Even the sounds of the ranch outside seemed different. Tom Greer was whistling somewhere near the barn, which Clara had not heard him do before. She spent the morning going through the household accounts with Ruth because Ruth had asked her to, and because understanding the real financial picture of the household was part of doing the job properly. Ruth walked her through it with the directness of a woman who had kept those accounts for years and was genuinely relieved to share the weight.
It was while they were at the table with the account ledger between them that Ruth said, without looking up from the page, "Her name was Margaret." Clara went still. "Eli's wife," Ruth said.
"Margaret Grace Callaway. Born Margaret Sutton. She was from a farm family outside Laramie. Practical woman."
"Sharp. Loved those boys before they were even born." Ruth turned the page. "She died on the second of January, 1882."
"Cole was born fine. She was gone within the hour." Clara said nothing. "Eli blamed himself for two years," Ruth said.
"Still does some days. He thinks if he'd gotten the doctor sooner or made different decisions or—" She stopped. "Men do that."
"They try to turn tragedy into something they could have prevented because that feels better than accepting that some things just happen." She looked at Clara now. "I'm telling you this because you should know it, not because I want you to fix it."
"A woman can't fix a man's grief. She can only be present while he works through it himself." "I know that," Clara said quietly. "I thought you might."
Ruth looked back at the ledger. "She would have liked you, Margaret. She had no patience for women who performed weakness they didn't feel. And she would have said the same thing to Harding's face and not lost a step."
Clara felt something press behind her eyes and blinked it back firmly. "Thank you," she said. "For telling me." Ruth said, "Don't make it sentimental."
"I'm just giving you information that's relevant to the household." "Of course," Clara said. Ruth almost smiled. "Turn to April."
"The feed costs are where we're bleeding." They worked through the accounts for another hour. By the end of it, Clara had three pages of notes and a clear picture of where the ranch's problems were and what could be done about them from the household side. Ruth had the particular satisfaction of a woman who had handed a heavy thing to someone strong enough to carry it.
Saturday came cold and bright. The sky was a hard Wyoming blue with no clouds in it. The roads had been passable since Wednesday. By Saturday, they were well traveled and clean.