The Woman They Said Wouldn’t Last a Week — And the Ranch She Refused to Let Die

Virgil Tatum learned about the courthouse visit before breakfast.

By eight, a whiskey glass had shattered against the wall of his office.

"You said Caldwell was finished," Virgil told the man in the red neckerchief.

"He was."

"Then who is the woman?"

"His wife."

Virgil glared.

"I know what she is called."

The man said nothing.

Virgil walked toward the window.

Across the street, Cheyenne moved through an ordinary morning.

Wagons.

Horses.

Merchants lifting awnings.

Women carrying baskets.

Virgil had spent eleven years making certain nothing important in the town happened without eventually benefiting him.

Loans.

Freight.

Land.

Livestock.

Even the saloon's card tables owed him money.

Josiah Caldwell was supposed to be simple.

A widower.

Seven children.

Falling ranch.

Easy.

Virgil had been waiting for default because the Broken Spur sat near land the railroad was quietly considering for a future loading spur.

If that happened, the property would become worth several times its current value.

Josiah did not know.

That was the point.

Then Clementine Dawson arrived.

Virgil hated variables.

Back at the ranch, Clementine was discovering that profit required more than cooking.

It required speed.

By Tuesday afternoon, the railroad crew wanted lunch added.

Clementine agreed only after raising the price.

The foreman protested.

She explained flour cost money.

He paid.

Josiah repaired tack late into the night.

Wyatt worked horses.

Sadi began producing pies that Clementine sold in town.

Even the twins found employment.

A farmer paid them twenty-five cents each to climb two cottonwoods and remove broken branches before they fell on his roof.

The family money reached one hundred eighty-seven dollars.

Clementine counted twice.

Josiah sat across the kitchen.

"We won't make it."

"Perhaps not in cash."

"Meaning?"

"We have proof of fraud."

"We have proof I was in Laramie."

"We need more."

Wyatt entered.

"I'll go."

Josiah's face hardened.

"We discussed it."

"You discussed it."

"Same thing."

"No."

Clementine continued counting.

Father and son argued.

Finally she slapped the pencil onto the table.

Both stopped.

"We are not sending a fourteen-year-old alone seventy miles without preparation."

Wyatt opened his mouth.

Clementine raised one finger.

"I did not say no."

Josiah looked at her as though betrayed.

"Clementine."

"If he goes, he takes the bay gelding. He stops at Miller Farm. Then Rock Creek station. He carries food, water, two blankets, and a written message. He does not ride after dark."

Wyatt looked victorious.

Josiah looked furious.

"He's a child."

"So was I."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No."

Her voice softened.

"But it may make it necessary."

Later, away from the children, Josiah confronted her.

"You had no right."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because you are his father and fear is making your decision."

"And you're not afraid?"

"I am terrified."

He paused.

She continued.

"That is why I am planning."

"You said you were a child too."

Clementine looked out the window.

"My father died when I was nineteen. But I started working the stockyards at thirteen."

"Thirteen?"

"Food cart."

"Alone?"

"Mostly."

"Your mother allowed that?"

"My mother needed rent."

Josiah's anger cooled.

Clementine rarely spoke about herself.

Now he understood why.

"Was it bad?"

"Sometimes."

"What happened?"

She smiled without humor.

"I learned that men become surprisingly polite when a thirteen-year-old girl remembers exactly how much money they owe."

He laughed quietly.

Then sobered.

"Why did you leave Chicago?"

That question had been waiting.

Clementine sat.

"When Doyle went to prison, people thought I had won."

"You had."

"Winning can be expensive."

She explained.

Customers stopped coming.

Some because they feared retaliation.

Some because they did not want to associate with a woman considered troublesome.

Her brothers moved west.

Her mother died.

The building owner doubled rent.

Clementine sold the business before debt swallowed it.

"For what?"

"Enough to settle everything."

"You had money."

"Once."

"What happened to it?"

"I paid my brothers' debts. My mother's doctor. Passage here."

Josiah frowned.

"You could've started again."

"I was tired."

The same words he had once used.

Clementine met his eyes.

"Then I saw your advertisement."

Something passed silently between them.

Two exhausted people recognizing each other.

Neither looked away quickly enough.

Clementine stood first.

"We need sleep."

"Right."

Neither slept much.

Wednesday began with Wyatt leaving for Laramie.

Josiah rode with him to Miller Farm.

Then returned reluctantly.

Clementine watched the road long after both disappeared.

Sadi approached.

"You think he'll be okay?"

"Yes."

"You don't know."

"No."

Sadi looked at her.

"Most grown-ups lie when they're scared."

Clementine nodded.

"Yes."

"Why don't you?"

"Because children usually know anyway."

Sadi absorbed that.

Then whispered, "I don't want to leave here."

Clementine put an arm around her.

Sadi stiffened.

For one second Clementine thought she would pull away.

Then the girl leaned closer.

It was the first time one of the older children had voluntarily accepted affection from her.

Clementine said nothing.

That made it possible.

At noon, Gertrude Finch arrived.

Uninvited.

She carried a pie.

Clementine immediately became suspicious.

Gertrude never brought food where she expected better food already existed.

"I heard about your trouble."

"Cheyenne remains efficient."

Gertrude smiled.

"People are concerned."

"Are they?"

"Virgil Tatum is respected."

Clementine nearly laughed.

"By whom?"

Gertrude ignored that.

"He says Josiah borrowed money honestly."

"He did."

"And now refuses repayment."

"He does not."

"People are saying—"

"You."

Gertrude paused.

"What?"

"When you say people are saying something, Mrs. Finch, I have learned that often means you said it first."

Sadi, listening through the window, covered her mouth.

Gertrude's cheeks reddened.

"I came to warn you."

"About?"

"Virgil says you are running some sort of scheme. Selling food without a town permit."

Clementine became still.

"Permit?"

"For prepared meals."

"Does Cheyenne require one?"

Gertrude shrugged.

"I wouldn't know."

Of course she knew.

Clementine thanked her and sent her away.

Then she rode into town.

The clerk confirmed a permit existed.

Cost: five dollars.

Clementine paid.

"When was ordinance passed?"

"Three years ago."

"How many food sellers hold one?"

The clerk checked.

"Two."

"How many sell food?"

He looked uncomfortable.

"More."

"Interesting."

Outside, Virgil waited.

Leaning against a post.

"Clementine."

"Mr. Tatum."

"I hear you've been busy."

"I prefer work."

"Your husband owes me money."

"So you've mentioned."

"I'd hate to see you work yourself to death only to lose."

"Your concern is touching."

He smiled.

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No."

That answer surprised him.

"I think you are accustomed to frightened people."

His eyes hardened.

"Careful."

"Why?"

"Chicago is far away."

Clementine stepped closer.

"So is Laramie."

For the first time, Virgil visibly reacted.

Tiny.

But enough.

He knew why Wyatt had gone.

Clementine saw it.

Virgil recovered.

"Fourteen-year-old boys have accidents on roads."

She went cold.

"Is that a threat?"

"I said roads are dangerous."

"If my stepson fails to arrive in Laramie, I will repeat this conversation to the sheriff, the county judge, every newspaper between here and Denver, and any railroad official willing to listen."

Virgil's smile disappeared completely.

Clementine continued.

"Now I suggest you pray for excellent weather."

She walked away.

Her hands did not shake until she reached the wagon.

That evening, storm clouds gathered west of the ranch.

Josiah stood on the porch watching lightning flicker over distant plains.

"Wyatt should've reached Rock Creek."

Clementine nodded.

Rain began.

Hard.

By midnight, wind hammered the cabin.