Privacy inside company.
She breathed.
Then read.
Eat when you are hungry. Rest when you are tired. Wear dresses that allow you to breathe. Do work that uses your mind. Marry only if you can laugh in the same room where you argue.
Grant smiled.
Eliza looked at him.
“We manage that.”
“Frequently.”
She continued.
Never remain anywhere merely because someone has convinced you that gratitude requires obedience.
Another tear.
If you someday choose a husband, choose a man who understands that loving you does not make him your owner. If he forgets, remind him loudly.
Grant laughed.
Eliza did too.
“I like your mother.”
“You would've terrified her.”
“Reasonable.”
The final lines were simpler.
You were never too much.
Not too hungry.
Not too loud.
Not too soft.
Not too large.
Not too difficult.
You were my daughter.
That was always enough.
Love,
Mama
Eliza stopped reading.
Her shoulders shook.
Grant came around the table only after she reached toward him.
He knelt beside her.
She buried her face against his shoulder.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
Grant held her.
“She tried.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she stop him?”
Grant closed his eyes.
There was no clean answer.
“She was dying.”
“I know.”
“She should have—”
“I know.”
Eliza cried harder.
Grief had no respect for logic.
She could love her mother.
Be grateful for the trust.
And still wish Eleanor had fought louder while alive.
Grant did not turn the letter into sainthood.
That mattered too.
When the money finally arrived, Grant refused to discuss it.
Eliza became annoyed.
“It affects our life.”
“It affects yours.”
“We're married.”
“That does not make eight thousand dollars suddenly mine.”
“What if I want it to be ours?”
Grant looked at her.
“Then tell me what that means.”
Eliza thought.
That question became a week of conversations.
Not romance.
Not trauma.
Contracts.
Ownership.
If she invested in Red Willow, what percentage?
Would profit be hers?
What happened if Grant died?
What happened if she did?
Would Samuel inherit?
Would children, if they had any, change the arrangement?
Grant hated legal papers.
Eliza loved them.
“Words prevent memory from becoming convenient.”
She said.
Grant stared.
“That sounds like your father.”
Eliza stiffened.
He immediately added:
“Without the evil.”
She laughed despite herself.
Eventually they agreed.
Eliza invested one thousand dollars.
Not eight.
Enough to purchase a legal share of Red Willow Ranch.
Twenty percent.
Grant offered half.
She refused.
“I don't want half because you love me.”
“Why not?”
“Because this isn't affection.”
She tapped the contract.
“This is business.”
Grant smiled.
“My wife terrifies me.”
“Good.”
She kept the remaining seven thousand under her own control.
Some became savings.
Some helped improve the ranch house.
A small amount purchased books.
A sewing machine.
A new stove.
Then Eliza created something Augustus would have considered absurd.
A pantry fund.