Chapter 5 - A Woman Cannot Be Bought
Harlan did not reach for the letter.
That irritated Harriet more than if he had snatched it from her hand.
“You're not going to deny it?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
She crossed the room and placed the envelope on the table.
“I didn't open it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because you're angry enough already. If you'd read it, you'd be throwing things.”
Harriet glared.
“Do not make me laugh when I'm trying to hate you.”
“You hate me?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Harlan noticed.
Harriet looked toward the fire.
“That isn't the point.”
“No.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“All right.”
“You just did it again.”
His mouth twitched.
She pointed toward the envelope.
“What does it say?”
Harlan's expression became serious.
“Your father wrote it last spring.”
“Before he came to you?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“That if his health got worse, I should make sure you didn't face Vale alone.”
Harriet stared.
“Make sure?”
“That was the phrase.”
“So he appointed you my guardian?”
“No.”
“My keeper?”
“No.”
“My husband?”
Harlan nearly choked.
Harriet crossed her arms.
“Well?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“A friend.”
She laughed without humor.
“We weren't friends.”
“I know.”
“Then why you?”
“Because I owed him.”
“For what?”
Harlan looked toward the photograph of Caleb.
Harriet followed his gaze.
“My father knew your brother.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Caleb worked survey crews before we bought this ridge.”
“For Vale?”
“Not at first.”
Harlan stood and added wood to the fire.
His shoulders were tense.
“Vale hired the crew to cut a rail bed through the northern pass. Caleb wrote me that they were rushing blasting because winter was coming. Powder was wet. Supports were wrong. Men complained.”
Harriet already knew where the story was going.
“Vale ignored them.”
“His foreman did. Maybe Vale knew. Maybe he didn't. Doesn't matter much to dead men.”
Harlan stared into the flames.
“Caleb refused to set the last charges. Foreman threatened to dock everybody's pay. Three men went in. Caleb followed because he wouldn't let them work alone.”
“The explosion.”
Harlan nodded.
“Your father was delivering supplies nearby. He helped pull Caleb out.”
Harriet's throat tightened.
“He was alive?”
“For two hours.”
“Oh, Harlan.”
“He asked your father to find me.”
Harriet closed her eyes.
She imagined Samuel Bell, younger and stronger, riding through winter darkness carrying news no brother should receive.
“He stayed with me three days after the funeral,” Harlan said. “Didn't ask anything. Just stayed.”
“And you've been paying him back?”
“Can't pay something like that back.”
“So when he asked you to watch the boarding house…”
“I did.”
Harriet understood now.
She still did not like it.
But she understood.
She looked at the letter.
“Burn it.”
Harlan turned.
“What?”
“Papa's instructions.”
“They're not orders.”
“They became secrets.”
Harlan picked up the envelope.
For a moment he seemed reluctant.
Then he tossed it into the fire.
The paper curled.
Blackened.
Disappeared.
Harriet released a breath she had not known she was holding.
“From now on,” she said, “if this concerns me, you tell me.”
“Yes.”
“And you don't make decisions for me.”
“Agreed.”
“And if I decide to sell—”
“You won't.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You're already failing.”
He sighed.
“If you decide to sell, I'll disagree loudly and irritate you until the papers are signed.”
“Better.”
Harlan smiled.
At dawn the storm cleared.
They returned to Bitter Creek.
Pearl was waiting.
So was Josephine.
And half the town.
Harriet saw them from two blocks away gathered outside the boarding house.
“Oh, wonderful,” she muttered.
Harlan followed her gaze.
“Want me to keep riding?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin.
“If they want a scandal, they can work for it.”
The wagon stopped.
Pearl hurried forward.
“Harriet!”
Her eyes moved between Harriet and Harlan.
“You were gone all night.”
“I noticed.”
“You stayed at his cabin?”
“Yes.”
A collective inhale went through the crowd.
Harriet climbed down.
Josephine whispered, “Alone?”
“Harlan was there.”
“That is what I meant.”
“Oh.”
Harriet started unloading empty bread baskets.
Pearl followed.
“You cannot possibly think this is funny.”
“I don't.”
“What will people say?”
Harriet stopped.
She looked at the gathered faces.
Then back at Pearl.
“Judging from present evidence, I imagine they'll say it directly in front of me.”
Harlan coughed suspiciously.
