"The ranch is steady. The men stayed. The books are better."
"And?"
Rachel looked toward the hitch rail. "And I know what it is to stay somewhere because people need your hands."
Rebecca said nothing. Rachel's mouth tightened.
"I don't know what it is to stay because somebody wants me there when the work is done."
The ride home was quiet. That evening, Rachel stood in the cookhouse doorway and watched Matthew in the yard. Three neighboring ranchers had ridden in to discuss spring grazing and rail schedules. Matthew stood among them with his hat pushed back and a folded map in one hand.
He looked different now. Not happier exactly. Less alone. Men sought his opinion.
They stayed after business was finished. They laughed at something Eli said. Matthew even laughed once, low and brief. Rachel watched from the shadows.
The ranch did not need rescuing that night. That fact should have made her proud. Instead, she went to her room. The canvas bag sat beneath the bed.
She pulled it out. Dust had gathered along one seam. Rachel set it on the mattress. For several minutes, she did nothing.
Then she folded her blue work dress. Her gray Sunday dress. Her wool stockings. Her sewing roll.
Peter's photograph. Last came her grandmother's skillet. She held it by the handle.
Black iron. Heavy. The thing that had started all of this. Rachel wrapped it in an old flour cloth and placed it carefully on top.
A knock came at the half-open door. She froze. Matthew stood in the hallway. His eyes went first to Rachel.
Then to the bag. Something changed in his face.
"What are you doing?"
Rachel smoothed the edge of the cloth. "Packing."
"I can see that."
The words were familiar. This time, they did not make her smile. Matthew stepped into the room, then stopped himself before coming too far.
"You going somewhere?"
"My work here is nearly finished."
His gaze sharpened. "Who said that?"
"No one has to."
"Rachel."
She closed the bag. "The winter arrangement was temporary."
"That was months ago."
"Yes."
"And you stayed because there was work."
"There still is."
"Not the same work."
Matthew looked at the bag again. Rachel hated how much she wanted him to say something simple. Don't go.
Stay. I want you here. He said none of those things.
Instead, he asked, "Where will you go?"
"I haven't decided."
"You got money?"
Rachel's face changed. "Yes."
"I didn't mean—"