“Most of it.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Mr. Reed said you were serious. I didn’t know he meant that serious.”
Eleanor lifted the carrying yoke he had brought and settled it across her shoulders. “Most people don’t know what I mean till it’s too late.”
Benji grinned. “I’m starting to see that.”
By noon, she had water. By evening, she had half a roof. On the third day, she had a doorframe squared up enough to hang canvas. On the fourth, the women from the store came out in a wagon with cornbread, dried apples, and a quilt.
The kinder one introduced herself as Mabel Turner, owner of the millinery. The sharper one was Sadie Pike, who wore concern the way some people wore perfume, heavily and for effect.
“We didn’t want you to think Mesquite Crossing had no manners,” Mabel said.
Sadie looked around the property. “People are talking, of course.”
“People were born for that,” Eleanor said.
Sadie’s smile sharpened. “Wyatt Reed was seen here the other evening.”
