"How much do you owe?" Norah asked finally. "$300. Might as well be 3,000 for all the chance I have of paying it." She nodded slowly, stood up, and walked to her trunk in the corner.
From beneath her carefully folded dresses, she pulled out a small leather pouch, heavy with the unmistakable weight of coins. She set it on the table between them. "There's $340 in there," she said. "Money I saved working at the bakery, plus what my father's farm sold for after he died. I brought it because I knew starting a new life would require resources, and I didn't want to come to a husband as a burden."
Silas stared at the pouch like it was a snake. "I can't take your money. I'm not giving it to you," Norah replied. "I'm investing it in our survival. This ranch.
If we're staying here together, it's as much mine now as yours. And ranches can't survive under crushing debt any more than people can. Norah, that's everything you have. Your security. What if this doesn't work between us?
What if what if the sun doesn't rise tomorrow? She interrupted. What if thunder learns to fly? What if asking what if is just another way to stay stuck in fear? She pushed the pouch toward him.
I choose to believe we're building something here. That means investing in our foundation, not hoarding security against the possibility of failure. That's not practical. Neither is slowly losing your ranch while sitting on money that could save it. Her voice was firm but not unkind.
Silas, I spent 3 years saving this money one penny at a time, getting up at 4 in the morning to make bread for people who looked past me like I was furniture. You think I did that so I could watch it sit in a trunk while you lose everything out of pride? He wanted to argue, but the logic was undeniable. More than that, the gesture itself, her willingness to commit her entire savings to their shared survival, touched something deep in him that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with trust. We'd be partners then, he said slowly.
True partners. Legally, I'd have to put your name on the deed. Is that a problem? No. He reached across and took her hand, large and workworn and somehow exactly right in his. No, it's not a problem.
It's probably the smartest thing I could do if you're willing. I'm willing, Norah said. On one condition. Name it. We go to town tomorrow and get properly married.