Yes.
Mary had been brave enough.
“What does any of this have to do with Lily?”
Clara lowered her eyes.
Everything in the cabin became still.
“Clara.”
Her lips trembled.
“There’s something else.”
A knock sounded.
“Time’s up!” Sheriff Reed called.
Jack ignored him.
“What else?”
Clara stood.
“Ask your doctor what happened on January twenty-first.”
Jack’s face hardened.
“That was the night Lily was born.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Clara looked at the baby.
Then Jack.
And whispered:
“Two women gave birth in Dry Willow that night.”
Jack Turner had never struck an old man.
By sunset, he came dangerously close.
Doc Harland sat behind his desk with his hands shaking.
The sheriff had allowed Clara to remain at Jack’s ranch until morning after Jack promised she would not flee.
Edwin Vale had objected.
Jack had suggested Vale object from the other side of his rifle.
Now Jack stood inside Harland’s small examination room.
“What happened January twenty-first?”
The doctor looked away.
Jack slammed both hands onto the desk.
“What happened?”
Harland closed his eyes.
“Mary was bleeding badly.”
“I know.”
“You remember how much confusion there was.”
“I remember every second.”
“No, Jack.”
The doctor opened his eyes.
“You remember pieces.”
Jack froze.
The night came back in flashes.
Mary screaming.
Blood.
Hester Quinn, the traveling midwife.
Harland arriving late.
A baby crying.
Mary’s hand going cold.
Jack falling to his knees.
Someone taking the infant away.
Someone bringing her back wrapped in clean cloth.
“You gave me Lily.”
Harland whispered, “Yes.”
“Was she Mary’s baby?”
The doctor began to cry.
Jack staggered backward.
“No.”
“Jack—”
“No.”
“There were circumstances—”
“Was Lily Mary’s child?”
Harland covered his face.
“No.”
The word struck harder than any bullet.
Jack stood motionless.
Outside, horses passed along the street.
Somewhere a dog barked.
The world continued.
His did not.
“Then where is my daughter?”
Harland looked at him helplessly.
“Mary’s baby was stillborn.”
Jack’s legs failed.
He sat.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said she breathed.”
“I lied.”
Jack remembered holding Mary’s hand while Hester carried a crying infant toward the wash basin.
He remembered asking whether the baby was all right.
Someone had shouted yes.
“The baby I heard crying…”
“Belonged to another woman.”
Jack looked up.
Harland nodded.
“A young woman came into town that afternoon. Traveling under another name. She was alone and terrified.”
“Clara.”
“Yes.”
Jack’s stomach twisted.
“She gave birth to Lily?”
“Yes.”
Jack could no longer hear the room properly.
The doctor continued.
“Clara had been followed. Hester knew her father. Vale had offered money to anyone who returned his daughter.”
“Why?”
“Clara was unmarried.”
Jack frowned.
Harland swallowed.
“And the father of her child was a miner who had organized men against Edwin Vale.”
Jack slowly understood.
“Vale wanted the baby gone.”
“He wanted the scandal gone.”
Harland’s voice dropped.
“Hester was supposed to arrange an adoption somewhere east.”
Jack stood.
“Supposed to?”
“Clara hemorrhaged after delivery. She lost consciousness. Hester told her the child had died.”
Jack’s hands curled into fists.
“And then Mary’s baby was born dead.”
Harland looked destroyed.
“Hester made the decision.”
“You let her steal a woman’s child.”
“I stopped her.”
“You gave me Lily!”
“Because by then Hester had already told Clara her daughter was dead and sent her away with people traveling south!”
Jack lunged.
Harland backed against the wall.
“You could have told me!”
“I should have.”
“Mary died believing—”
Jack stopped.
Something in Harland’s face changed.
