Thomas took over north cattle operations.
Samuel married schoolteacher.
Jacob trained horses.
Ben became veterinarian after traveling east.
Eli never left ranch and became better cook than Lena, though she denied it until death.
Reid and Lena had two children together.
A daughter, Clara.
Then another son, William.
Nine children in total.
When doctor told Lena after William that another pregnancy would be dangerous, Reid said:
“Nine is enough.”
She stared.
“You say that as though eight were reasonable.”
He smiled.
“I was already damaged.”
Their marriage was not endless peace.
They fought.
Lena wanted cooperative warehouse built near creek.
Reid argued flood risk.
He was right.
She hated that.
He once bought breeding bull without telling her.
She refused speaking to him until he showed invoice.
He complained her ledgers had more authority than preacher.
She said ledgers were less likely to lie.
They laughed.
Sometimes did not.
But the old rule held.
No hidden books.
No hidden debts.
No hidden promises.
When one was angry, they said it.
When afraid, eventually said that too.
Nathaniel Prescott died twelve years after trial.
Poorer than before.
Not destitute.
He had relatives.
Lena heard.
Felt sadness.
Not forgiveness exactly.
Just sadness for a man who could have built honest business and instead believed control was same as security.
Adeline sent one letter twenty years after leaving.
Addressed to Lena Reid.
Philadelphia.
She had married a physician.
No children.
Worked with immigrant women opening sewing cooperative.
The letter read:
You told me once I could build a life without taking someone else’s.
It took me too long to understand.
I hope you were right about yours.
Lena wrote back:
I was.
I hope you are too.
Adeline answered once.
I am learning.