“It is.”
The carriage stopped.
Cecilia stepped down.
She smiled at Wyatt.
“Mr. Calder.”
“Miss Ward.”
Then she looked at Avalene.
“So this is her.”
Avalene did not like the pronoun.
Wyatt did not either.
“My wife.”
Cecilia’s smile remained.
“Of course.”
Avalene stepped forward.
“Avalene Calder.”
Cecilia shook her hand.
“Cecilia Ward.”
“I know.”
Cecilia blinked.
Avalene continued:
“I saw your name on the church donation list.”
Wyatt almost smiled.
Cecilia had expected intimidation.
Avalene gave her bookkeeping.
They entered the house.
Cecilia looked around.
Then sniffed.
“What smells wonderful?”
Avalene answered:
“Bread.”
“Fresh?”
“Yes.”
Cecilia smiled.
“How domestic.”
Something in the word carried an insult.
Avalene heard it.
So did Wyatt.
He offered coffee.
Cecilia accepted.
They sat.
Cecilia talked mostly to Wyatt.
Town news.
Land matters.
A dance.
People they knew.
Avalene listened.
Slowly, she understood.
Cecilia had expected Wyatt to marry her.
Perhaps nobody had said it.
Perhaps Cecilia had simply built the expectation herself.
But every glance made it clear.
She knew his house.
His history.
His mother.
His habits.
Avalene was an intruder inside a story Cecilia considered unfinished.
Finally Cecilia looked directly at her.
“How are you finding ranch life?”
“Busy.”
“I imagine.”
Cecilia glanced at Avalene’s hands.
“They look softer than I expected.”
Avalene looked down.
“They won't for long.”
Cecilia laughed.
Wyatt did not.
“I suppose a household this size must be overwhelming.”
“No.”
“You've managed before?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My family home.”
Cecilia smiled.
“A dry goods apartment isn't exactly a cattle ranch.”
Avalene’s face remained calm.
“No.”
Cecilia waited.
Avalene continued:
“The kitchen doesn’t know that.”
Wyatt coughed into his coffee.
Cecilia looked at him.
He stared at the cup.
That visit should have ended harmlessly.
Instead Cecilia asked:
“Has Wyatt shown you Margaret’s room?”
Avalene looked toward him.
“No.”
Cecilia smiled.
“You haven't?”
Wyatt’s jaw hardened.
“There’s no reason.”
“But surely your wife should know.”
Avalene felt the shift.
“What room?”
Cecilia leaned closer.
“His mother’s.”
Wyatt stood.
“Enough.”
Cecilia’s eyes widened.
Avalene looked between them.
Wyatt said:
“Her room remains closed.”
Cecilia softened her voice.
“I only meant that Margaret was particular about the house.”
Avalene understood now.
This was not about a room.
Cecilia wanted her to know someone else had been mistress here.
Someone dead.
Someone loved.
Someone impossible to compete with.
Cecilia looked toward Avalene.
“She had such standards.”
Avalene answered quietly: