That's something you can count on. " He replaced his hat and moved toward the door. Lydia followed. " Mr. Crowe? " He turned.
Oh, why me specifically? For the first time, his expression softened slightly. Because I watched you stand up to Samuel Garrett without flinching. Because you asked how much instead of how to run. Because desperation hasn't made you weak.
It's made you sharp. I need someone sharp, Miss Hail. The mountains don't forgive softness. Then he was gone, leaving only the sound of hoofbeats fading into the gathering dusk and a bank draft that represented either salvation or the worst mistake of Lydia's life. That night, the hail cabin was filled with argument. "
You can't seriously be considering this, " Margaret said for perhaps the 20th time. She paced the small kitchen, her hands twisting a dish towel into knots. " Marriage isn't something you just purchase like flour or nails. People have been arranging marriages for practical reasons since the beginning of time. Mama Lydia sat at the table, the bank draft in front of her like a piece of evidence in a trial.
At least this way, I know what I'm getting into. Do you? You don't know anything about this man. He could be violent. He could be unstable.
He could He could be our only chance. Thomas's voice came from the bedroom, weak but clear. Let her speak, Margaret. Margaret's face crumpled. Thomas, you can't possibly approve of this.
Come here, both of you. " They gathered in his room, Margaret sitting on one side of the bed, Lydia on the other. Thomas looked between them, his eyes bright with fever and something else, a kind of terrible clarity that comes near the end. " I'm not going to live long enough to see how this turns out, " he said bluntly. " We all know it.
So, I'm going to say my piece while I still can. " He took Lydia's hand. You're 22 years old and you've already spent 5 years watching this family fall apart. You've put off every chance at a normal life to take care of me. You've never complained, never asked for anything.
But I see how you look out that window sometimes, like you're searching for something that isn't there. Papa, let me finish. This crow fellow, I don't know him. Don't know what he's offering, but I know you, Lydia girl. You're the smartest person I ever met and the strongest.
If you think this is worth the risk, then I trust your judgment. Margaret made a sound of protest. But Thomas continued, squeezing Lydia's hand. I also want you to know you have a choice. We'll figure something out.
We always have. No, we won't, Lydia said gently. And that's okay. This isn't about giving up. It's about choosing the best option we actually have, not the one we wish we had.
She looked at her mother. I know this isn't what you wanted for me. I know you dreamed I'd marry for love, have a real wedding, build a normal life. But mama, this is my life right here, right now. And I'd rather face an uncertain future with this stranger than watch us all drown in debt, waiting for a miracle that's never coming.
Margaret was crying now, silent tears that tracked down her worn face. What if he hurts you? Then I'll leave. The money will be paid either way. He said so himself.
I'll come home. What if there is no home to come back to? Lydia had no answer for that. They sat in silence for a long time, the lamp burning low, the wind picking up outside. Finally, Thomas spoke again.
If you do this, you do it smart. Keep some money hidden. Learn the land. Make yourself valuable enough that he needs you, not just wants you. And remember, a contract works both ways.
He's buying your presence, not your soul. Thomas. Margaret looked scandalized. It's practical advice, Margaret. If she's going to do this thing, she might as well do it right.
Lydia almost smiled. Even dying, her father was teaching her how to survive. The next day passed in a blur of preparation and second-guessing. Lydia sorted through her possessions, trying to decide what to bring. " One bag, " Ethan had said.
Everything else would stay behind. She chose carefully. Her mother's sewing kit, a few changes of clothes, her father's watch, a small leather journal her grandmother had given her, practical items mixed with sentiment. Word had spread through the small settlement with the speed that news always traveled in isolated communities. By midday, three neighbors had stopped by, their curiosity barely disguised as concern. "
Is it true you're marrying Ethan Crowe? " Sarah Mitchell asked, her eyes bright with gossip. That mountain hermit who comes down twice a year for supplies. I'm considering it. But Lydia, nobody knows anything about him.
He could be anyone. There are stories. What kind of stories? Sarah lowered her voice conspiratorially. Just rumors really.
Some people say he's hiding from something. Others say he found gold up in the high country and doesn't want anyone to know. My husband heard he used to be a soldier. Saw terrible things in some war. Nobody really knows.
Then they're just stories, Lydia said firmly, not facts. After Sarah left, Margaret brought her tea. They sat together at the kitchen table, not speaking, just being present with each other in the way they'd learned during the long vigil of Thomas's illness. I put together a package, Margaret said finally. Some food, a few medical supplies, that blue shawl you always liked, things you might need.
Mama, you should keep. I want you to have them. Margaret's voice was fierce. You're my daughter, Lydia. Whether you marry this man or not, whether you stay or go, you're my daughter.
That doesn't change. They held each other. Then, two women who'd survived more than most people ever would, preparing to survive a little more. That evening, Lydia walked to her father's room one last time as his daughter alone. Tomorrow, then, Thomas said.