By midnight, Hattie stopped looking through the window.

By the second morning, she started rationing food.

By the third, the snow covered the woodpile.

By the fourth, Asa began crying less.

By the fifth, Hattie understood something adults never bothered telling children.

Promises could die before people did.

And on the sixth day, she knew Papa wasn’t coming.

Twin Falls was only four hours away on a strong horse.

Even in heavy snow, a man could make it in six.

Maybe eight.

Not six days.

Hattie lowered her forehead against Mercy’s tiny head.

“I’m what’s left,” she whispered.

Then she heard something.

Not wind.

Hattie lifted her head.

A dull sound came through the storm.

Then again.

Knock.

Hattie’s heart stopped.

Another knock.

A man’s voice.

“Tom Pell!”

Hattie didn’t move.

“Tom! It’s Silas Brennan, the freighter. Saw your smoke.”

She tightened her arms around the babies.

Papa had warned her about strangers.

Never open the door.

Never tell a traveler you’re alone.

Never—

The man knocked again.

“Anybody in there?”

Hattie swallowed.

“My papa’s not here.”

Silence outside.

Then the man’s voice changed.

It became quieter.

“Who’s inside then?”

Hattie looked at the babies.

“Just me and the babies.”

A long pause followed.

Hattie heard the stranger exhale.

“Child, I’m going to open this door.”

“No!”

The word tore from her throat.

He stopped.

“I won’t come closer than you want,” the man said. “But if that stove dies, you’ll freeze.”

Hattie stared at the door.

“How do I know you’re not bad?”

Another silence.

Then something scraped outside.

A moment later, an object slid beneath the door.

A knife.

Not an ordinary knife.

A large hunting knife.

The stranger had pushed his weapon inside.

“You keep that,” he said. “If I scare you, use it.”

Hattie stared.

“And my rifle’s staying outside.”

She heard metal touch the porch.

Then the man spoke again.

“My name is Silas Brennan.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Papa bought flour from you once.”

That surprised him.

“Then you know I’m ugly, but mostly harmless.”

Despite everything, Hattie almost smiled.

Almost.

“Can I come in?”

Mercy made a weak sound.

That decided it.

“Yes.”

The door pushed inward against packed snow.

A broad man appeared through the narrow opening.

Snow covered his shoulders and beard. He wore a battered hat and a heavy coat crusted with ice.

He stepped inside.

Then he saw Hattie.

The humor vanished from his face.

He saw the dying stove.

The empty shelves.

The bloodstained sheets covering a shape on the bed.

And the two infants hidden inside Hattie’s coat.

Silas Brennan had seen men crushed beneath wagons. He had seen miners burned in explosions and settlers frozen beside dead horses.