It held a narrow bed, one wash stand, a pine chest, and a window facing west toward the mountains. She sat on the edge of the mattress with a small cloth purse in her lap. $6.85. She counted twice, then once more, though the amount did not change. She could find day work, laundry, maybe cooking, mending. But Elk Crossing was shrinking around her.
Every family that needed help already had a niece, daughter, widow, or hired girl who needed the same money. And Hannah knew something else nobody would say plainly. A thin young woman looking for household work might be called unfortunate. A large 30-year-old unmarried woman doing the same was called desperate. She put the coins back into the purse.
Through the window, a lantern moved along Main Street. Somewhere below, a horse stamped inside the livery. Hannah lay down without undressing for several minutes. Then she laughed once under her breath. "Going nowhere," she whispered.
It sounded less like self-pity than an address. Two days later, Asa Green came through the boarding house door at half noon with another letter. This one was not for Edith. Hannah Pierce. Hannah looked up from peeling potatoes.
That depends who's asking. Asa grinned. High Meadow Ranch. The knife stopped in her hand. Edith emerged from the pantry.
Dalton Place. Asa nodded. Walter Price gave me the letter yesterday at the lower crossing. Said it was to be delivered proper. He handed Hannah the envelope.
The paper was thick. Her name had been written in a large, careful hand. Hannah wiped her fingers before opening it. Inside was a short letter. High Meadow Ranch required a woman experienced in household management for eight weeks through autumn roundup.
Cooking, laundry supervision, stores, two children, room and board provided, wages paid weekly, references had been requested in Elk Crossing. Hannah read the final line again. Grant Dalton, proprietor. Edith leaned closer. Well, Hannah passed her the sheet.
Her aunt read silently. Then she looked at Asa. How far out is High Meadow these days? About 22 mi if the upper roads dry. Longer if you take the riverbend.
Edith's mouth tightened. Hannah knew the name Grant Dalton. Everybody did. Not because he came to town often. Because when he did, people remembered.
A cattleman taller than most doorframes. Widowed. Two children. Ranch tucked up below the mountains where the pine country began. Edith handed the letter back.
You don't have to answer today. Hannah folded it along its original crease. Yes, I do. Her aunt watched her. Hannah looked down at the words again.
8 weeks. Not forever. Not marriage, not hope. Work. A room.
Wages. A beginning with an ending already written into it. That felt manageable. She carried the letter upstairs that evening and set it beside her small purse. Outside the mountains had turned purple in the late light.
8 weeks. She could be useful for 8 weeks. Useful was safe. Useful did not ask whether a man admired her in church clothes. Useful did not care what women whispered over coffee.