That distinction mattered.
Anna continued.
"But I need wages. You need help. If we agree on terms, that isn't charity."
Thomas considered the words.
Mrs. Dalton wisely remained silent.
Finally Thomas said, "One month."
Anna nodded.
"One month."
"Eight dollars, room and meals."
Mrs. Dalton immediately said, "Ten."
Thomas stared at her.
"Whose ranch is this?"
"Yours. That's why someone competent should negotiate."
Anna almost laughed.
Thomas looked back at her.
"Ten."
"Eight is fair."
"Now you're both irritating me."
In the end, they settled on nine dollars.
Mrs. Dalton witnessed the arrangement as though negotiating a land treaty.
Anna insisted that her duties be clear.
Cooking.
Laundry.
Household repairs.
Helping Lily with schoolwork when needed.
She would not be responsible for ranch labor beyond ordinary household animals unless she volunteered.
Thomas agreed.
Something changed once the terms were spoken aloud.
Anna was no longer a stranded woman accepting indefinite kindness.
She was employed.
Temporarily.
The knowledge restored a small measure of dignity.
The first week passed quickly.
Anna discovered that the Reed household had functioned for four years through a combination of necessity and neglect.
Thomas could mend harness leather beautifully but could not repair a shirt without making it worse.
Lily owned three dresses with missing buttons.
The pantry was well stocked but badly organized.
A stack of correspondence sat unopened beside the desk because Thomas hated paperwork.
Curtains in the parlor had not been washed since autumn.
The vegetable garden was full of weeds.
The house was not dirty.
It was tired.
Anna understood tired things.
She began slowly.
She repaired clothes while sitting on the porch.
She reorganized the pantry.
She taught Lily how to knead bread without covering the entire kitchen in flour.
She discovered Thomas liked coffee strong enough to make most people reconsider their life choices.
He discovered Anna hated eggs unless they were cooked almost dry.
Small knowledge accumulated.
The sort that made strangers less strange.
Lily became attached first.
Every morning she appeared in Anna's room before breakfast.
Every afternoon she found an excuse to remain nearby.
Anna taught her reading from an old copy of Little Women Mrs. Dalton had lent them.
Lily stumbled over longer words.
Anna never corrected too quickly.
"Sound it out."
"I am."
"You're glaring at it."
"It started it."
Anna laughed.
Thomas sometimes stood outside the parlor listening.
The sound affected him more than he admitted.
For four years the ranch house had been quiet in a particular way.
Lily talked.
He talked.
Men came and went.
But Margaret had filled a house differently.
She hummed while working.
She laughed at things Thomas did not think were funny until she laughed.
She opened windows.
Moved furniture.
Invited neighbors.
After her death, Thomas had preserved the house almost unconsciously.
Not as a shrine.
More as though changing too much might admit that she was never coming back.
Anna did not replace Margaret.
That surprised him.
Instead, she changed spaces without erasing them.
She washed Margaret's old curtains but rehung them.
She mended the quilt rather than putting it away.
When Lily asked questions about her mother, Anna encouraged the stories.
"What song did she sing?"
"I don't know all of it."
"Then tell me the part you remember."
One evening Thomas returned from checking cattle and found Anna and Lily at the kitchen table.
Lily was drawing a woman with yellow yarn glued onto the paper.
Thomas stopped.
"What's that?"
"Mama."
His chest tightened.
Lily pointed.
"Anna said I should make pictures from what I remember instead of only looking at the old photograph."