How many cattle grazed on the eastern pasture?
When had the windmill last been serviced?
Were the ranch accounts organized by expense category?
Nathaniel stared at the letter.
Then wrote:
Miss Whitmore, I believe you have mistaken this courtship for an examination.
Clara replied:
Mr. Carter, I believe you have mistaken marriage for an arrangement in which the wife is expected not to notice the bills.
Nathaniel laughed so loudly that Mateo came running from the barn.
Eventually, he invited her west.
Not as an immediate bride.
He suggested she visit under proper arrangements, meet him, examine the ranch, and decide whether she wished to remain.
They could marry after both were satisfied.
Clara appreciated that.
She also understood that travel would require careful planning.
Aunt Beatrice was horrified.
“Arizona?”
Clara nodded.
“Arizona.”
Beatrice stared.
“You've never traveled that far.”
“That's true.”
“And you barely know this man.”
“We've corresponded extensively.”
“Letters are not the same as a person.”
Clara smiled.
“I know.”
Her aunt folded her arms.
“And the journey?”
“I've arranged for assistance and suitable transport.”
Beatrice shook her head.
For a moment, her eyes filled.
“Clara, I worry that people will be cruel.”
Clara took her hand.
“They sometimes are cruel here.”
Her aunt looked down.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Beatrice whispered.
“I just don't want you hurt.”
Clara's expression softened.
“I know.”
She squeezed her aunt's hand.
“But I can't stay inside this house forever because the world doesn't know what to do with me.”
Beatrice began crying.
Clara embraced her.
And for a long time, the two women stood together.
When the journey finally began, Clara carried three trunks.
One contained clothing.
One held household necessities and carefully folded bedding.
And the third contained tools, ledgers, property records, and the old Arizona papers her father left behind.
She also carried a small leather satchel with her correspondence and a photograph of Samuel.
Her aunt watched from the station platform.
Clara looked back.
For a moment, her courage faltered.
Then Beatrice raised one hand.
“Write to me.”
Clara smiled.
“Every week.”
The train began moving.
Aunt Beatrice grew smaller beyond the window.
And Clara Whitmore traveled west toward a rancher she had never met.
Toward a home she desperately wanted.
And toward a secret that had already shaped more lives than either of them understood.