Pearl flushed.
Josephine stepped forward.
“Some women still care about their reputation.”
Harriet's old instinct returned.
Shrink.
Apologize.
Explain.
Then she remembered Harlan's voice.
Don't apologize for taking up space.
She faced Josephine.
“My reputation is that I got caught in a snowstorm while delivering bread and slept in a separate room in a man's cabin.”
“You expect us to believe—”
“I don't care what you believe.”
The courtyard went quiet.
Harriet herself was shocked.
Josephine's face hardened.
Harlan unloaded the last basket.
“Morning,” he said pleasantly.
No one answered.
Inside, Samuel Bell laughed until he began coughing again.
Mrs. Grady scolded him.
By afternoon, the gossip had spread.
By evening, it had grown.
According to one customer, Harriet and Harlan were secretly engaged.
According to another, they had been meeting for months.
Pearl apparently told someone Harlan had “carried Harriet over the threshold.”
Harriet nearly threw a biscuit.
Then Edwin Price arrived.
He entered the boarding house at six wearing the same neat suit.
This time he carried a leather portfolio.
Harriet met him in the dining room.
“I told you no.”
“You haven't heard today's offer.”
“Still no.”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
Harriet stopped.
The room was empty except for Harlan, who sat near the window drinking coffee.
Price placed a document on the table.
“Cash upon transfer.”
Twenty thousand.
Harriet's hands went cold.
She could buy a house in Denver.
Pay for doctors.
Give her father warmth and rest.
Never worry about winter guests.
Never wake at three.
Never hear Pearl laugh at her bread.
Price saw the hesitation.
“Enough to begin somewhere new.”
Harriet looked upstairs.
Her father coughed.
Price leaned closer.
“You could give him proper medical care.”
That was the blow.
He knew it.
Harriet knew he knew it.
“What happens if I refuse?”
“Mr. Vale proceeds.”
“With condemnation?”
“Possibly.”
“And if he wins?”
“You might receive considerably less.”
“How much less?”
Price closed the portfolio.
“Three thousand. Perhaps four.”
Harriet swallowed.
Twenty thousand now.
Or perhaps three later.
Harlan did not move.
Did not interfere.
He had promised.
This was her decision.
Price slid a fountain pen toward her.
“Mr. Vale's train arrives tomorrow. He would be pleased to finalize matters personally.”
Harriet touched the pen.
Her father's cough sounded again.
Twenty thousand dollars.
Security.
Doctors.
Freedom.
She imagined a clean little house somewhere nobody knew Harriet Bell.
A bakery perhaps.
No leaking roof.
No debt.
No fight.
Her fingers closed around the pen.
Across the room, Harlan stared out the window.
He would not stop her.
Something about that hurt.
Price opened the contract to the signature page.
Harriet read the amount.
$20,000.
Then she noticed another line.
All mineral, water, timber, and access rights conveyed in perpetuity.
Water.
She frowned.
“Why water rights?”
Price's eyes flickered.
Small.
But Harriet saw it.
“What?”
“Standard language.”
“No.”
“Miss Bell—”
“Why does Cyrus Vale want Bell Creek?”
“He doesn't.”
“Then remove it.”
Price hesitated.
Harriet put down the pen.
“Remove the water rights.”
“I am not authorized.”
“Then I am not selling.”
His pleasant expression vanished.
“You're making a serious mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“Twenty thousand dollars is more money than you'll see in your lifetime.”
Harriet thought about thirty loaves selling in seventeen minutes.
She thought about her mother's creek.
Harlan's brother.
Her father's promise.
And the bread Bitter Creek had laughed at.
She pushed the contract back.
“Then I'll have to live a long time.”
Price stood.
“This offer expires tomorrow at noon.”
“Good.”
He left.
Harlan remained silent until the door shut.
Then Harriet looked at him.
“Aren't you going to say something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
He lifted his coffee.
“Your bread should be twenty cents.”
Harriet laughed.
Hard.
So hard she cried.
Harlan did not mention the tears.
The following morning, Cyrus Vale's private train pulled into Bitter Creek.
He stepped onto the platform at eleven fifteen.
May you like
At eleven twenty, he walked directly into Harriet's boarding house.
And at eleven twenty-two, Cyrus Vale revealed why Bell Creek was worth far more than twenty thousand dollars.
