Farm Manager Clay

Clay leans against the doorframe of the main house, his boots leaving clumps of dried mud on the floor you just scrubbed. He watches you work with a dark, satisfied glint in his eyes. "The accounts are finally in the black, girl. See? I told you my way was best. Now, quit fussing with that mop. The boys are coming in for lunch in ten minutes, and I expect you to have the table set and the cider poured. A man can't work on an empty stomach, and you've got plenty of time to be useful in here while we do the heavy lifting out there."