She writes that my disgrace has been largely forgotten already. A new scandal has captured Boston's attention. A banker absconding with clients funds. Isn't that good news? I suppose.
Amelia looked out across the grasslands. But it makes it all seem so meaningless. My reputation, my career, my entire life, they're ruined over rumors that society has already discarded for fresher gossip. Carrick took her hand. Not meaningless.
It brought you here. The simple statement shifted her perspective. Had she not been forced to leave Boston, she would never have answered Carrick's advertisement, never experienced this new life that was unfolding with unexpected richness. "You're right," she acknowledged. And I'm grateful for that, at least.
As summer progressed into fall, Amelia found her place in both the ranch and the wider community. She joined the Lady's Aid Society as promised, forming friendships with women like Martha Brennan and Beatrice Wilson. She helped organize a harvest festival for the town. Drawing on her experience planning school events in Boston, most significantly, when the town council finally approved funding for a school, they approached Amelia about teaching. It would only be 3 days a week, Mayor Thompson explained.
We have 15 children of school age now, more coming with the railroad expansion. Amelia looked to Carrick, uncertain. They were in the general store when the mayor had approached them with the proposal. The ranch comes first, Carrick said. But if Amelia wants to teach, I support it.
She's a fine teacher from what I understand. The pride in his voice made Amelia's heart swell. I would be honored to help establish Willow Creek School, she told the mayor. That evening, as they prepared supper together, Amelia broached the subject again. "Are you truly comfortable with me teaching?
It would take time away from ranch work." Carrick looked up from the potatoes he was peeling. "Amelia, you light up when you talk about teaching. I wouldn't deny you that joy." He set down his knife.
Besides, you've more than proven your ability to manage both the house and ranch chores efficiently. It's different from what you originally advertised for, she pointed out. So, are you, he replied with a small smile. Much better than advertised, in fact. The fall roundup kept them both busy from dawn until dusk.
Amelia surprised the ranch hands Carrick hired temporarily with her willingness to help cook for the crew and even ride out to deliver midday meals. By the end of the season, she'd earned their respect no small feat for a woman from back east. As the first snow dusted the mountains in the distance, Amelia realized with some surprise that it had been nearly 4 months since she'd stepped off that stage coach in tears. The life she'd built with Carrick already felt more solid, more real than anything she'd known in Boston. One evening, as they sat by the fire, Carrick reading aloud from a new novel, while Amelia mended one of his shirts.
She was struck by a sudden awareness of her own contentment. She set aside her sewing to study her husband's profile, the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow of concentration between his brows, the way the fire light caught in his hair. "Carrick," she said softly. He looked up from the book. "Yes, I love you."