The Little Girl Asked a Stranger to Wake Her Mother, and He Could Not Walk Away

Mrs. Pike pointed a wooden spoon at Silas. “If you upset her, I will hit you.”

“I have been warned by stronger people.”

“You have not.”

She went to the stove.

Mae and Jonah slept in the sitting room on a pallet. Jonah snored softly. Mae’s doll lay tucked beneath her chin.

Silas sat opposite Nora.

“What is the west book?”

The fork slipped from her hand.

Mrs. Pike looked back from the stove.

Nora said, “Please leave us.”

Mrs. Pike hesitated, then carried her pot into the pantry with enough noise to demonstrate she remained within hearing.

Nora folded her hands on the table.

“Caleb told Sweet,” Silas said.

“Albert?”

“He says Caleb’s last words were, ‘Tell Nora the west book.’”

Nora stared at the grain of the wood.

“You found it,” Silas said.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Behind a loose board in the grain shed.”

“When?”

“The night after he died. Caleb had mentioned that board once. He hid tobacco there because he told Mae he had quit.”

Despite everything, Silas pictured it.

“What was in the book?”

“Everything. Years of it. Land notes, cattle counts, payments to Justice Shaw, payments to Dugan before he was sheriff, money sent to buyers in Kansas.”

“Did it show Voss killed Caleb?”

“No. But Caleb had written questions beside certain entries. He found the same brands appearing twice. He had begun copying names.”

“Where is the ledger now?”

“I took out six pages and put it back.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid Voss would search the house. Two days later, the grain shed burned.”

Silas leaned back.

“Convenient.”

“For him.”

“Or for you.”

Nora’s eyes sharpened. “What are you saying?”

“You admitted helping Voss. The ledger implicated you. Then it burned.”

“You think I killed Caleb and burned the book?”

“I think I have known you again for one day.”

Mrs. Pike stopped making noise in the pantry.

Nora pushed away from the table. The effort left her breathing hard, but she stood.

“You knew me for six years before you left.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Yes. Before you became suspicious enough to call it wisdom.”

“And before you became willing to take money from Gideon Voss.”

She slapped him.

The sound woke Jonah.

The boy cried from the other room. Mae murmured to him, and the crying faded.

Nora stood with her hand curled against her chest. Her face looked shocked, not by what she had done but by how little strength it had required.

Silas touched his cheek.

Mrs. Pike emerged holding the spoon.

“He earned it,” Nora said.

“I assumed.”

Silas rose. “Where are the pages?”

Nora said nothing.

“Voss will ask the judge to take Jonah. He may try to take Mae. Those pages may be the only leverage you have.”

“They may also send me to prison.”

“If they show your writing.”

“They do.”

“You said you kept copies.”

“I copied orders he gave me. I also copied figures I changed myself.”

“Then tell the truth.”

“To whom? Sheriff Dugan? Justice Shaw? Doctor Vale, who sends Voss a bill each month? The people who buy flour on credit at Voss’s store?”

“To the circuit judge.”

“And if he believes Voss?”

“Then we find another way.”

“You still think truth is a door that opens if you push hard enough.”

“No,” Silas said. “I think it is a wall. Sometimes the only choice is which side you stand on when it falls.”

Nora gave a tired, bitter smile. “That sounds like something you practiced on horseback.”

“I had time.”

She sat again.

After a long silence, she said, “The pages are in Mae’s doll.”

Silas thought of the crooked stitches.

“She knows?”

“She knows there is something inside. Not what.”

“The deputy searched it.”

“He felt cloth. I wrapped the pages around wool.”

“Why let Mae carry them?”

“Because Voss’s men searched me twice before we left the ranch. Nobody searched the child.”

Silas stared toward the sitting room.

“You made your daughter carry evidence that could destroy him.”

“I made my daughter carry the only thing that might keep him from owning her.”

Mrs. Pike set a cup of tea before Nora. Her expression had changed. She no longer looked merely practical. She looked afraid.

“Gideon will come for it,” she said.

“Yes,” Nora replied.

“When?”

“Before Friday.”

Silas said, “Then we move the children.”

“To where?” Nora asked.

He had no answer.

The hotel refused them. Mrs. Greer listened with her arms crossed and said fever was bad for business. The church had a storage room, but Reverend Holt feared Voss would call it harboring stolen property. The blacksmith had six children already. Doctor Vale offered his upstairs office for ten dollars a night and seemed offended when Silas laughed.

At last, Sheriff Dugan permitted Nora and the children to remain in an unused cell behind his office.

“It locks from both sides,” Dugan said. “That is either protection or imprisonment depending on who writes the story.”

Nora disliked the arrangement. Mae hated it. Jonah thought the iron bars were interesting until the door closed.

Silas placed his bedroll in the outer office.

“You cannot guard us by yourself,” Nora said through the bars.

“Dugan will be here.”

“He sleeps after whiskey.”

Dugan, at his desk, lifted a bottle. “That is slander. I sleep during whiskey.”

Silas checked the rear window. It was narrow enough that an adult could not enter.

Mae sat on the cot repairing the doll again. The papers remained inside. Silas had argued they should be moved. Nora refused. Every hiding place he suggested belonged to someone indebted to Voss.

At nine, Deputy Mercer brought supper. At ten, Mrs. Pike brought blankets and announced that her husband had called Silas a dangerous influence, which she considered praise. At eleven, the street quieted.

Near midnight, someone threw a stone through the sheriff’s front window.