Eleanor hesitated only another moment, weighing pride against survival.
Pride was a luxury she could no longer afford.
She followed Thomas toward the warm light spilling from his windows, her boots crunching through snow that was falling faster now and erasing her tracks almost as soon as she made them.
The porch brought blessed relief from the wind.
When Thomas opened the front door, warmth flowed outward like salvation.
Eleanor stepped inside and immediately understood why the women in town spoke of the Caldwell house with such reverence.
The entryway alone was larger than the room she'd rented above the bakery. Polished wood floors gleamed beneath her boots, and a staircase curved toward the second floor like something from a picture book.
But it was what she didn't see that caught her attention.
No woman's touch.
No flowers in vases.
No embroidered cushions.
The house was clean enough, but stark and practical, almost like a barn that happened to contain fine furniture.
"Boys," Thomas called, hanging his hat from a peg beside the door. "Come meet our guest."
Running feet sounded somewhere deeper inside.
Soon two small faces appeared around the corner of the sitting room.
The older boy, 7 or 8 by Eleanor's estimate, possessed his father's strong jaw and serious eyes. The younger one, perhaps 5, had softer features and hair sticking out in every direction.
"This is Miss Hayes," Thomas told them. "She's going to wait out the storm with us."
The older boy, Daniel, regarded Eleanor with open suspicion.
The younger one, Samuel, stepped forward with the fearless curiosity of childhood.
"Are you really a teacher?"
"I was," Eleanor replied, crouching to his level. "Do you like learning things?"
"Papa says I have to learn my letters, but they're hard."
"They are hard at first," Eleanor agreed. "But once you know them, they open whole worlds."
Samuel nodded solemnly as though that explanation made perfect sense.
Daniel remained where he stood, studying her like he feared she might steal something if he stopped watching.
"Coffee's this way," Thomas said, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Boys, get back to your supper."
The kitchen was easily the largest Eleanor had ever seen, with a cookstove big enough to heat half the schoolhouse and cabinets stretching nearly to the ceiling.
Yet like the rest of the house, it somehow felt empty.
Functional rather than lived in.
Thomas poured coffee from a pot that had seen better days, the liquid dark as midnight and strong enough to wake the dead.
Eleanor wrapped her freezing hands around the tin cup and inhaled the steam.
"Storm's getting worse," Thomas observed, nodding toward the window where snow now fell in thick sheets. "Roads will be impassable by morning."
Eleanor stared into her coffee, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound like the plea it was.
She couldn't ask to stay overnight.
It wouldn't be proper.
Besides, she had nothing to offer him.
"I heard about the school," Thomas said after a while. "Shame. Children need learning."
"Not enough to pay for it, apparently."
"Territory's strapped for cash. Railroad's taking its time getting here, and without easy transport for cattle, tax revenues are down."
He drank his coffee, studying her over the rim.
"What'll you do now?"
The question Eleanor had been dreading.
She set her cup down with hands that trembled slightly.
"I'm not sure. Find another position somewhere, I suppose."
"Where?"
Such a simple word.
Yet it exposed the impossible truth of her circumstances.
There were no other teaching positions, not within 100 miles. Not for a woman alone with no family connections and no money to travel.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Thomas remained silent for a long while.
Outside, wind howled around the house, rattling the windows. Somewhere beyond the kitchen, one of the boys laughed.
The sound was bright and warm, such a sharp contrast to the storm outside.
"I've got a proposition for you," Thomas finally said.
Eleanor looked up.
His tone had changed.
Serious.
Deliberate.
"I need a wife."
Eleanor stared at him.
"Not for romance or any of that foolishness," he continued. "For practical reasons. Someone to keep house, help with the boys, make sure there's hot food on the table and clean clothes in the drawers. Winter's coming hard, and I can't manage everything alone."
Eleanor remained frozen in place, certain she'd misheard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A business arrangement."
Thomas spoke as calmly as though discussing cattle prices.
"You need shelter and security. I need help running this place. We could make it work."
"Mr. Caldwell, I hardly know you."
"What's to know? I'm a decent man. I pay my debts and keep my word. I don't drink to excess, and I don't raise my hand to women or children."
He gestured around him.