"Mr. Vane's been telling quite a tale."
Lydia looked toward the window.
"Has he?"
"Yes."
The storekeeper's wife set the fabric on the counter.
Then looked Lydia directly in the eyes.
"But I remember what you said about the coats you're making. You asked for honest measurements and paid for the cloth."
Lydia smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"That's what I know about you."
For a moment, Lydia felt her throat tighten.
Then she thanked the woman and paid for the fabric.
As she left, one of the whispering women looked away.
Lydia continued walking.
She was beginning to learn that not every stranger's opinion required an answer.
Her sewing business grew faster than she expected.
Ruth recommended her to several ranch families.
Miss Mercer introduced her to a merchant who needed accurate account books maintained.
The schoolteacher asked whether Lydia could repair winter coats for children whose families had little money.
Within a month, she had more work than she could comfortably complete at Frost Creek.
She began spending two days each week in Calder's Crossing.
Abigail helped her arrange a small workroom behind a boardinghouse.
It contained a table, two chairs, a stove, and a narrow bed.
Lydia paid the rent from her earnings.
She kept her own accounts.
Bought her own supplies.
And placed a little money into a savings account bearing her name.
The first time she received payment for a large dressmaking commission, she sat at the worktable staring at the coins.
The customer had paid the agreed amount.
No bargaining.
No mockery.
No demand that Lydia explain why she needed money.
Just fair payment for skilled work.
She counted the coins twice.
Then placed them in a small cloth purse.
For a moment, she felt almost foolishly proud.
She had earned money before.
But Everett had taken it.
He claimed that as her husband, he ought to manage all household finances.
He made her ask permission to purchase thread.
Now she could buy thread without asking anyone.
It seemed such a small freedom.
Yet Lydia found herself smiling each time she unlocked the workroom door.
One evening, Gideon arrived after delivering supplies to town.
He stood in the doorway watching her sew.
She looked up.
"Gideon."
He smiled.
"Busy?"
"Very."
He glanced toward the table.
Several garments lay neatly folded.
An account ledger stood open beside them.
"Looks like it."
Lydia stood.
Her cheeks warmed.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Always."
She poured it.
Then showed him the work she had completed.
A girl's blue wool dress.
Three repaired coats.
A set of reinforced saddlebag straps.
Gideon examined the straps carefully.
"These are better than the ones sold at the general store."
Lydia smiled.
"Thank you."
He looked toward the account book.
"How's business?"
She hesitated.
Then turned it toward him.
"I made enough this month to cover the workroom rent and put money aside."
Gideon stared.
"That's wonderful."
Lydia looked at him.
"You're not offended?"
He frowned.
"Why would I be?"
"Some men don't like their wives earning money."
Gideon's expression changed.