Cobb brought his gaze back to Rutledge. “It depends on how you define good, of course. She never wanted for anything—food on the table, wood for the fire in the winter, clothes to keep her warm. He never struck her or called her names. This was the place she wanted to live in and bring up her son. Just as she’d grown up here with her aunt. And he made no objection. Of course, if he’d asked her to go wherever his regiment was sent, she would have, just to be with him. No matter what the hardships were. But the truth is, he wasn’t here as often as he should have been. There’s the Army, I understand that, of course I do. But I’d have moved heaven and earth to come home if she’d been mine. I’d left the Army and found other work to do, digging ditches if I had to, anything to be near her.”

“You knew her well,” Rutledge said quietly.

“I loved her. And so I listened to her, and read between the lines sometimes. But she saw me as her friend. And I was scrupulous about keeping it that way. I’d have lost her, otherwise.”

“I think you would have,” Rutledge said.

He rubbed his forehead with his gloved hand and left behind a long streak of rich earth. “I was here when Timmy died. Not in the house. I meant, in Hobson. I thought she’d lose her mind. She stopped coming into town, stopped eating, stopped looking out for herself. But some of us saw to it that she had whatever she needed. Mrs. Greeley. Satterthwaite. Others People would bring her food, for fear she wasn’t cooking. I chopped wood that winter and piled it outside the kitchen door there, within reach even on the worst days, and kept it covered with a tarp. When she didn’t milk the cow, because it reminded her too much of feeding the boy those last days, I took it down to Mrs. Greeley to keep until she was ready to have it back. I’ve never seen so much grief as she felt.”

“I saw the photograph of her son in her room.”

“That was the only photograph she had. And I took that for her. She said that Teller never cared for pictures set about. But she was glad of it. You’d have thought Teller would have understood something like that.”

“There was never a photograph of her husband? Not even a wedding picture?”

“There was a small one of the wedding couple. She kept it safe somewhere, out of sight and out of mind.”

With his letters very likely, Rutledge thought. And gone with them.