They sat together, the older woman moving with the comfortable authority of someone who'd run this household for years. Martha added generous amounts of both to Lydia's cup, as if sensing she needed the comfort. " Mr. Crow is a good man, " Martha said, echoing her earlier assessment. " But he's been alone a long time. His mother died when he was young.
His father was, well, let's just say not the warmest of men. Ethan learned early to keep his cards close, trust carefully, and assume everyone wants something from him. That must be a lonely way to live. It is. But it's kept him safe.
There are people who'd take advantage of him if they could. Family members who think they deserve a share of the operation. Business partners who want more than their contracts entitled them to. Fortune hunters of every variety. Martha sipped her tea.
When he said he was going down mountain to find a wife, I worried he'd come back with someone who saw dollar signs instead of a person. I'm glad I was wrong. You can't know that yet. You just met me. I know that you asked for terms instead of promises.
I know you didn't dissolve into gratitude when you saw all this. Martha gestured around the room. And I know you're sitting here trying to figure out your next move instead of crying or celebrating. That tells me you're practical. And practical is exactly what this place needs.
Lydia studied the older woman. Why are you telling me this? Because I've watched Mr. Crow shoulder burdens that would break most men. And I'd like to see him have an ally instead of another weight to carry. You can be that ally, Mrs. Crow, if you choose to be, or you can just be a contractual obligation.
The choice is yours. What if I choose to leave? Martha didn't look surprised by the question. Then you leave. Mr. Crow would honor your contract, make sure you and your family were taken care of, and go back to managing everything alone.
But I hope you'll stay. Not for his sake, for yours. There's a place for you here if you want it. A real place, not just a role to play. After Martha left, Lydia spent the rest of the afternoon exploring her new quarters and trying to process everything that had happened.
The room had a connected bathing chamber with a large copper tub, shelves of fresh linens, and most surprising, a small library of books apparently left there for her convenience. She ran her fingers over the spines. Novels, histories, practical guides to everything from animal husbandry to household management. Someone had thought about what she might need. Whether that someone was Ethan or Martha, it was a consideration she hadn't expected.
As evening approached, another knock came. This time it was a young woman, perhaps Lydia's age, carrying a large picture of steaming water. " Thought you might like a hot bath, ma'am, " the girl said shily. " I'm Anne. I helped Martha with the house.
Thank you, Anne, but you don't need to call me ma'am. Lydia is fine. Anne's eyes widened slightly. Oh, I couldn't. You're Mrs. Crow now.
It wouldn't be proper. As Anne filled the tub with a series of trips from the kitchen, Lydia realized another layer of her new reality. She had status here. Authority by virtue of marriage, whether she wanted it or not. These people would defer to her, look to her for direction, call her Mrs. Crowe and mean it as respect.
The responsibility of it settled on her shoulders like a physical weight. After her bath, Lydia dressed in one of the simpler dresses from her bag and went downstairs. She'd been avoiding the inevitable, but it was time to face the rest of this strange new household. The main room was occupied. Ethan sat at a large desk in the corner, paper spread before him, a ledger open under the lamplight.
Samuel, the man from the workshop, occupied a chair near the fireplace, smoking a pipe. Martha was setting the table for dinner, and two other men Lydia hadn't met yet were playing cards at a smaller table. Everyone looked up when she entered. " Mrs. Crowe, " Samuel said, rising. The card players followed suit.
Even in the back country, some formalities held. " Please don't let me interrupt, " Lydia said. " You're not interrupting, " Ethan said, standing as well. You're joining. Come, let me make proper introductions. "
He guided her around the room. Samuel turned out to be the general foreman responsible for coordinating all the timber operations. The card players were James and Robert, brothers who managed the actual logging crews. Over dinner, which Martha served with quiet efficiency, Lydia met two more workers who came in from the evening shift. Thomas, who handled the horses and equipment, and a silent man named Chen, who apparently managed the valley's water systems.
The conversation flowed around her, mostly business talk about timber contracts, equipment repairs, and preparations for the coming winter. Lydia listened more than she spoke, trying to understand the operation scale. " How much timber do you process in a year? " She asked during a lull. The table went quiet.
The men glanced at Ethan as if unsure whether they were allowed to answer. It's all right, Ethan said. She's entitled to know, he turned to Lydia. Roughly 500,000 board feet in a good year. More if we get contracts for specialty lumber.
Lydia had no frame of reference for that number, but the way the men nodded suggested it was substantial. And the workers I saw today, they all live here. The core crew lives here year round, Samuel explained. About 20 people. During harvest season, we bring in another 20 or 30.
They camp in the lower valley, work for wages, go home when the season ends. Harvest season being late spring through early fall. Can't get timber out in winter. Roads are impassible. So, what happens in winter?
Maintenance, Ethan said. Equipment repair, planning for the next season, smaller projects. And this year, he paused, his expression shifting to something Lydia couldn't quite read. This year, we have some other challenges to address. The men around the table shifted uncomfortably.
James and Robert exchanged glances. Samuel suddenly became very interested in his dinner plate. " What kind of challenges? " Lydia asked. " Business challenges, " Ethan said. "
Nothing you need to worry about tonight. " It was a dismissal, polite, but firm. Lydia recognized the tactic. Her father had done the same thing when he didn't want to burden her mother with financial worries. The impulse was protective, maybe even kind, but it was also patronizing.
She considered pushing, demanding to know what challenges might affect her new life, but she was exhausted, overwhelmed, and not ready for another fight. So, she let it go, filing the evasion away as another question to revisit later. After dinner, the men dispersed to their own quarters. Most lived in a bunk house behind the main lodge. Martha showed Lydia where the kitchen was, how to work the stove, where supplies were kept.