She had written that she was going to turn the ledger over to a marshall. Two days later, Sarah was dead, a stray bullet in a bar fight. But Clara had seen the man who started the fight. He was on Pike's payroll. Clara looked at Eli, sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.
She had proof. Not enough to convict, maybe, but enough to start a fire. But if she used it, if she brought this into the light, Pike would stop at nothing. She folded the letter and put it back. She would not hide it forever, but for tonight, she would let him sleep.
The peace did not last. 2 days later, the town held its annual Founders Day picnic. It was a social obligation Eli said they could not ignore if they wanted to maintain their standing as a legitimate household. They rode into town dressed in their Sunday best. Clara wore a dress of dark blue that she had altered to fit her slender frame.
She held her head high. But as they walked through the crowd, the atmosphere shifted. The whispering was louder this time. A man stepped out from the crowd near the bandstand. He was older with a scarred face and eyes that looked like dead fish.
"Well, well," the man said, his voice carrying over the fiddle music. "If it isn't Clara, or should I say Red," Clara froze. She knew him. Looking Glass Saloon 5 years ago. I wondered where you ran off to.
The man grinned, looking at the crowd that was gathering. Folks, you got a celebrity in your midst. This here is the finest enticement the border ever produced. Cost me $2 for an hour, didn't it? Red.
The crowd gasped. The silence that followed was absolute. Eli dropped Clara's arm. He took a step toward the man. Eli, no.
Clara hissed, grabbing his sleeve. $2. The man laughed. And she was worth every penny. Tell me, Conincaid, did you get a discount for the wedding ring? Eli went white.
Not red, but a deathly chalky white. Clara stood there, the sun beating down on her, feeling the judgment of the town settle on her like a shroud. She saw the church women nodding, their suspicions confirmed. She saw the men smirking. She looked at Eli.
He wasn't looking at the man anymore. He was looking at her. And in that moment, with the town staring and the lie hanging in the air like smoke, Clara wondered if love was enough to survive the truth. "Let's go," Eli said. His voice was dead.
He did not hit the man. He did not defend her honor. He turned around and walked toward the horses. Clara stood alone for a second, the laughter of the crowd ringing in her ears before she turned and followed him, her head high, her heart breaking into dust. The drought descended on the Wyoming territory like a slow suffocation.