“I do.”
Judge Bennett cleared the room of shouting.
Then Samuel spoke.
Seven months earlier, Samuel had followed his mother to the barn.
Martha Cole had been arguing with Reverend Vale.
Samuel had hidden behind feed sacks.
He heard Martha say she had discovered altered mortgage records.
She had found papers proving ranchers throughout the county were being charged payments they had already made.
She threatened to expose Vale and several bank directors.
Vale told her nobody would believe a ranch wife over a minister.
Martha said she had copies.
Then she saddled her horse.
Vale left.
Or Samuel thought he did.
Minutes later Samuel saw him return through the rear barn entrance.
He watched Reverend Vale take a knife from his coat and cut almost completely through the leather girth beneath Martha’s saddle.
Samuel had not understood what it meant.
Martha rode toward town.
Two miles from the ranch, the girth broke on a steep descent.
She was thrown against a rock.
She died before sunset.
Samuel had never spoken again.
Not until Clara arrived.
Ethan slowly turned toward Vale.
Clara had never seen hatred so complete.
The sheriff caught Ethan before he crossed the room.
“I’ll kill him!”
“Ethan!”
“I’ll kill him!”
Vale backed against the wall.
Judge Bennett shouted for order.
And then something completely unexpected happened.
The judge opened his desk and removed a thick folder.
“I was wondering,” he said quietly, “how much of this these children actually knew.”
Vale stared at him.
Judge Bennett continued.
“Three months ago, the territorial banking examiner contacted my office regarding irregularities in six Red Hollow Creek mortgages.”
The room fell silent.
“Every one,” Bennett said, “had been witnessed or processed through organizations connected to Reverend Josiah Vale.”
Vale’s face collapsed.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Then this hearing—”
“Was convenient.”
The judge’s eyes hardened.
“You arranged it yourself, Reverend.
All I did was allow you to believe your complaint was working.”
The sheriff placed handcuffs around Vale’s wrists.
But Clara barely noticed.
Because Judge Bennett had turned toward the newspaper clipping.
“Miss Hayes.”
“Yes?”
“Where exactly did you find this advertisement?”
She told him.
The judge looked toward the rear of the courtroom.
“Mr.
Harris?”
An elderly man Clara had never seen stood.
He introduced himself as Edwin Harris, editor of the Red Hollow Gazette.
Clara’s heart began pounding.
Harris approached slowly.
“I printed that advertisement.”
Ethan stared.
“Who paid for it?”
Harris looked at him.
Then at the children.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Your wife.”
No one moved.
Ethan whispered, “What?”
“Martha Cole placed it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She placed it nearly eleven months ago.”
Ethan shook his head.
“She was alive eleven months ago.”
“Yes.”
Harris reached inside his coat.
“She instructed me not to print it immediately.”
He removed an envelope.
“She told me that if she failed to visit my office before the first day of September, I was to publish the notice in papers along the eastern rail line.”
Clara felt the room tilt.
“Why?”
Harris looked at Samuel.
“Because Martha was afraid she was going to die.”
Ethan sat down heavily.
Harris handed him the envelope.
On the front was Martha’s handwriting.
FOR ETHAN—IF THE NOTICE BRINGS SOMEONE.
Ethan’s hands shook so badly he could not open it.
