“I only mean household help is difficult to find.”
Lena looked toward table.
“I brought pie.”
She uncovered apple pie.
Adeline stared.
“How domestic.”
“Dangerously.”
Reid almost choked.
By the end of the evening people lined up for second slices.
Adeline did not ask for one.
Three days later the winter flour order vanished.
Reid rode to Prescott Mercantile.
Returned furious.
“They claim supplier shorted them.”
Lena looked up from sewing.
“All flour?”
“For us.”
“Only us?”
He stared.
“I asked.”
“And?”
“Hale order arrived.”
Lena set needle down.
“Salt pork?”
“Delayed.”
“Kerosene?”
“Unavailable.”
Lena went still.
Three shortages.
Same week.
Then Jacob came running from lane.
“Letter!”
No stamp.
No name.
Folded paper.
Reid opened.
SEND LENA AWAY BEFORE WINTER, OR THIS RANCH WILL LEARN WHAT HUNGER REALLY MEANS.
His face became frightening.
Thomas read over shoulder.
“What does that mean?”
Reid folded letter.
“Nothing.”
Lena held out hand.
“Give it.”
“No.”
“Reid.”
“Lena.”
She waited.
He gave it.
She read.
Then walked into pantry.
Reid followed.
“What are you doing?”
She began counting.
“Flour.”
“What?”