One look at Samuel and she stopped asking questions.

She fed him in tiny intervals while I rode for Dr. Abel Whitcomb.

By the time Whitcomb arrived at my ranch, moonlight silvered the fence rails.

He examined Samuel for nearly half an hour.

Finally he pulled the blanket higher.

“Badly dehydrated.”

Rose stood rigid.

“But alive?”

Whitcomb looked at her.

“Yes.”

Her shoulders dropped an inch.

“He needs feeding often. Small amounts. Cool him gradually. Keep him quiet.”

He looked at me.

“And find out how two county dependents got into this condition.”

Rose’s body stiffened.

Whitcomb noticed.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

It was the first lie I’d heard her tell.

And it was terrible.

Children who have practiced lying to survive learn to do it smoothly.

Rose had not practiced enough.

Whitcomb packed his bag.

“I’ll return tomorrow.”

At the door, he lowered his voice.

“You know Baines?”

“Only the stories.”

“She isn’t liked.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Whitcomb glanced toward Rose.

“No. It doesn’t.”

Then he left.

I cooked eggs and biscuits.

Rose ate half an egg and wrapped the rest in a napkin.

“For later?”

She nodded.

“You can eat tomorrow too.”

She looked embarrassed.

“Still.”

I let her keep it.

After Samuel had fed again, I carried an old cot into the kitchen.

Rose refused the bedroom.

She wanted to sleep where she could see Samuel.

I found blankets.

At midnight, the house had gone quiet.

I was sitting near the stove when Rose spoke from the darkness.

“Mr. Carver?”

“My name’s Elias.”

“Mister Elias?”

“That’ll do.”

A pause.

“Do you know Martha?”

“No.”

“But you know about her.”

“Yes.”

“What do people say?”

Children always ask dangerous questions plainly.

I leaned back.

“They say she borrows money.”

“She does.”

“They say she sells medicine.”

“She does.”

“They say she causes trouble.”

Rose considered that.

“Martha says trouble usually gets blamed on whoever points at it.”

That did not sound like Martha Baines as Holt County described her.

“Why did you leave her?”

Silence.

“Rose?”

“She told me to.”

I sat forward.

The cot creaked.

“What?”

“Not right away.”

Rose’s voice had become a whisper.

“She said only if something happened.”

“What happened?”

Footsteps rustled against the blanket.

She came closer.

Moonlight touched one side of her face.

“Yesterday, men came.”

“What men?”

“Mr. Lomax and another.”

Deputy Virgil Lomax.

My spine tightened.

“What did they want?”

“Martha had papers.”

“What papers?”

“She wouldn’t give them.”

“What happened?”

Rose’s lower lip trembled.

“They took Martha.”

“Arrested her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where?”

“They put her in a wagon.”

“And left you and Samuel alone?”

She nodded.

“Then Samuel got sick?”

“He was already sick.”

“Why didn’t you go to a neighbor?”

“Martha said if men came and she didn’t come back by morning, I had to take Samuel and walk west.”

“West where?”

Rose looked directly at me.

“Here.”

A strange chill passed through me despite the heat.

“She told you to come to my ranch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rose hesitated.

“She said you might let us work.”