Then came flowers.

Jewelry.

Tears.

Promises.

The second time required fewer apologies.

By the fifth, none.

And through everything, Mercy Bend admired Owen Drayton.

Mae learned to wear long sleeves.

She learned which colors concealed fading bruises.

She learned to smile before church.

She learned the importance of standing straight when Gideon Drayton studied her.

And she learned something worse.

People noticed.

Mrs.

Talbot at the mercantile once stared directly at the purple mark near Mae’s collar.

Reverend Clay once paused while shaking her hand because her wrist was swollen.

Sheriff Hollis had seen Owen drag her from a harvest dance hard enough to tear the sleeve from her shoulder.

Nobody asked.

Not really.

Occasionally someone said, “Everything all right at home?”

But they asked in the careful tone of people praying the answer would be yes.

So Mae gave it to them.

“Yes.”

Always yes.

Until yesterday.

Owen had come home angry after discovering Mae had written a letter to her aunt in Wyoming.

He burned the letter.

Then locked Mae inside their bedroom.

That evening, while Owen and Gideon entertained Sheriff Hollis downstairs, Mae escaped through the adjoining dressing room.

She had intended only to reach the kitchen.

Then she heard Owen coming.

So she slipped into Gideon’s office.

The door locked behind her.

There was nowhere to hide except beneath the desk.

From there she saw Gideon remove a ledger from behind a false wooden panel.

He showed Sheriff Hollis several pages.

Mae heard Gideon say:

“Another month and she signs the water transfer.

Owen can do whatever he wants afterward.”

Mae froze beneath the desk.

Sheriff Hollis replied, “And if she doesn’t?”

Gideon closed the ledger.

“She will.”

When they left, Mae waited nearly an hour.

Then she found the hidden compartment.

And the ledger.

Hundreds of entries.

Properties.

Payments.

Names.

Dead people.

Widows.

Families who had mysteriously abandoned farms.

Mae recognized one name after another.

People Mercy Bend had whispered about for years.

Families ruined by bad luck.

Ranchers who supposedly sold land cheaply before leaving Montana.

Women declared unstable.

Men arrested after disputes with Gideon Drayton.

Mae tore out one page.

Then she heard Owen behind her.

“He saw me holding it.”

Her voice became smaller.

Caleb said nothing.

Mae touched the bruise beneath her ribs.

“He wanted the page.”

“You told him where it was?”

“No.”

Caleb looked at the hem of her dress.

Mae nodded.

“I sewed it in while he went to get his father.”

Caleb’s expression hardened.

“How did you get out?”

“His mother.”

Caleb blinked.

“Beatrice?”

Mae looked toward the broken doorway.

“She unlocked the servant stair.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s all she did?”

Mae hesitated.

“No.”

“What else?”

“She gave me something.”

From beneath Caleb’s coat, Mae removed a tiny brass key.

Then a second piece of paper.

Older.

Yellowed.

Folded into quarters.

“There was writing on the outside.”

Caleb took it.

Across the front, in faded ink, were five words.

FOR THE WOMAN WHO FINALLY RUNS.

Caleb unfolded the paper.

The moment he saw the handwriting, the room tilted.

He knew those sloping letters.

He had seen them on birthday cards.

Schoolbooks.

Notes left beside unfinished chores.

His sister’s handwriting.

Caleb sank onto the opposite bench.

“No.”

Mae whispered, “What?”

He read.

If you found this, then nothing changed.

If you are hurt and trying to leave, do not trust Hollis.