She wiped the tears upon her dress.
“I’ll take no more.” She did confess.
As he stood staring at the sky. He whispered to her, “Darling, why?”
“You leave when autumn’s just begun with furs, and grains and many guns. You stay until the melting snow drives you back home, more crops to grow.”
“I must.” he told her, gun in hand. “to sell our furs and crops again.”
“It does not take four months of cold to travel there and back, I’m told.”She glared at him with angry eyes as clouds approached in autumn’s skies.
“But weather makes the trip back home to dangerous to make alone.” She listened not to his protest, and brushed the dust from her worn dress.
“The children need you, so do I. I cannot bear to watch one die, the way I did this season past, with no one here to help the rest.”
“I know.” He bowed his ruddy head. “I’ll find some other way instead.”
“John Griffith takes the trail nearby.” She told him through her misty eyes.
“Then I will ask if he will go, with me, through ice and cold and snow.” He walked to her, the children came. They gathered there, out of the rain.
“Tomorrow, I will go to town and look until I hunt him down.” He smiled and drew her near his chest.
She felt the heat of his warm breath, and knew this winter, they would stay, but not alone, sick and afraid.