Henry sighed. “I understand that,” he said.

“Do you? Because I’m trying to make myself understand it and all I can see is that bastard—that her past is stopping her from happiness. And she deserves happiness so much. Even—Even if it’s not with me.”

“I’ve read some of the stories about her,” Henry said.

“Lies,” Sam said, defensive.

“Don’t take my head off; I wouldn’t have cared if they weren’t.”

“Sorry.”

“The point is, nothing in your history has prepared you for a woman with the kind of baggage Alva Webster has. No, don’t interrupt me. You have a great life. You grew up with the most amazing parents, the best family in the world. God knows I’m not saying you haven’t faced your own problems, but you don’t know what it’s like to not have people to hold you up when you need it most, parents who will pick you up when you fall down. Sometimes people who don’t have that, who aren’t used to that—sometimes it takes them longer to trust. And sometimes they aren’t ever able to, no matter how much they want to.”

“You always have us, you know,” Sam said softly. “You are my parents’ son. They think of you that way.”

“And I’m so lucky they do,” Henry said. “They’ve been there for me since I was ten years old, and still I struggle to trust people. Now imagine if I’d never had them? Imagine if I was a woman, and didn’t even have the protection of the law? You have to prepare yourself for the possibility that Mrs. Webster is never going to be able to give you what you want, even if she tries.”

“I can’t accept that,” Sam said. “I understand what you’re saying. But … it’s not an option.”

“Then you’ll probably get hurt. No, you’ll definitely be hurt, even if it swings your way in the end.”

“Then I’ll be hurt.” He stood up, brushing the snow off as best he could, and held out a hand for Henry. “It’s worth it, you know.”

Henry took the hand and let Sam pull him up to standing. “I’ve warned you, and in classic Samuel Moore style you will now proceed to do exactly as you please.” The words were tart, but he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Now look what you’ve done to my new shirt.”

“Ma’am?”

Alva looked up from her work. Or rather, looked up from the two sentences the morning had produced. Thirty hours had passed since Sam had climbed out her window, and still her thoughts were mired in tar. “Yes, Liza?”

“Cook says to say she couldn’t get the walleye for tonight and would perch be all right?”