The problem lies with her. She's barren as the Salt Flats gentlemen can't bear children, never will. The murmur in the crowd changed tone. Some men shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding their boots fascinating. Others leaned in with renewed interest, a different kind of interest that made Eliza's skin crawl.
But Gerald raised his hand, silencing the whispers. But she's healthy. She's young enough yet, and she's got skills that would make any household run smooth as clockwork. A man doesn't need sons from every woman under his roof. Maybe you've got children already.
Maybe you've got a mother or sister who needs help. Maybe you just need someone to cook and clean and not complain about the life you offer her. He paused, letting his words sink in. Then he named his price. I'm asking $50.
That's all. $50 for a lifetime of service. A woman who will be grateful for whatever roof you put over her head, whatever food you see fit to provide. $50, gentlemen. Who will start the bidding? Silence fell over the square like a burial shroud. Eliza had known this moment was coming, had prepared herself for it all morning, as her mother had braided her hair with rough, angry movements, but knowing and experiencing were two different things.
The silence stretched and stretched, each second an eternity of humiliation, a cough from the back of the crowd. The creek of wagon wheels as someone shifted their weight, a baby crying in someone's arms quickly shushed, but no bids. "Come now," Gerald said, his voice taking on a desperate edge. $40. That's a steal, gentleman. $40 and she's yours tonight. Paper's all legal.
Blessed by Father Martinez himself. More silence. Eliza could feel her father's desperation radiating beside her like heat from a stove. Her mother stood at the edge of the crowd, her face carved from stone, refusing to meet Eliza's eyes. Her younger brother, Thomas, was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding in the saloon, unable to watch this degradation of his sister. $30," Gerald said, his voice cracking now. "$30, gentlemen.
That's less than a decent horse. Less than a month's whiskey money. Surely one of you needs. " Does she know how to handle children? The voice came from the back of the crowd, deep and rough as creek gravel. The assembled people parted slightly, creating a corridor through which a man walked forward with measured, unhurried steps.
Eliza's eyes flicked to him despite herself. He was tall, easily over 6 feet, with shoulders that spoke of years of hard labor. His clothes were clean but worn, mended in several places with stitches that looked self-administered and practical rather than pretty. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face, but she could see a strong jaw darkened with several days of beard growth, and eyes that were a startling shade of blue gray, like winter sky. "Yes! " Gerald seized on the question like a drowning man grabbing a rope.
Yes, she's wonderful with children. She helped raise her younger brother, and she's got a gentle hand, patient as Job himself. The tall man stopped a few feet from the platform. Up close, Eliza could see the lines around his eyes, not from age, but from squinting into sun and wind. He couldn't have been more than 35, but he carried himself with the weariness of someone much older.