Her eyes grew fierce in the flickering light and her hand went pale where it gripped the table. “Jus’ last fall I was out by the shed when two wild men came hoopin’ and hollerin’ out of the mountain, Rebel guerillas they was. They wanted more than food and drink, it didn’t take much to see. I had my musket and I yelled loud and clear for them to turn away but they jus’ kep comin’, laughin’ and hollerin’, so I picked them off, the one behind and then the other. I buried them in the ravine over yonder.”
The woman gave Red and Tim a desperate look. “Did I do right? I never told another soul.”
Red nodded. “You gave them their chance to turn away.”
“I didn’t want to keep their horses, and I buried their rifles with them. I slapped the horses off down the trail toward the village.” She turned to the fire. “I’m a one-man woman. There’s no changin’ that.”
Tim said quietly, “Spend the winter in the village. Don’t be too proud for that.”
Next morning all three woke just after dawn. They went about their chores as if they might have lived together in the cabin for a month or two. Tim fetched wood and built a fire. Red pumped up water and set a kettle on the hearth, hung the covered pot of mush on the crane, put on logs and stirred the fire to life. The woman put on her doeskin jacket and went outside. When she came back she said, “Laws, it’s nippy outside.”
Tim went to the window in the front of the cabin. The frame had been made to hold a sash that must have been used before. A few flakes of paint still clung to the wood. Tim studied the frost that had formed inside the glass at the bottom. The crystals had made an intricate pattern, like ghostly seaweed frozen in place. The morning light made the crystals sparkle like crushed diamonds. Tim turned away and fetched his toothbrush. He and Red took a cup of water and a pinch of salt and went outside.
After breakfast, when Tim looked at the window, the pattern of frost had disappeared, dissolved by the heat of the fire. The woman had mended their haversacks and finished the overcoats. They were great, heavy garments, the color of natural wool. “They’ll blend with the snow,” the woman said.
She packed the haversacks with meat and cornmeal. They could make corncakes. She tied a long coil of blanket wool to each sack. After breakfast she got up from the table and went to a corner and brought out a can. “I almost forgot the cookin’ pot,” she said. “Can’t cook without a pot.”