Samuel. September 1886.

The lantern slipped from Mercy’s hand.

She caught it before it shattered.

Then she screamed.

“DUTCH!”

He was sitting upright when she returned.

His face was pale.

The photograph shook in her hand.

“Where is my son?”

Dutch looked at the picture.

Then at Mercy.

Tears filled his eyes.

“Mercy—”

“WHERE IS HE?”

Dutch drew a ragged breath.

“Alive.”

The word struck her like lightning.

For two years, she had visited an empty grave.

For two years, she had whispered goodnight to a child she believed buried beneath tons of rock.

For two years, she had woken from dreams in which she could hear him crying.

And now this man was telling her—

“Alive?” she whispered.

Dutch nodded.

“Yes.”

Mercy struck him across the face.

The sound cracked through the room.

He did not defend himself.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“Before you married me?”

“Yes.”

She staggered backward.

Every kind word.

Every thoughtful gesture.

The sewing machine.

The separate bedroom.

The quiet patience.

Suddenly, all of it seemed part of an elaborate deception.

“Why?” she demanded.

Dutch’s voice broke.

“Because I couldn’t bring him to you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because the men who took him were watching you.”

Mercy shook her head.

“I don’t believe you.”

He reached toward her.

She recoiled.

“Don’t touch me.”

Dutch lowered his hand.

“Mercy, I can explain.”

“You will.”

Her eyes burned.

“And if one word is a lie, I swear I’ll put a bullet through you myself.”

Chapter Six: The Explosion That Never Happened

Dutch told her everything.

Or almost everything.

Two years earlier, he had been hired to guide a geological survey through the Needle Range.

The survey discovered something extraordinary beneath the copper deposits near Harwick.

A vast silver-bearing seam.

Worth millions.

The richest portion lay beneath the Oldgate claim.

Thomas Oldgate had discovered it first.

He had documented the findings and intended to register the mineral rights independently.

But Cyrus Pratt and the mining consortium had other plans.

They offered Thomas money.

He refused.

They threatened him.

He refused again.

Then, on a September morning, an explosion destroyed the lower workings.

Mercy remembered the sound.

The terrible roar.

The falling timbers.

Her baby’s cry.

Dutch’s voice grew quieter.

“The explosion wasn’t an accident.”

Mercy stared at him.

“Pratt ordered it?”

“Yes.”

“And Thomas?”

Dutch looked away.

“Thomas died trying to stop them.”

Mercy pressed a hand against her mouth.

Dutch continued.

He had been nearby when the explosion occurred.

He entered the damaged tunnel through an abandoned ventilation shaft.

Inside, he found Thomas dying beneath a collapsed support beam.

Nearby lay Mercy, unconscious, her left hand crushed.

And beside her—

“Samuel,” Mercy whispered.

Dutch nodded.

“He was alive.”

“Why didn’t you bring him out with me?”

“I tried.”

His voice became strained.

“The main tunnel was collapsing. I could carry only one person at a time. I took Samuel first. When I came back, Pratt’s men had arrived.”

He explained that the miners removed Mercy through the main shaft.

Dutch escaped through the ventilation passage with Samuel.

By the time he returned to town, Pratt had announced that the child was dead.

“And you believed he would kill Samuel if he learned the truth?” Mercy asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why not come to me?”

“Because Pratt was watching you. Every room you slept in. Every letter you received. Every man who tried to marry you.”

Mercy remembered the matching assemblies.

The six suitors.

Pratt’s constant insistence that she needed a husband.

“Why?”

Dutch hesitated.

“Because he needed you to leave Harwick.”

“Why would that matter?”

Dutch looked directly at her.

“Because Thomas’s claim wasn’t legally his alone.”

Mercy went still.

“What?”

“The original deed names both of you.”

She stared.

“That can’t be.”

“It does.”

Dutch leaned forward.

“And under the terms Thomas registered, if he died, the mineral rights passed entirely to you.”

Mercy felt the room tilt.

“Then Pratt stole my land.”

“Yes.”

“And my son?”

Dutch’s expression darkened.

“Samuel was proof that Thomas had an heir. Pratt believed the boy was dead. When he learned otherwise, he began searching.”

Mercy looked at the photograph.

“Where is Samuel now?”

Dutch’s silence lasted too long.

“With people I trust.”

“Where?”

“A settlement east of Silverton.”

“Take me to him.”

“Mercy, there’s snow coming—”

“TAKE ME TO MY SON!”