have to carry everything yourself.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Jonas's voice softened. “And I want to be there for you. If you would just let me, I would be. I promise. You can trust me.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
Martha looked away quickly, but one slipped down her cheek.
“It has been a long time,” she whispered.
Jonas waited for her to finish her sentence.
She wiped at her face. “It has been a long time since someone cared about me.”
He stepped closer and gently brushed the tear from her cheek with his thumb. Martha leaned into his touch, only slightly, but it was undeniable. “You don't have to tell me everything,” he whispered. “Not today.”
She looked at him. “But someday?”
“If you want to.”
His thumb rested against her cheek for another moment before he lowered his hand. “I want to know you,” he said. “All of you. The good parts and the bad.”
Martha's eyes filled again. “I don't know if you'll still want to know me after that.”
Jonas held her gaze. “Try trusting me and see. Give me a chance.”
She gave a shaky breath.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Martha stepped back. “I need to go.”
Jonas nodded, accepting that she needed more time. He wished she would trust him now, but he understood. Reuben had never been one to trust easily. He could wait. “All right.”
They walked back to the inn together, and when they arrived, Martha went straight to her office.
Jonas remained in the common room, listening to the muffled sounds of drawers opening and closing.
A few minutes later, she came back out with a small purse in her hand.
When she saw him still standing there, she looked away. “Excuse me,” she said, sliding past him. “I’m headed to see Horace before he leaves for the night.”
“The butcher?” he asked, though he knew who she was talking about.
She nodded.
“I have some money now.”
Jonas remembered the gold candlesticks he had seen her leave with earlier that day, cradling them as gently as newborn lambs.
He wanted to ask if that was where the money had come from, but he already knew the answer.
“All right.”
Martha moved toward the door. “I'll be back.”
Jonas watched her leave. After the door closed behind her, he stood there for several moments before turning toward the kitchen, where Eliza was sorting through supplies. She looked up when he entered, then past him curiously.
“Where's Martha?”
“She went to see Horace.”
Eliza frowned. “About the meat bill?”
Jonas nodded, and then he hesitated. He didn't want to ask her.
Martha's secrets were hers to tell. But the feeling of helplessness he'd had in the street hadn't gone away.
If there was anyone who knew the truth, it would surely be her, and beyond that, he could be sure that she would protect Martha first and foremost.
“Eliza.”
She looked at him, immediately alerted by the tone of his voice. “What is it?”
“How long have you known Martha?”
“Since she came to Willow Crossing.”
“Do you know anything about her before that?”
Eliza shook her head. “Not much.”
“She came here with Amos?”
“Yes. They bought the inn together.”
“And then he died.”
Eliza's expression softened. “Yes, about a year ago.”
Jonas leaned against the counter. “Was the inn already struggling then?”
“No.” Eliza folded a cloth and set it aside. “Not like this. Amos helped with the heavy work, and Martha had more help then.”
“She can't manage everything herself.”
“No.” Eliza sighed. “But try telling her that.”
Jonas almost smiled. “That sounds like Martha.”
“She’s having a hard time, lately, it’s true. But she won't let the inn go. Not so easily.”
“Even when it's hurting her?”
“Especially then.” Eliza shook her head. “She thinks if she can just repair one more thing, earn a little more money, get through one more bad week, she'll turn it around.”
Jonas looked toward the door. “And if she can't?”
Eliza gave him a sad smile. “I don't think she's willing to consider that.”
Jonas was quiet. He had hoped Eliza might know something more. A reason for Silas's threats. A piece of Martha's life that would make sense of the fear he'd seen in her face. Instead, he had more questions than before. Eliza seemed to hold nothing but pure affection and respect for her employer.
Martha's story belonged to Martha.
Jonas pushed away from the counter. “I'll leave it alone for tonight.”
Eliza watched him carefully. “You care about her.”
He looked toward the empty doorway. “I do.”
The words came easily now.
Too easily.
He cared about her.
And tomorrow, when the inn was quiet and the day's troubles had settled, he would try again.
Not to force her to tell him something she wasn't ready to say.
Just to give her another chance to trust him.
For tonight, that would have to be enough.