"We're working on it."
"I bet you are."
Charlotte turned her sharp gaze on Norah.
"Question is whether you'll get it done before winter really hits. Cold's coming early this year. I can feel it in my bones."
"We'll manage."
"That what you tell yourself, or what you tell them?"
Charlotte jerked her head toward the house, where Ru had appeared in the window watching.
"Both."
Charlotte studied Norah for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"You might make it after all. Most mail-order brides don't last a month once they see what frontier life really looks like. But you got something different about you. Stubbornness, maybe. Or stupidity. Hard to tell which."
"Probably both."
That earned her an actual smile from Charlotte.
"I like you. That's rare."
She started back toward her wagon.
"Women in town meet once a month at the general store. First Saturday. You should come."
"I don't know if I'd be welcome."
"You won't be. Half those hens will talk behind your back about how desperate you must have been to marry Harlon Greer. Other half will just stare like you're a curiosity in a traveling show."
Charlotte hauled herself back up.
"Come anyway. Let them talk. While they're busy gossiping about you, you can figure out which ones are worth knowing and which ones are just taking up space."
She drove off before Norah could respond, leaving behind a basket of preserves and the first genuine offer of friendship Norah had received since arriving in Sorrow Creek.
That night at supper, Norah mentioned Charlotte's visit.
Harlon grunted.
"Webb's place is struggling same as ours. She's probably just scouting to see if we're worse off so she can feel better about her own situation."
"Maybe," Norah said. "Or maybe she's looking for allies."
"Allies for what?"
"For surviving. For helping each other instead of competing to see who collapses last."
Thomas spoke up.
"The Webbs have three sons, all older than me. If we partnered with them for some of the bigger jobs..."
"We don't need partnership," Harlon interrupted. "We need to handle our own business."
"Pa, that's exactly the kind of thinking that's got us in this mess."
"Watch your mouth."
"Why? It's true."
Thomas set down his fork.
"We've been trying to handle our own business for two years. Look where it's got us. Maybe it's time to admit we can't do everything alone."
Harlon's face went dark.
"You saying I can't provide for this family?"
"I'm saying you're one man trying to do the work of five while five sons try to do the work of 10. The math doesn't work, Pa."
It never has.
The table went silent.
Even Cade stopped eating to watch.
Harlon stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor.
"I've kept this ranch going through drought, through sickness, through your mother dying and leaving me with six boys to raise alone. Don't tell me about math."
"Keeping it going isn't the same as making it work," Thomas said quietly. "We're surviving. Barely. But surviving isn't living, and you know it."
"Then what would you have me do?"
"Ask for help. Accept it when it's offered. Stop acting like needing other people makes you weak."
Harlon looked at his oldest son with an expression Norah couldn't quite read.
Anger, yes.
But also something else.
Something that looked almost like recognition.
"You sound like your mother," he said finally.
"Good."
Thomas's voice didn't waver.
"Someone should."
Harlon turned and walked out, leaving his supper half-eaten on the table.
The boys looked at each other uncertainly.