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It was said of Mrs. Clay, the woman what owned it, that she was the richest person in these parts of the Badlands. It was said of her that she had a taste for pretty things. That made her the only person what might buy what I had to sell.

I stood in the doorway of the saloon, letting my eyes settle to the gloom. There were a handful of round tables with chairs, and at first I believed the place to be empty of people. Then I heard the clink of dishes. A woman stood behind the high counter that ran along the side wall off to my right. Two dimly lit lanterns hung from the wall behind her. She watched me, her hands in a basin.

I went to her. Her hair was piled high and it was red, too red, and so were her lips, all painted up. She took her hands out of the basin, shook them, and then dried them on a rag. I saw that she wore rings. I told myself that Isaac had left. I made myself think about my children, and that propped up my courage.

“I’m needing to speak to Mrs. Clay,” I said. In my ears, my voice sounded like it was made of tin. I looked at the basin where her hands had been. A gray washrag hung over one side; water dripped onto the counter.

“You’re looking at her,” the woman said.

I cleared my throat. “I have a band.” I made myself raise my eyes, seeing her red lips and her eyes that were black and hard. I said, “A band I’m looking to sell.”

“Didn’t think you were here for a drink,” she said. Her voice was hoarse and deep; it made me think of a man’s voice, a man what smoked. She said, “What kind of band?”

I took off my gloves and stuffed them in my coat pocket. My fingers were like ice, but even so, I had to twist my wedding band back and forth, working it over my knuckle. When it finally came off, I put it in my palm and closed my fingers over it for a moment. Then, opening my hand, I held it out to her.

Mrs. Clay took the ring. “You Isaac DuPree’s woman?” she said without looking at me.

“Yes,” I said, wondering how she knew Isaac.

She held up the ring between two fingers, turning it some to catch the light from the lamps behind her. “You leaving him?”

“No.”

Mrs Clay lowered my band, then threw me a look that showed she didn’t believe me.

“It’s not like that,” I said. “It’s only for the winter.” She raised her eyebrows; they had been drawn on. I said, “It’s my children, they—” I stopped.

Mrs. Clay was sucking at her teeth, making a clicking sound as she eyed my band. “Pure gold?” she said.

“I believe so.”

She put it between her eyeteeth and bit it, looking at me to see how I was taking that. I didn’t look away. A woman like her, I understood, did not need a worn-out wedding band.

She took it from her mouth and held it up to the light. “It’s scratched.”

“It’s gold.”

She smiled at that, and as she did, something changed in her eyes; they softened some, and I believed it was pity that did that. She put the band on the counter, went to the cash register behind her, and opened it, its shrill ring making me jump. She got out money, and just to the side of my wedding band, she spread the dollar bills on the counter like they were playing cards.

Without touching the bills, I counted them. “It’s worth another two dollars,” I said.

The corners of her painted mouth turned down. Without a word, she got the two bills from her register and put them on the counter. My nerves turned jittery then. I wanted out of the saloon before I took to telling her that I wasn’t doing this for me, it was for my children, nothing else could make me part with my wedding band.

“Take it or leave it,” Mrs. Clay said. “Makes me no difference.”

“Yes,” I said, gathering up the money, my fingers all thumbs, nearly spilling some of the bills on the floor. My wedding band, I had sold my wedding band. Somehow I folded the money and got it in my handbag. Not able to meet her eyes, I said, “Obliged, I’m much obliged,” and then I was out of the saloon and on the street, walking toward the hired hands, my eyes straight ahead, wanting to get away, wanting to go home.

Three days later