She stared at him. Lillian had come onto the porch. Rachel had not heard the door open. Her sister stood with one hand against the frame.
George continued. "I carried this family after your mother died."
Rachel looked past him toward the barn. The roof she had patched after last summer's storm. The paddock rail she had replaced in February. The feed room where every sack was counted in her handwriting.
Then the mares. Daisy stood at the far fence, heavy with foal, watching. Something in Rachel became very quiet. She handed the promissory note back to Price.
Then she looked at her father. "No, Pa."
George frowned. Rachel's voice did not rise. "I fed this farm."
His face changed. She continued. "I kept the accounts when you stopped balancing them."
"I bargained feed down when you didn't have enough cash. I treated the horses. I picked the breeding stock. I hauled water before daylight and sat in barns through the night."
"That's what family does."
"Then why was it never enough to make any part of it mine?"
George looked away. Rachel waited. He had no answer. That hurt less than she expected.
Maybe because somewhere inside she had already known. Price cleared his throat. "I'll give you until Saturday morning. After that, I'll have to move the listed stock."
Rachel nodded. George snapped, "You don't make arrangements with her."
Price looked at him. "At this point, Mr. Hart, I'll speak to anyone who's listening."
He tucked the papers away and climbed onto his horse. The younger man followed. The wagon rolled through the gate. Rachel watched until it disappeared on the Cedar Ridge road.
George spoke behind her. "You've embarrassed me."
Rachel turned. The words were almost funny. She did not laugh. "I embarrassed you?"
"You had no business challenging me in front of Price."
"You had no business borrowing against those mares without telling me."
"My name is on the title."
There it was. The final answer. Not who built it. Not who kept it alive.
Whose name. Rachel nodded once. "Yes."
George seemed confused by her agreement. She went into the house. Lillian followed.
"Rachel."
Rachel climbed the stairs.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing."
Lillian stopped on the landing. "What?"
Rachel entered her room and pulled the old trunk from beneath the window. It was not large. Her mother had used it before Rachel was born. One brass latch was missing.
Rachel put two dresses inside. Work shirts. Stockings. Her ledger.
The horse book Matthew had given her. Lillian stood in the doorway. "You can't leave."
Rachel folded a shawl. "Apparently, I can."
"Where will you go?"
"I'll find somewhere."
"Matthew."
Rachel's hands stopped, then resumed. "No."
Lillian blinked. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not leaving one man's house just to run into another man's."
"Matthew isn't Pa."
"I know."