You spoke about ranchers struggling to pay freight charges, families having trouble finding work, and children who wanted books their school couldn’t afford.”
Andre remembered the conversation.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You also told me you wanted to understand how businesses work.”
“I did.”
She looked at him steadily.
“Would you be willing to show me your town through your own eyes?”
Andre blinked.
“My town?”
“Yes.”
He glanced toward the stable road.
“I’m supposed to be working.”
Evelyn nodded immediately.
“Then your work comes first.”
That surprised him more than the question itself.
She did not appear offended.
She did not remind him of her importance or suggest that speaking with her should take priority over his ordinary responsibilities.
Instead, she asked when he might be free.
Andre thought for a moment.
“After four, most days.”
“Then perhaps we could meet this afternoon.”
He studied her face.
“What would you want to see?”
“The places you told me about.”
“The grain warehouse?”
“Certainly.”
“The school?”
“If your teacher allows visitors.”
“And the old ranch road?”
“Especially that.”
Andre shifted his weight.
“Why?”
Evelyn looked toward the fields beyond town.
“Because yesterday you helped me find my way home.
Today, I’m hoping you might help me understand the place I once called home.”
Andre lowered his eyes to the card.
He was not sure why those words affected him so deeply, but they did.
Perhaps it was because Evelyn had not asked whether he was educated enough to speak to her.
She had not laughed at his faded coat or the bicycle leaning against his knee.
She had simply treated his knowledge as though it mattered.
“I can show you,” he said.
Evelyn smiled.
“Thank you.”
She stepped back toward the motorcar.
Then she turned.
“And Andre?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t feel you need to change anything about yourself when we meet.”
He looked puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“The clothes you’re wearing.
The way you speak.
The things you know.”
She glanced at the bicycle.
“The young man I met yesterday is exactly the person I came looking for.”
Andre stood quietly as she returned to the vehicle.
The driver closed the door, and the motorcar rolled slowly down the road.
He watched until it disappeared beyond the grain warehouse.
Only then did he look again at the card.
A billion dollars.
He shook his head, unable to believe what had happened.
Then he tucked the card safely into his pocket, climbed onto the bicycle, and rode toward the stable.
He still had horses to feed.
The next few hours passed strangely.
Andre carried hay, cleaned stalls, repaired a broken gate, and helped unload a wagon, but his thoughts kept returning to Evelyn.
Whenever he reached into his pocket, he felt the thick card against his fingers.
It reminded him that the previous afternoon had been real.
Mr.
Sullivan noticed his distraction.
“You’ve checked that same saddle strap three times.”
Andre looked down.
“Sorry, sir.”
The older man smiled.
“Thinking about Mrs.
Harrow?”
“A little.”
“I imagine you are.”
Andre set the saddle aside.
“How does somebody become that rich?”
Mr.
Sullivan leaned against the workbench.
“Years of business, I suppose.
Her family started with grain stores and transport wagons.
Then the railways came, and the company grew.”
He adjusted his cap.
“I’ve heard she’s clever.
Tough in business too.”
Andre listened.
“But I never knew she came from around here.”
“Most people wouldn’t.
She hasn’t lived here for decades.”
Mr.
Sullivan looked toward the stable doors.
“Funny thing, though.”
“What?”
“All that money, and yesterday she needed somebody with an old bicycle to get her safely home.”
Andre smiled faintly.
Mr.
Sullivan continued.
“You know, your mother used to say that the world doesn’t run only on money.”
Andre nodded.
“I remember.”
“She was right.”
The older man picked up a brush and handed it to him.
“Now finish with that mare before she decides you’re only here to talk.”
Andre laughed and returned to work.
By late afternoon, the sun had softened, and the town’s streets were busy with wagons returning from nearby ranches.
Andre washed his hands at the stable pump and changed into the clean shirt he kept folded in his satchel.
The collar was worn, but Willa had mended it carefully.
He brushed dust from his trousers and made his way to the boardinghouse.
Evelyn was waiting on the porch.
She wore the same beige coat and gray scarf she had worn the day before.
There was no crowd around her, no collection of important businessmen, and no sign that she expected anyone to recognize her.
She stood watching a team of horses pull a wagon through the street.
When she saw Andre, her face brightened.
“You’re right on time.”
He smiled.
“Mr.
Sullivan let me finish a little early.”
“That was kind of him.”
She looked toward the bicycle.
“Shall we walk?”
Andre nodded.
The driver offered to bring the motorcar, but Evelyn shook her head.
“I think walking will be better.”
Then she turned toward Andre.
“Provided you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
They started down the main street together.
At first, Andre felt uncomfortable.
Several people looked at Evelyn with curiosity.
Others recognized her from photographs in newspapers and whispered to one another as she passed.
Andre could feel their eyes moving between the wealthy woman and the young stable worker beside her.
Evelyn seemed not to notice.
She asked questions about the blacksmith, the general store, the schoolhouse, and the ranch supply warehouse.
Andre answered as carefully as he could.
He explained which roads became difficult after heavy snow, where wagons sometimes waited for repairs, and how ranchers brought grain into town before it was loaded onto railway cars.
Evelyn listened closely.
Sometimes she asked him to repeat a detail.
Sometimes she stopped and looked around for herself.
At the grain warehouse, Andre pointed toward a long wooden platform beside the tracks.
“That’s where they stack the sacks before the train comes.”
Evelyn looked at the building.
“It seems smaller than I remember.”
“They’re running out of room.”
“Does that happen often?”
“During harvest, mostly.”