“Silver City mines pay ridiculous prices for preserved food in late winter.”
“How ridiculous?”
She showed him.
He stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Billy’s uncle.”
“You wrote him?”
“I ask questions.”
“You ask everyone questions.”
“That is how information works.”
She had calculated surplus.
Hams.
Bacon.
Sausage.
Rendered lard.
Even soap from fat and ash.
If sold directly to mining camps rather than through Montgomery’s mercantile, they could generate more than six hundred dollars.
Still nowhere near four thousand.
But enough to buy time.
Josiah shook his head.
“Bank won’t care.”
“Maybe.”
“That word again.”
Martha continued.
“What if the bank learns Montgomery’s invoices are fraudulent?”
Josiah looked toward her.
“Bank manager likes Montgomery.”
“Bank manager likes being repaid more.”
“You think he’ll extend?”
“I think he may prefer restructuring a legitimate loan rather than becoming entangled in a fraud case involving one of his underwriters.”
Josiah stared.
Martha smiled.
“Banks dislike scandal when scandal threatens money.”
He laughed.
“You should have been a lawyer.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I like honest professions.”
Josiah laughed harder.
It was the first time Martha had heard him laugh freely since the storm.
She liked the sound more than she wanted to.
That became its own problem.
She had come west for work.
Not romance.
Her husband had been dead six years.
Cholera had taken him so quickly she spent two years afterward feeling as if the world had made a clerical error.
She had run the boarding house alone until rising rent and a dishonest partner pushed her out.
She knew dependence.
She knew promises.
She knew men who respected a woman’s skill until that skill contradicted them.
Josiah had begun as one of those men.
Then he changed.
Or perhaps revealed more.
He asked before helping.
He paid wages exactly when agreed.
He stopped making decisions about smokehouse supplies without consulting her.
One afternoon he ordered a carpenter to widen the steps into the preservation shed.
Martha confronted him.
“You did that for me.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“No.”
She crossed her arms.
He waited.
She said:
“You should have asked.”
“You’re right.”
That ended the argument.
Martha had prepared for defensiveness.
Instead she got correction.
The next change he asked about.
Progress was irritating that way.
By March, the meat sales brought seven hundred forty-three dollars.
More than expected.
The mine cooks paid extra for sausages because Martha’s curing method held up better in storage.
One superintendent offered a standing contract.
Josiah wanted to accept immediately.
Martha refused.
“Price is too low.”
“He’s paying more than town.”
“He is asking for guaranteed volume through summer.”
“So?”