"We were both married three years ago."
She explained that they had lived near a small community east of the mountains before two traders approached their families with promises of legitimate marriages and secure homes. The arrangements had been presented as a way for the women to build new lives while maintaining contact with their relatives. The men who became their husbands claimed to be prosperous cattle operators and freight contractors.
In reality, they were neither.
They had land leases, several wagons, and powerful friends in Cuervo Creek. They also had debts that seemed to grow no matter how much work the women performed.
The older woman had been twenty-four when she married.
The younger woman had been twenty.
Their families had believed the marriages would provide stability and opportunity.
Instead, the women were isolated from their relatives and gradually forbidden to leave the ranch.
The older woman stared at her hands.
"At first, he treated me kindly."
She paused.
"He gave me dresses. A small silver bracelet. He told me we would build a house near the river."
Her voice tightened.
"Then I became pregnant."
The younger woman turned her face toward the wall.
The older woman continued.
"When I told him, he was pleased. Very pleased. I thought everything would change."
She looked toward the window.
"For a while, it did."
Her husband brought extra food.
He repaired the roof.
He told neighbors that he would soon have an heir.
Then the child was born.
A boy.
She remembered his small hands, the way he curled his fingers around hers, and the dark hair that lay flat against his head.
She had held him for less than a day.
A doctor arrived.
He told her the baby was sick.
Then he insisted the child needed special care.
The older woman had been weak from childbirth and frightened by his warnings. Her husband assured her that the doctor knew what he was doing.
They took the baby away.
The next morning, her husband told her the child had died.
No body was returned.
No burial was held.
When she begged to see the grave, her husband became angry.
"He said I should stop asking questions about a dead child."
Her voice broke.
"I knew my son was alive when they carried him away."
I remained silent.
The younger woman wiped her eyes.
"My daughter was born the following spring."
Her story was almost identical.
A difficult pregnancy.
A healthy baby.
A sudden medical emergency.
A doctor who insisted the infant must be removed.
And a husband who returned with news of death but no proof.