The room seemed to tilt.
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
“Rebecca didn’t know me.”
“I know.”
“I never met her.”
“I know.”
“Daniel never mentioned her.”
At Daniel’s name, something flashed in Ethan’s expression.
Mary noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know my husband too.”
Ethan looked away.
“Ethan.”
He walked to the window.
“I know his name.”
“How?”
“Because Rebecca wrote it in her journal.”
Mary could barely breathe.
“Why?”
“She wrote that Daniel Whitfield was responsible for everything.”
Mary’s face drained of color.
“Everything?”
Ethan turned toward her.
“Including her death.”
Mary did not sleep that night.
She should have left.
Instead, darkness and exhaustion trapped her at Double C.
Ethan gave Mary and Clara two bedrooms upstairs and slept in his study.
No marriage was mentioned again.
No demands were made.
The strange gray-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Bell, served supper and then disappeared.
Sarah and Clara became friends almost instantly.
That might have been the cruelest part.
Mary stood at the bedroom window after midnight, watching moonlight wash across the ranch.
Her daughter slept peacefully behind her.
Safe.
Warm.
Fed.
Everything Mary wanted.
Everything she suddenly distrusted.
A knock came at the door.
Mary turned sharply.
“Who is it?”
“Ethan.”
She opened the door only halfway.
“What?”
He held something in his hands.
A journal.
“Rebecca’s.”
Mary hesitated.
Then took it.
“I’ve marked the pages mentioning Daniel.”
He stepped away.
Mary stopped him.
“Did you love her?”
Ethan looked toward the dark hallway.
“Very much.”
“Then why would you marry me?”
Pain passed across his face.
“Because her last request was to protect you.”
“That doesn’t require marriage.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He stared at Mary for several seconds.
Then said quietly,
“Because there are men still looking for you.”
Mary froze.
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to read the journal.”
He walked away.
Mary shut the door and locked it.
Then sat beside the lamp.
Rebecca’s handwriting filled the pages.
Most entries were ordinary.
Weather.
Sarah.
Ranch accounts.
Then Mary reached the marked section.
September 4.
A man calling himself Daniel Whitfield came to the ranch today. Ethan was away with cattle. Daniel knew my maiden name. He knew about Father.
Mary’s fingers went numb.
She turned the page.
September 7.
Daniel says Father stole something before he died. He believes I know where it is. I told him I know nothing. I do not trust him.
September 13.
Daniel returned. He was angry. He said his wife and daughter would eventually pay for his mistakes if I refused to cooperate.
Mary covered her mouth.
Another entry.
I followed Daniel to Cedar Ridge and saw him meeting Sheriff Vance behind the old freight warehouse. They are working together. I heard the words railroad deeds, valley rights, and Whitfield child.
Mary stopped.
Whitfield child.
Clara.
She turned pages faster.
Then came the final entry.
Written shakily.
If something happens to me, Ethan must find Mary Whitfield. Daniel has lied to all of us. Mary may be the only person who can prove what he has done, though she does not yet know what she possesses.
Mary sat motionless.
Clara stirred in bed.
Mary looked toward her daughter.
What she possesses.
Mary suddenly remembered Daniel’s belongings after his supposed death.
The pocket watch.
His ring.
The bloodstained shirt.
One thing more.
A small brass key Mary had kept because Clara liked pretending it opened treasure chests.
