Useful did not promise anything after the snow came. Hannah sat at the little desk beneath the window and sharpened a pencil with a kitchen knife. Then she wrote her answer. Mr. Dalton, I can arrive Monday and remain through the eight weeks.
Agreed. Respectfully, Hannah Pierce. She read it twice. No extra words, no questions. She folded the page and sealed it.
When she went downstairs, Edith was sitting alone in the dining room with a cup of coffee gone cold between her hands. Hannah placed the letter on the table. I'm going. Edith looked at it, then at her. All right.
That was all she said. But when Hannah turned toward the kitchen, Edith reached out and caught her wrist. For a moment, neither woman moved. Then Edith squeezed once and let go. On Monday morning, Hannah would leave Elk Crossing for High Meadow Ranch.
She told herself she was going because she needed wages, because Edith needed one less mouth at the table, because 8 weeks of honest work could put money back into her purse. She did not let herself wonder what kind of house waited beneath those mountains, or what kind of children needed a stranger badly enough for their father to send 22 mi for one. And she certainly did not wonder about Grant Dalton. Hope had made a fool of her before. Being needed for eight weeks was safer than hoping to be wanted for a lifetime.
Hannah repeated those words to herself Monday morning as the hired wagon rolled north out of Elk Crossing. The boarding house disappeared behind a bend in the road before she allowed herself to look back. Aunt Edith stood on the porch in her gray morning dress, one hand lifted against the sun. She had packed Hannah two ham sandwiches, three biscuits wrapped in cloth, and a jar of blackberry preserves Hannah had told her not to waste. She had also slipped $4 into Hannah's traveling bag.
Hannah found the money 20 minutes after leaving town. For a while, she simply held the coins in her palm. Then she put them away without counting them. The driver was an older ranch hand named Walter Price. He had come down from High Meadow the evening before for lamp oil, horseshoe nails, and Hannah.
Walter had a weathered face, a graying mustache, and the habit of chewing one side of his lower lip whenever the wagon reached bad ground. He did not talk much. Hannah appreciated him for it. The road followed the river for several miles before turning toward the foothills. Cottonwoods gave way to stands of pine.
The air lost some of the dry August heat, and the mountains ahead grew larger until Hannah could see narrow scars of pale stone running between the dark trees. Around noon, Walter pulled the team beneath a patch of shade. "Best eat here," he said. "Road gets rough after Miller Creek." Hannah climbed down carefully. Her legs were stiff from the wagon bench.
Walter pretended not to notice. That small courtesy registered with her. She offered him one of Edith's sandwiches. He accepted without argument. For several minutes, they ate beside the road while the horses cropped grass near the ditch.
Hannah finally asked, "How many hands does Mr. Dalton keep?" Seven regular, more during roundup. And the house. Walter wiped his fingers on his trousers. House has been making do.
That was not an answer. Hannah waited. Walter glanced toward the mountains. Mrs. Dalton passed near 3 years back.
I heard. Cook left last winter. Woman after her stayed 6 weeks. Last one made it 11 days. Hannah lowered her sandwich.
11. Walter gave a tired little smile. Children didn't take to her. What happened? Boy put a frog in her wash basin.
Hannah almost smiled. That made her leave. That and finding her Sunday hat in the hog pen. Hannah did smile then. Walter looked relieved.