The difference was enormous.
Owen’s face changed again.
Just slightly.
The mask slipped.
“Give me that.”
Mae’s body trembled.
“No.”
“You stupid—”
He stopped himself.
Too late.
Everyone heard it.
The deputy beside Nathan looked at Owen.
Caleb smiled without humor.
“Careful. Respectable man’s showing.”
Nathan mounted again.
“This isn’t finished.”
Caleb lowered his rifle slightly.
“No.”
His eyes fixed on Owen.
“It isn’t.”
The six riders turned south.
Owen remained a moment longer.
He stared at Mae.
She knew that look.
It meant punishment.
But for the first time in four years, Owen could not reach her.
Mae whispered:
“You should’ve killed me yesterday.”
Owen’s face went pale.
Then he rode away.
“What does the key open?”
Caleb asked the question immediately.
Mae looked toward the disappearing riders.
“A lockbox.”
“Where?”
“Drayton ranch.”
Caleb stared at her.
“You left the ledger there?”
“I couldn’t carry it. Owen came upstairs.”
“Then why take the key?”
“Because the ledger isn’t the worst thing in the box.”
Caleb went still.
Mae looked at him.
“Letters.”
“What letters?”
“I don’t know.”
She explained that beneath the ledger had been nearly thirty envelopes tied with black ribbon.
Most were yellow with age.
Several bore names she recognized.
Women from Mercy Bend.
Women who had moved away.
Women who had supposedly died.
One name had made Mae curious.
Anna Rusk.
Caleb stopped breathing.
“My mother?”
Mae nodded.
“I didn’t have time to read it.”
“My mother died when I was six.”
“Are you sure?”
Caleb’s face hardened.
“I watched them bury her.”
Mae looked toward the south.
“Then somebody saved her letters for a reason.”
By afternoon, the story of Mae’s accusation had reached town ahead of them.
Caleb wanted to hide her.
Mae refused.
“I hid for four years.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We go into Mercy Bend.”
“That’s exactly where Owen wants you.”
“I know.”
“Sheriff’s his cousin.”
“I know.”
“They own half the buildings.”
“I know.”
Caleb stared at her.
“Mae, this isn’t courage. It’s suicide.”
She turned.
“No.”
Her voice remained soft.
“Running into the prairie barefoot was suicide.”
She lifted her bandaged foot.
“This is what comes after.”
They entered Mercy Bend near four o’clock.
People came to windows.
The blacksmith stopped hammering.
Two women outside the general store whispered openly.
Mae rode Juniper.
Caleb walked beside her.
Not one person greeted her.
Then an elderly woman stepped from the hotel.
Mrs. Evelyn Shaw.
Mae knew her vaguely—a widow who rented rooms upstairs.
Evelyn looked at Mae’s bruised face.
Then she rolled up her left sleeve.
An old scar circled her wrist.
“I believe you.”
Three words.
Nothing more.
Across the street, another woman froze.
Then slowly removed her glove.
Two crooked fingers.
“I believe you too.”
Mae stared.
A third woman came from the bakery.
Then another.
None explained.
They didn’t need to.
By the time Mae reached the center of Mercy Bend, seven women were standing behind her.
Caleb looked at them.
And understood.
The secret had never belonged to one woman.
Reverend Cooke appeared from the church.
“Mrs. Drayton, this spectacle—”
Mae dismounted.
