Silence.

Her voice rose.

“What was my husband’s real name?”

Silas closed the door.

Then he removed his gloves one finger at a time.

“Daniel Croft.”

The world seemed to shift beneath Lydia’s feet.

“No.”

“He used our mother’s maiden name after he left home. Marsh.”

“You’re brothers.”

“Half brothers.”

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“You knew yesterday.”

“Yes.”

She threw the Bible onto the table.

“You let me sit here all night thinking I was losing my mind.”

“I let you get warm.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You kept the truth from me.”

Silas gave a humorless laugh.

“You married Daniel. You ought to know those aren’t always the same thing.”

The words landed between them.

Lydia recoiled.

Silas regretted them instantly.

She could see it.

But he didn’t apologize.

“What happened between you?”

Silas stacked the wood beside the stove.

“Our father owned timber claims south of Hollow Creek. Mean drunk. Meaner sober.”

“And Daniel?”

“Daniel learned young that charm got him farther than fists.”

There was bitterness in his voice.

“He could make anybody believe anything. When he was eighteen, payroll disappeared from our father’s office. Nearly two thousand dollars.”

“Daniel stole it?”

“Our father said he did.”

“Did you believe him?”

Silas paused.

“Yes.”

Lydia’s throat tightened.

“Was he guilty?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Silas sat across from her.

“Daniel disappeared. Took our mother’s surname. I saw him three times in fourteen years.”

“One of them was after his funeral.”

“Yes.”

Lydia folded both hands over her belly.

“Tell me everything.”

Silas stared at the fire.

“He arrived after midnight on May twenty-seventh. Horse nearly dead. Blood all over his shirt.”

“Who shot him?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“What did he want?”

Silas hesitated.

Then crossed to a loose floorboard beneath the table.

He pried it up.

From the darkness below, he removed a small iron box.

Lydia stared at it.

“Daniel brought that?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Open it.”

“Can’t.”

Silas turned the box.

A small brass lock gleamed against the iron.

“He kept the key.”

Lydia stared at him.

“What did he say?”

Silas’s voice lowered.

“He told me men would come looking for him. Said if they found him, he’d likely be dead before morning.”

“And me?”

“He mentioned you.”

Lydia swallowed.

“What did he say?”

Silas looked directly at her.

“He said, ‘If Lydia ever comes to you, don’t send her away.’”

Tears burned behind her eyes.

She hated them.

She hated Daniel.

She hated that hearing he had spoken her name after his supposed death made something inside her break open anyway.

“Did he tell you I was pregnant?”

“He said there was a baby.”

“And you still looked at me yesterday like I’d committed some crime by arriving with one.”

Silas looked ashamed.

“He told me you were barely showing.”

Lydia frowned.

“When was that?”

“May.”

She did the calculation.

Of course she had barely been showing then.

Silas rubbed a scar along his knuckles.

“When I saw how far along you were, I realized he’d been planning something longer than I understood.”

“Where did he go?”

“North.”

“Where?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did you follow?”

“He took my best horse before dawn.”

Despite everything, Lydia gave him an incredulous look.

“He stole your horse?”

Silas nodded.

“That sounds more like Daniel.”

A laugh escaped her.

Then, against all reason, it became a sob.

Lydia covered her mouth.

Silas stood awkwardly.

She turned away.