Ben lay stretched across the rug.
Elsie was reading aloud.
Luke pretended to be reading but was watching Jonas instead.
Jonas noticed Hannah.
Their eyes met.
Something gentle and terrifying moved between them.
Hannah stepped away first.
She had survived losing one husband.
She had no intention of giving life another man it could take from her.
Then October came.
And the sky turned hard as iron.
The drought worsened.
Two stock ponds dried completely.
The south creek became a ribbon of cracked mud.
Cattle began losing weight.
At supper one evening Jonas hardly spoke.
Afterward Hannah found him in his office studying an old survey map beneath the lamplight.
His sleeves were rolled above his elbows.
His jaw looked tight.
“If winter stays dry,” Hannah said quietly, “what happens?”
Jonas did not pretend.
“I sell half the herd.”
Her stomach tightened.
“And if spring is dry?”
His finger moved across the map.
“I sell the rest.”
Hannah stepped closer.
A blue line crossed the northern boundary.
“What’s that?”
“Cottonwood Spring.”
“I’ve seen the name.”
She studied the map.
“That’s yours, isn’t it?”
Jonas did not answer.
Hannah looked at him.
“Jonas?”
He sat back.
“I thought it was.”
Something cold slipped through her.
He opened a drawer.
Removed a document.
Placed it before her.
The paper was old.
The ink faded.
Hannah read the name once.
Then again.
Daniel Cole.
Her dead husband.
One hundred sixty acres.
Northern tract.
Including Cottonwood Spring.
Hannah’s fingers began trembling.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I.”
Jonas spoke carefully.
“A surveyor comparing territorial records found an older parcel description. Daniel’s deed appears valid.”
“If it’s valid…”
“The land belonged to Daniel.”
Her throat tightened.
“And now?”
Jonas looked toward the window.
Outside, her children were helping Luke feed the chickens.
“Now it belongs to his heirs.”
Hannah whispered the words.
“The children.”
“And you.”
For the first time since Daniel’s death, Hannah possessed something besides debts.
By sundown the following day, half the county knew.
By breakfast the morning after that, a black carriage rolled into the yard.
Clarence Voss stepped down.
He was perhaps fifty, impeccably dressed despite the dust, with silver cuff links and a gold watch chain hanging across his waistcoat.
He introduced himself as a land broker.
Hannah disliked him immediately.
He offered four thousand dollars for the Cole parcel.
She refused.
He offered six.
She refused again.
Voss smiled.
“Eight thousand.”
Hannah stared at him.
Eight thousand dollars.
More money than she could imagine holding.
Enough to buy acreage.
Enough to send Luke and Elsie to school.
Enough never to stand on another man’s porch asking for employment.
“Why?” she asked.
“A railway cattle-loading spur is under consideration.”
