Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Remembered Everyone
Maggie did not confront Harlan immediately.
That surprised Noah.
“You know he's lying.”
“I know the numbers don't match.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
She pushed a stack of clean plates into the wagon.
“Knowing somebody is lying and proving what the lie is are different problems.”
“So what do we do?”
“We count.”
Noah frowned.
“Count what?”
“Everything.”
For the next five days, Maggie kept two inventories.
The official list remained in the small notebook Silas and Harlan could inspect.
The second existed on scraps of paper hidden beneath the false bottom of her flour box.
Every pound of bacon.
Every scoop of coffee.
Every sack of meal.
Every tin of peaches.
Every delivery.
Every meal.
At night she compared the numbers.
The differences grew.
Not enormous amounts.
That was what made it clever.
Two sacks here.
One crate there.
A few pounds of coffee.
Quantities small enough to disappear inside an operation feeding two hundred men.
But not small enough to be accidental.
Maggie estimated that nearly eighty dollars in provisions had vanished in three weeks.
Eighty dollars was a fortune to her.
To Silas Whitaker, perhaps it was merely an irritation.
But she understood people who stole a little.
Sometimes they stole a little because they were afraid of being caught stealing a lot.
Cole became harder to reach.
Silas kept him busy.
There were cattle negotiations, route decisions, grazing disputes, and discussions about prices further north.
When Cole did appear by Maggie's wagon, he looked tired.
“You're avoiding me,” Maggie said.
He stopped.
“I've been working.”
“So have I.”
“I spoke to Harlan.”
“And?”
“He says the difference is because three supply invoices were entered before delivery.”
“Did you believe him?”
Cole rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don't know.”
“That's an answer.”
“Maggie—”
“Your uncle thinks I waste food.”
“He thinks everyone wastes everything.”
“He questioned why Amos gets softer biscuits.”
Cole blinked.
“What?”
“He said I use too much gravy.”
For one second Cole looked as if he might laugh.
Then he realized she was serious.
Maggie continued.
“He asked why Billy Carter gets an extra piece of bread some nights.”
“He's seventeen.”
“He's sixteen.”
Cole sighed.
“Silas counts differently than you do.”
“People aren't cattle, Cole.”
It was the first time she used his given name directly.
Both noticed.
Neither mentioned it.
Cole leaned against the wagon wheel.
“You think I don't know that?”
“I think you know it when your uncle isn't standing nearby.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
That landed.
Maggie immediately regretted the cruelty.
But not enough to take it back.
Cole straightened.
“You don't know everything about my uncle and me.”
“No.”
“And I'd appreciate it if you didn't pretend you do.”
Maggie nodded.
“Fair enough.”
He walked away.
That evening he did not come for coffee.
Nor the next.
Maggie told herself she preferred it.
She did not.
Meanwhile, the cowboys noticed Silas's rules spreading through camp.
Coffee portions were reduced.
Second helpings required permission.
Leftover biscuits had to be counted.
One morning Harlan stood beside the serving line with a notebook.
Maggie stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Observing.”
“Do it somewhere else.”
“Mr. Whitaker asked me to determine average consumption.”
The cowboy at the front of the line looked from Maggie to Harlan.
Maggie filled his plate.
Harlan wrote something.
Next man.
Another plate.
Another note.
By the tenth rider, Maggie had enough.
She held out the serving spoon.
“Harlan.”
He looked up.
“You want to measure portions?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She pushed the spoon toward him.
“You serve.”
His face changed.
“I don't cook.”
“Neither does your notebook.”
A laugh moved through the line.
Harlan flushed.
Silas heard about it.
By noon he stood beside the wagon.
“You embarrassed my employee.”
“He was slowing breakfast.”
“You will cooperate with the accounts.”
“I have.”
“Then why does Voss say you're hostile?”
Maggie looked at him.
“Maybe because he's easier to offend than Amos's stomach.”
Silas's face hardened.
“Miss Reed, you seem to misunderstand your position.”
“No. I understand it perfectly. I cook.”
“You work for Whitaker.”
“Yes.”
“That means you follow Whitaker instructions.”
“When they don't interfere with feeding people.”
Silas stepped closer.
“You're being paid to feed working men, not build yourself a kingdom around a cook fire.”
Silence fell.
Maggie saw several cowboys turn.
There it was.
Not waste.
Not flour.
Not coffee.
Control.
Silas had noticed what Cole had noticed weeks earlier.
Men trusted Maggie.
The difference was that Cole seemed to admire it.
Silas resented it.
That evening Maggie found Cole waiting by the wagon.
“I heard.”
“Everybody heard.”
“He shouldn't have said that.”
“He says lots of things he shouldn't.”
“He thinks you're encouraging disrespect.”
Maggie stared.
“By serving biscuits?”
“You know that's not what I mean.”
“No. Explain it.”
Cole struggled.
“Men come to you.”
“Yes.”
“They complain.”
“They talk.”
“About decisions.”
“They complain about weather too. I haven't overthrown the sky.”
Cole almost smiled.
Then stopped himself.
“My uncle believes authority has to be clear.”
“And you?”
Cole looked toward the dark prairie.
“I think authority that's actually strong doesn't need to keep reminding people it exists.”
Maggie's expression softened.
“Then why don't you tell him that?”
Cole's answer came quietly.
“Because half this outfit belongs to me only on paper.”
Maggie waited.
He continued.
“My father left me his share. Silas managed it while I was young. Debts were taken against it. Investments made. Contracts signed. If I break with him before the northern sale, he can force the debts due.”
“You could lose everything.”
“Yes.”
“So you stay quiet.”
“For now.”
Maggie looked at the man she had begun to respect.
She understood him better.
Unfortunately, understanding did not make his silence hurt less.
“How long is ‘for now,’ Cole?”
He met her eyes.
Before he could answer, a rider called from the edge of camp.
“Supply wagon!”
Lanterns turned.
A wagon rolled through the darkness.
Harlan hurried toward it.
Maggie watched him.
Something about the man's sudden urgency bothered her.
She waited until midnight.
Then, while camp slept, she checked the new supplies.
Three crates listed on Harlan's manifest were missing.
The next morning, however, Silas's books showed Maggie had received them.
And beneath the figures, in Harlan Voss's neat handwriting, was a note:
Excess consumption attributable to kitchen management.
Maggie stared at the page.
The trap was no longer being prepared.
May you like
It had closed.
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