Chapter 23
The sun had barely risen when Martha made her way out to the stable.
There wasn't much left to see. The fire had taken most of the structure during the night, leaving blackened beams jutting from the ground and a scatter of wet, broken boards where the walls had stood.
The morning air carried the smell of smoke even after the fire had been extinguished, and every breath seemed to bring a little more of yesterday back to her. Martha stopped at the edge of the wreckage, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked over what remained.
Since they’d arrived in Willow Crossing, she had measured her life by that inn. It had been the one thing she and Amos had rebuilt together, the place that had given her a reason to stay when she had very little else.
Even after his death, she had kept it going through one repair after another, telling herself that if she worked hard enough, she could make something good out of the life she'd been given. Lately, though, she had begun to wonder if perhaps she had been fighting for something that was already gone.
She looked toward the ruined building.
Maybe this was the point where she finally stopped.
The thought didn't bring the relief she expected. It left her hollow.
She could sell what was left, if anyone would buy it.
Whatever money she could get might be enough to find a small place somewhere in town.
Nothing grand. Just a little cabin for herself and Percy, with a roof that didn't need constant repair and walls that weren't filled with memories.
Or, they could start over somewhere no one knew them.
Perhaps that was what she should have done from the beginning.
This wasn't what she had thought her life would be. She had imagined something simpler when she was young, before she understood how quickly a person's plans could be swept away.
She had thought there would be a family, a home, children perhaps. Instead, she had an inn that was falling apart around her, a boy she had somehow become responsible for, and a past that had followed her all the way to Willow Crossing.
“Martha?”
She turned.
Eliza stood a few paces away carrying a small plate and a cup. Her hair was only half pinned back, and she looked as though she had dressed quickly enough to get outside before Martha could disappear.
“I brought you something.”
“I'm not hungry.” Martha gave her a tired look.
Eliza came closer and held the plate out. “Sit.”
“Eliza—”
“Sit, Martha.”
There was enough command in her voice that Martha almost smiled. She lowered herself onto one of the surviving pieces of timber, and Eliza handed her the plate.
“There. Now eat.”
Martha picked up a piece of bread.
“You're becoming very bossy.”
“I've been bossy since the day we met. All my life, really. You simply haven't had the energy to notice.”
Martha took a bite, mostly to keep Eliza from arguing.
Eliza sat beside her. For a little while, neither spoke. The morning was quiet except for the occasional hammering from somewhere in town and the soft sounds of horses shifting in the surviving part of the stable. Martha stared at the plate in her lap.
“How are you?”
Martha swallowed.
“Please don't.”
Eliza's expression softened. “Don't what?”
“Ask me that.”
“Martha—”
“Please.” She looked at her friend. “Talk about something else. Anything else.”
Eliza studied her for a moment, then nodded.
“All right.”
She took a breath.
“Reuben is not at all the man I thought he was.”
Martha looked up despite herself.
That wasn't what she had expected.
Eliza smiled. “I thought he was going to be unbearable.”
“He is unbearable.”
“Yes, but now I'm finding that I don't mind it nearly as much as I expected.”
Martha's mouth twitched.
“He's kind,” Eliza continued. “Not in the way some men are kind when they're trying to impress a woman. He actually notices things. Yesterday, when the fire started, he didn't hesitate. He just helped. And afterward, he stayed until there was nothing more he could do.”
“He's always been protective of his brothers.”
“I know.” Eliza looked down at her hands. “I saw it from the beginning, but as I’ve gotten to know him, it’s only become more and more evident how deeply kind he is.”
Martha watched the color rise in Eliza's cheeks.
“You like him.”
“I do.”
“Quite a bit.”
Eliza laughed softly. “Quite a bit.”
Martha set the bread down. “And what about all those comments you were worried about?”
Eliza's smile faded slightly.
“There have been some.”
“I thought so.”
“But I'm trying not to let them decide things for me.” Eliza tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “People have opinions about everything. If I listened to all of them, I'd never make a choice of my own.”
Martha knew something about that.
