Chapter Thirty-Nine

Donovan stood alone in the kitchen, warming his hands over the stove as the coffee boiled. He glanced toward the window where a light snow was falling. It wasn't sticking, and the sky to the west was clearing. The road to Macrina would be passable and he could go to town, even if it meant nearly freezing.

His heavy wool jacket lay across a kitchen chair and he picked it up and held it in front of the oven door, turning it this way and that to warm it before slipping his arms into the sleeves. Then he put on his scarf, hat and gloves, and poured a cup of coffee. That should keep the cold at bay.

He picked up the solar lantern and slipped out the kitchen door. Ice crystals collected in the folds of his clothes and dropped into his coffee. The cold stiffened his leg and made it ache. Would it ever be like it had been before? Carina said no, but a man could hope.

He entered the barn through the side door, set down his coffee and lit the barn lanterns. Now that he had some light, he could sip his rapidly cooling coffee and take his time examining the wagon. He had meant to load it the day before but Carina had needed his help with the livestock and Amalia ended up doing it alone.

He pulled back the tarp and checked the supplies: feed for the donkeys, a spare harness, a few tools, a saddle in case he needed to do any riding, water, a tent. The trade goods were bundled in as well: wool yarn, socks, old clothes, preserves, pickles, eggs, and cheese. There were jars of filtered honey and honeycomb, left over from last season, which he would sell on behalf of the Petersons. The cart was also weighted down with scrap metal that Amalia wanted him to trade for extra shoes for the jennies, since there wasn't a forge in the valley. Carina had instructed him to get Goneril re-shod while he was at it. She didn't like the way she had been shod the month before, although Donovan couldn’t see what the problem was, and it obviously wasn't serious enough to keep her from pulling the wagon.

He made sure that everything was packed properly— heaviest items over the front wheels, breakables surrounded by softer items such as wool and sacks of feed. It all seemed in order, except for the spot where he would stash the food he would eat on the trip. He was pulling the tarp back into place when the side door creaked open and Amalia came in, bundled in a heavy cloak and dusted with snow. "Don't you trust my packing skills?"

"Of course I do." He pulled the tarp taut. "I just like to see where everything is so I can find it later. I feel bad you had to do it all alone."

"Carina couldn't have handled that goat on her own, and I didn't mind. It's not like there's a lot of other work to be done in January." She frowned at the worn canvas. "I don't know if I trust this tarp in the snow. I know it's clearing up, but it might be different on the way back." She went into the tack room. "We'll double up, in case the weather turns."

"I'm sure it will be fine."

"No, you’re too confident of your luck. It’s going to get you in trouble some day.”

Donovan followed close on her heels. "I wish you'd quit saying things like that. What have I ever done to you and your sister to make you feel like you can pass judgment on me?"

"Let's just say you make some deals in town that are a little too good." She opened a wooden chest.

"I'm helping, aren't I?"

"You know what I'm trying to say, so quit acting innocent."

"I make that extra money playing poker," Donovan said. "What’s it to you, anyway? I bring back more stuff than you could ever get on your own."

Amalia straightened up, a dusty bundle of canvas in her hands. "That's more to it than that."

"Tell me, then." He tried to take the tarp from her hands, but she took it away from him and walked to the cart, unfolding it and shaking out the creases. Donovan grabbed one end of the canvas and together they began fastening it on top of the first. "Why do you always have to highlight the negative things? Can't you just accept a little good fortune now and then?"

Amalia glared at him across the wagon. "How are we supposed to sleep at night when you're gone, knowing you're up to things that could be dangerous? Pick the wrong pocket, cheat the wrong man at cards, or on a trade...you go out there all alone, taking risks with our goods and animals. What are we supposed to do while we're waiting, not knowing what's happening out there?"

"If that's how you feel, then why are you letting me go?" Donovan gave a slight smile. "There's something else going on, isn't there? Come here so I can talk to you."

She shook her head.

He walked over and stopped just inches away. "I'll take good care of your things, and I can certainly take care of myself." He pulled her close and rested his cheek against her hair. She stiffened but didn't move away.

They stood that way for only a minute, but when Donovan moved to let her go, she pulled him back to her and kissed him hard, pressing her body against him. Then just as suddenly, she turned away.

"Don't you ever--"

Donovan laughed. "You were the one who--"

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it? Well, it's not like there's a point to anything else we do."

"You don't get it at all." Scowling, she headed toward the door. "Don't come anywhere near me!" She made sure to slam the door behind her.

Donovan stomped back to the cart in confusion, slammed a hand against it, and slumped against one of the high wooden sides. By the time he had recovered his thoughts and felt like he could submit to the peaceful domesticity of the kitchen again, he found only Carina with her curious but inscrutable glances. Amalia was nowhere to be found.

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