William was outside the cabin chopping wood when Mattie hurried into the clearing.
The clearing was large enough to accommodate their two-room cabin, a storehouse for meat, an outhouse and a small garden in the summer. William had cleared away extra trees so that there was fifteen or so feet of open ground in front of the cabin before the forest. He said this was so nobody could sneak up to their home without him knowing.
Her husband was a tall, powerfully built man—more than a foot taller than Mattie, with broad shoulders and large hands and feet. His hair was dark, streaked with gray, but his eyes were bluer than ice on a frozen creek bed. William’s back was to her but he immediately turned as if he’d sensed her presence when she stepped into the clearing, the heavy wood axe in his left hand.
He said nothing as she approached, only waited with that expectant, impatient look that told her she’d made a mistake.
“There was a dead fox,” she said by way of explanation. “But the traps were full.”
Mattie thought the evidence of a good night’s supper would be enough to distract him, but she should have known better. “Why should the fox be any of your concern? I told you to check the snares and come straight back.”
Mattie bit her lip. This was the trap. If she didn’t answer, he would be angry. If she tried to explain, he would be angry.
“Well?”
She should try, at least. Maybe he would understand this time.
“Something killed the fox and left it there,” she said.
His gaze sharpened. “A person? Someone in the woods?”
“No, no,” she said quickly. She knew how careful he was about keeping the location of their home a secret, how upset he got if there was any sign of people nearby. “There was a track, like a bear track, but much bigger than any bear I’ve ever seen.”
William’s jaw relaxed a fraction. He did seem relieved that she hadn’t found evidence of a person.
That slight unclenching deceived her, though—she wasn’t braced when he dropped the axe in the snow and his fist flew out.
Stars shot across her vision and she tasted blood on her tongue. Her bottom felt cold.
You’re sitting in the snow. Get up before your skirt gets wet, she thought.
“You know if you find anything unusual you’re supposed to come get me immediately.” William didn’t sound angry, but then he never did. There was never any yelling, any warning that the blow was about to fall.
“I thought it would be better if I checked the traps first,” she said.
She knew she ought to stand up, but if she stayed on the ground she was harder to reach.
“That’s your trouble, Martha,” he said, using her Christian name—always a bad sign. “It’s not your role to think.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m very sorry.”
He stared down at her, and she could tell he was deciding whether or not he’d punished her sufficiently for her transgression.
“Take those rabbits inside and skin them,” he said. “When you’re finished you show me this dead fox.”
“Yes,” she said, pushing out of the snow.
Her stockings were wet just above the tops of her boots. It would be nice to change them when she went inside but William might come in with the firewood and find her doing something other than the task he assigned.
Mattie hurried toward the door of the cabin, her shoulders hunched. She didn’t relax until she heard the whistle and thud of the axe again. That meant William wasn’t following her.
She put her boots away and set about the task of skinning and dressing the rabbits for cooking later. Rabbits were small and not much work, and Mattie knew that William would expect her to finish quickly.
Don’t make him angry again. Do your job as you’re supposed to.
But her mind wandered away, as it often did, and she had to call it back so that William wouldn’t find her woolgathering. Her hands made quick work of the rabbits even as her thoughts drifted elsewhere, to that place they weren’t supposed to go.
William came to the door of the cabin and called in. “Are you finished?”
Mattie knew he didn’t want to remove his snow-coated boots only to put them on again. This was less about saving her the trouble of wiping up the water on the cabin floor and more about saving himself the effort of lacing and unlacing.
“Just about,” she called back.
“Don’t take too long,” he said, and shut the door again.
In truth she was finished, but she wanted an extra minute or two to wash up and compose herself. She’d been thinking about the dream again, thinking that she heard a song playing （something about a dove, there are these big black things and the music is coming out of them, coming from a silver disc, but that seems silly. Something from a dream like William always says）