Eight hundred sixty-two dollars.
Plus Eleanor's fifty-dollar Boone Saddlery deposit draft.
Abigail stared at it.
She had not planned this.
Margaret saw immediately.
“No.”
Abigail looked at her.
Margaret smiled.
“Your mother's money belongs to you.”
Abigail looked toward Horace.
Then Gideon.
Then the saddle.
Her mother had intended that fifty dollars to make her riding easier.
Not to pay Horace.
She closed the box.
“Samuel.”
He stood outside.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Bring the envelope from the cattle office.”
Horace looked confused.
Samuel returned with a sealed envelope.
Abigail opened it.
Fifty dollars.
Gideon stared.
“What is that?”
Abigail smiled.
“Freight refund.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You didn't tell me.”
“I was busy discovering my dead mother secretly ordered a saddle.”
“Fair.”
She counted.
Nine hundred twelve dollars and forty cents.
Placed it before Mr. Lyle.
“Count.”
He did.
Twice.
Then signed the note.
PAID IN FULL.
Horace watched.
Abigail pushed it toward Gideon.
He did not take it.
“Yours.”
She shook her head.
“Ours.”
His eyes softened.
“Eventually?”
She remembered telling him that.
Weeks ago.
She smiled.
“Now.”
Gideon took the note.
Horace stood in silence.
Then looked at Abigail.
“I underestimated you.”
She expected satisfaction.
Instead sadness came.
“That is not an apology.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I don't know how to give you one you'll believe.”
Abigail considered.
“Start without explaining why you hurt me.”
Horace looked at her.
She waited.
For once he had no prepared language.
No business phrasing.
No instruction.
Finally:
“I was cruel to you.”
Abigail's breath caught.
Horace continued.
“I called it discipline.”
“I called it preparation.”
“I called it concern.”
“But I was cruel.”
Tears threatened.
She hated that he still had power to make her want more.
He looked toward Eleanor's letter.
“I thought your mother made you soft.”
His voice broke slightly.
“She understood you better than I did.”
Abigail said nothing.
“I canceled the saddle because I believed she was rewarding weakness.”
“I was wrong.”
The room stayed still.
Horace looked at Gideon.
Then Abigail.
“I was wrong about this marriage too.”
Gideon almost spoke.
Stopped.
Abigail noticed.
Good.
Horace put on his gloves.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
“That is the first sensible expectation you've had today.”
A faint smile touched his face.
Sad.
He nodded.
Then left.
No hug.
No miraculous reconciliation.
Abigail did not run after him.
Love did not erase history in one conversation.