Part 4
“Most employers don’t put that into words,” Evelyn said.
Nolan’s thumb moved along the rim of the cup. “Doesn’t change that it happened.”
“No.” She looked at him directly. “But I’m glad you said it.”
He finished the coffee and rose with the stiffness he had brought in from the trail.
“You should sleep,” she told him.
“I’ve been told worse things.”
“Silas said you leave again Thursday. Rest before then.”
At the doorway, he paused. She could see him considering another remark, perhaps one that had nothing to do with cattle or horses.
“Good night, Mrs. Mercer.”
“Good night.”
She listened until his steps reached the yard, then picked up a shirt and held it without unfolding it.
The next stretch of the drive kept him away nine days.
Morning sewing had changed by then. Instead of reclaiming clothes from ruin, Evelyn reinforced elbows before they split and knees before they wore through. She could tell which men crawled under wagons and which habitually caught their sleeves on rough fencing. Their garments came to her carrying small records of their days.
Her afternoons belonged to Flint.
Early in Nolan’s absence, she brought a stout box from the supply shed and set it alongside the gelding. He examined it, snorted once, and stood while she climbed up.
She rested her forearms across his back, keeping enough support through her own arms that she could lift away at once.
His neck hardened.
Evelyn watched his breath. She did not add anything. On the fourth exhalation, his back loosened a little. She waited, then stepped down before he needed to ask her to.
The next afternoon, the tightening lasted less time. On the third, he merely turned his head to see what she was doing.
Silas watched from outside the fence. He had come home briefly with supply messages before riding out again.
“Could’ve climbed on then,” he observed.
“I could have.”
“But didn’t.”
“He’s stopped bracing against this. I’d like him to be certain before I change what this is.”
Silas scraped a flake of old paint from the rail.
“How do you measure certain?”
“By what he stops preparing to do.”
The foreman considered Flint, who had begun nosing the box.
“Nolan will ask how far along you are.”
“And I’ll tell him.”
“He’ll listen.”
She glanced at Silas. “You haven’t come all this way to warn me about a question I already expect.”
His mouth pulled to one side.
“You’ve changed where he puts his attention,” he said.
“Good handling will do that.”
“I wasn’t discussing handling.”
Evelyn kept her hand on the top rail.
Silas settled his hat. “Thought you ought to know what’s plain to the rest of us.”
He walked away before she could decide whether she wished to answer.
She took the box back to the shed. Later, sewing by lamplight, she ran out of thread in the middle of a seam and sat far longer than necessary before reaching for another spool.
When Nolan returned on Friday, she was riding Flint at a walk.
He stopped outside the gate and left it closed. She had only the pad beneath her, with a loosely held line and the horse’s easy stride carrying her around the pen.
“This is his third day with me up,” she said as she passed. “We keep it short.”
Nolan rested his forearms on the fence.
Flint moved without shortening one side or hurrying through the turn. Evelyn asked for a broad curve with a change in her balance, and the gelding followed it.
“You got him here,” Nolan said.
“He’s doing the difficult part.”
“He couldn’t have done it alone.”
She brought Flint to a halt where he could see Nolan without lifting his head.
“Bellamy was clear about the limits. Nothing abrupt. Nothing that asks him to wrench around after cattle. A little more walking first, then perhaps an easy trot.”
Nolan nodded. “I brought the October confirmation from town. Your note saved me hunting for it.”
“The labels were already on the files.”
“Silas spent three weeks looking for a water agreement. You put it with the papers that actually concerned it.”
“That did seem the useful place.”
He ran a hand over his mouth.
“We’re doing the winter accounts tonight. Your fuel comes through the household purchases. Would you look over the figures with me?”
She studied him from the horse’s back.
“Yes. After I’ve put him away.”
Two lamps lit the long table in the back room. Nolan had set out supply lists, cattle-sale estimates, and the proposed winter orders. The drive had brought slightly more than he expected and less than he could comfortably use.
Evelyn took the columns nearest her. Before he reached the second page, she had marked two additions for him to check.
“Thomas and I divided the books,” she said when he looked up. “He preferred estimating. I preferred proving whether the estimate was possible.”
“What became of your place?”
Her pencil stayed on the page.
“We tried to hold it through his illness. After a year, the bills made the decision for us. We sold.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s been three years since he died.” She looked up then. “I still know how to earn a living.”
“I can see that.”
She tapped a provision list. “Then listen to me about this meat order. You’re short even allowing for the smaller winter crew.”
He made the correction.
As the evening went on, they drew their chairs closer to share pages. Evelyn made a dry observation about paying for good fencing only to have men use the posts as wagon stops. Nolan laughed abruptly, surprising himself enough to look at her.
She was already checking the next sum.
He ordered the fuel for Tuesday at her suggestion. Thursday, his usual day for town business, risked arriving after the dealer’s supply had been claimed.
When the last page was checked, she stacked the papers without disturbing his order.
“There’s something else about Flint.”
Nolan set down his pencil.
“He won’t become the working horse you bought. He may be a quiet mount for a novice, or useful for very light, steady work. You can keep him for that, or find him a home that will respect it.”
“What would you do?”
She did not answer quickly.
“I’d keep him. We’ve learned something expensive from him. I’d rather have him here while we learn how to live by it.”
Nolan looked toward the dark window. The pen lay beyond the barn, out of sight.
“Then he has a place…”
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