Losing a wife to influenza was common enough, but five children without a mother. That was a tragedy that hit different. Five? Gerald's eyes lit up. Well then, sir, you're looking at exactly what you need. $30 and she's yours.
Ready to mother those children like they were her own flesh and blood. The man's jaw tightened slightly at that, but he didn't respond to Gerald. Instead, he kept his attention on Eliza. What's your name? Eliza, sir.
Eliza Morland was Peton, but she trailed off. She'd reclaimed her maiden name after Harold's death, unable to bear the weight of the Peton family's judgment any longer. "Eliza," he repeated, testing the name. "Then, after another long moment of consideration, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch. From it, he extracted a single coin, a silver dollar, and placed it on the edge of the platform with a soft clink.
The crowd gasped. Gerald's face went purple. "Now see here," Gerald sputtered. "I said, $30. " "That's $1. One.
That's an insult, sir. And I'll not have my daughter. " "This is all she's worth in this town," the man interrupted, his voice still quiet, but carrying an edge now. Because in this town she's been judged and found wanting through no fault of her own. She's been called barren, useless, a burden. You're selling her because you're ashamed of her.
Every person in this square knows it. Gerald's mouth worked soundlessly, his face shifting from purple to an alarming shade of red. The tall man continued, his eyes now moving to the crowd. If any man here valued her for her skills, her character, her humanity, you'd have bid already. But you haven't because all you see is a woman who can't bear children and in your eyes that makes her worthless.
He paused. So I'm offering $1, which is $1 more than anyone else values her at. And when she leaves here with me, she won't be judged anymore. Not in my house, not by my children, not by me. The square was so quiet that Eliza could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
She stared at this stranger, this tall rancher with winter eyes and a voice like distant thunder, and felt something crack open in her chest, something that had been frozen solid since the day the midwife had confirmed what Harold's mother had been whispering for years. "That's that's robbery," Gerald finally found his voice. "Highway robbery! I'll have the sheriff. The sheriff's standing right over there, the man said, nodding toward a portly figure at the edge of the crowd.
And he can confirm that this is a legal transaction. You set the terms yourself. Any man with coin can take her tonight. I've got coin. I'm taking her.