The gavel hovered above the auction block while seven children pressed themselves against Eleanor Hayes as if their combined weight could keep the world from pulling them apart.
Snow moved sideways through Covenant Creek.
It collected on the shoulders of coats, along the brim of the auctioneer’s hat, and inside the uneven cracks of the wooden platform where Eleanor stood with her family beneath a Wyoming Territory sky so white that earth and heaven seemed to have disappeared into the same cold emptiness.
“Going twice.”
The auctioneer looked over the crowd.
No hand rose.
Eleanor heard someone laugh below.
She did not look toward the sound.
Thirty-two years old, widowed, and burdened with a body so extraordinarily large that strangers often stared before they remembered manners, Eleanor had learned long ago that humiliation could be survived if one refused to feed it. She weighed close to three hundred kilograms, and every mile west had punished her knees, hips, and back. Travel had been slow. Wagon benches had been too narrow. Innkeepers had whispered about reinforced chairs. Men had joked openly that feeding her alone would bankrupt a homestead.
She had endured all of it.
But the seven frightened bodies surrounding her were something different.
Sarah, thirteen, stood at Eleanor’s left with tears trapped stubbornly in her eyes.
Thomas, eleven, tried to position himself between his mother and the officials waiting near the back of the platform.
James, nine, and William, eight, held tightly to one another.
Margaret and Catherine, six and five, pressed into Eleanor’s skirts.
Three-year-old Edward had stopped understanding the words around him but understood fear perfectly. His arms were wrapped around Eleanor’s leg.
Behind the auctioneer waited Mrs. Cromwell from the Bride Settlement Office.
The woman carried a leather portfolio containing documents Eleanor had already seen.
Seven names.
Seven destinations.
The children would not remain together.
Sarah was old enough for domestic placement.
Thomas could be contracted to a ranch.
James and William might be assigned to a work farm.
The younger girls would go wherever families requested them.
Edward was the only one officials said they might try to place with one of his sisters.
Might.
Eleanor hated that word.
The auctioneer raised the gavel slightly higher.
“Last call. Fifty dollars for the widow’s settlement obligation. Household labor, marriage eligibility, and dependent transfer included.”
A rancher near the front laughed.
“Fifty? You'd spend that feeding her before spring.”
Several men chuckled.
Eleanor stared beyond them at nothing.
She had sold her wedding ring in Philadelphia.
Her mother’s dishes.
Jonathan’s Sunday coat.
The walnut cradle all seven children had once slept in.
Then the quilt Eleanor’s grandmother made before Eleanor was born.
She had sold memories until memories were all she had left.
Still it had not been enough.
Factory wages vanished into rent and food.
Edward developed a winter cough.
Catherine needed medicine.
A landlord wanted money Eleanor did not possess.
Then advertisements began appearing in church halls and employment offices.
WESTERN SETTLEMENT OPPORTUNITIES FOR RESPECTABLE WIDOWS.
Housing.
Marriage contracts.
Homesteads in need of women who could manage households.
Families welcomed.
Eleanor had known promises were usually prettier than reality, but starvation did not give people the luxury of skepticism.
She signed.
Three months later she stood on an auction platform discovering what “families welcomed” actually meant when no settler wanted the family.
Mrs. Cromwell stepped closer.
“Mrs. Hayes.”
Eleanor did not look at her.
“You understood the terms.”
“I understood that my children would remain with me.”
“If selected.”
“That wasn't how your Philadelphia representative explained it.”
Mrs. Cromwell sighed.
“The West cannot feed sentiment.”
Eleanor finally turned.
“No. Apparently it feeds itself on frightened children instead.”
Mrs. Cromwell’s mouth tightened.
The auctioneer struck the block once to quiet the growing murmurs.
“Going twice.”
Eleanor crouched as carefully as her aching knees allowed and pulled Edward close.
“Mama?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Where are we going?”
She could not answer.
Thomas heard.
His small face hardened.
“They can't take us.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“Thomas.”
“I won't go.”
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
He was crying now.
“I'll run away.”
“Thomas.”
“I’ll find you.”
Eleanor grabbed both his shoulders.
“You stay with whoever they place you with until I find a way.”
“No.”
“You stay alive.”
His face collapsed.
“I can't lose you.”
Eleanor nearly broke.
She pulled him against her.