Eliza looked toward the burned stable. “I don't know what will happen with Reuben. I don't know if I'm being foolish. But I think…” She hesitated, then looked back at Martha. “I think I might be falling in love with him.”
Martha smiled.
“Then perhaps you're not foolish.”
Eliza smiled too, though there was still uncertainty in her eyes.
For a moment, the conversation felt almost normal.
Then Eliza turned toward her.
“And you?”
Martha knew immediately who she meant.
She looked down at her hands.
“Jonas?”
Martha let out a slow breath.
“Yes.”
Eliza waited.
Martha had spent so long keeping her feelings tucked away that saying them aloud felt dangerous. Somehow, telling Eliza seemed harder than admitting them to herself. Perhaps because once the words existed outside her own mind, they could no longer be dismissed as a passing feeling.
“I love him.”
Eliza's face softened.
Martha looked toward the ruined inn.
“I think I have for a while.”
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Does he know you care about him?”
“I think so.”
Martha's fingers tightened around the edge of the plate. “But my life isn't simple enough to just move forward with someone I care about so easily.”
Eliza didn't answer immediately.
“I know,” she said at last.
Martha looked at her.
There was no judgment in her face. That almost made it worse.
“I don't want to talk about it anymore,” Martha said quietly. “Would you mind giving me some time alone?”
Eliza nodded.
“Of course.”
She stood and brushed the dirt from her skirt.
“But Martha?”
Martha looked up.
“If you need anything, I'll be there.”
Martha swallowed around the ache in her throat.
“I know.”
Eliza gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before walking back toward the inn.
Martha waited until she was gone before turning toward the stable again.
She had barely begun to look over the wreckage when she heard footsteps behind her.
She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Her hands curled into fists.
“Silas.”
He stopped a short distance away.
Martha turned to face him. “You did this.”
Silas's expression remained calm.
“You've been working to destroy everything I've built since the moment you came back into my life.”
He looked toward the burned stable.
“That's quite an accusation.”
“Don't.”
Her voice shook, but she didn't lower it.
“Don't stand there and pretend you don't know what you've done.”
Silas gave a small shrug.
Martha stepped toward him.
“Why?”
He looked at her, his expression smug.
“Why are you doing this?”
Silas's face hardened.
“You really have to ask?”
“Yes.”
“You've had a comfortable life.”
Martha stared at him.
“You bought this place. You settled in. You let everyone here believe you were some poor widow trying to make her way in the world.”
“I worked for this,” she said angrily, thinking of the long nights and longer days, the work, the calluses and sweat and tears she had poured into to scratch out a small, safe life.
“Did you?”
His question was quiet, almost conversational, but Martha felt the threat beneath it.
Silas glanced toward the remains of the stable.
“This is only the beginning.”
Martha's stomach twisted.
“You've lost your stable. You've lost part of your inn. Let's see how long you can keep pretending everything is going to be fine.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Because Amos betrayed you?”
Silas's jaw tightened.
“You know what happened.”
“Amos is dead.”
“And?”
Martha stared at him.
“What more do you want?”
Silas didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer.
“What do you think Jonas would say if he knew?”
Martha's blood went cold. “Don't.”
“If he knew about everything you've done?”
“Silas.”
“Would he still look at you the way he does?”
Martha shook her head. “Don't go to him.”
Silas smiled. “Why?”
“Because I won't let you hurt him.”
“You're worried about hurting him?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “I'll do whatever it takes. Just leave him out of this.”
Silas watched her for a long moment. “It's too late.”
Martha's heart hammered. “You don't understand,” she whispered.
“I understand perfectly.” He stepped past her, leaving her standing beside the blackened remains of the stable.
“I'm going to finish ruining your life,” he said. “The same way you ruined mine.”
Martha turned toward him. “Silas—”
But he was already walking away.
She stood motionless in the cold morning air, watching him disappear toward town. The words stayed with her long after he was gone, settling over everything around her—the burned stable, the ruined inn, the life she had spent years trying to protect.
And for the first time, Martha wondered whether there was anything left that Silas couldn't take from her.