Silas did not answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Maylin leaned forward.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“At Black Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“Were you working in the mine?”
“No.”
“Then why were you there?”
Silas removed something from inside his coat.
A folded piece of paper.
He placed it on the table.
Maylin stared at it.
“What is that?”
“A letter.”
“From whom?”
“You already know.”
She did.
Her hand shook as she unfolded it.
The page was stained and creased.
The words were Thomas’s.
Maylin—
If this reaches you, then something went wrong.
Her vision blurred immediately.
She stopped reading.
She couldn’t.
Silas spoke gently.
“You don’t have to finish tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
Maylin forced herself onward.
There are things I should have told you. I thought keeping you away from my troubles would protect you. I see now that secrets only leave the people we love defenseless.
If Silas Reed reaches you, trust him.
He owes me nothing.
Whatever he brings belongs to you and the girls.
Tell Shaw I finished the horse.
Tell Faun I remembered the red ribbon.
Tell them their papa loved them more than he ever knew how to say.
And Maylin—
Forgive me.
The letter ended there.
Maylin read the last two words again.
Forgive me.
A cold feeling crawled through her that had nothing to do with winter.
“For what?”
Silas stared at his hands.
Maylin stood.
“Forgive him for what?”
“I promised Thomas I would tell you everything.”
“Then start.”
Silas looked at the girls.
Maylin followed his gaze.
“Girls, open your presents in the bedroom.”
“But Mama—”
“Please.”
Something in her voice ended the discussion.
When the door closed behind them, Maylin turned back.
Silas reached slowly into his coat.
This time he withdrew a brass badge.
He placed it on the table.
United States Deputy Marshal.
Maylin stared.
“You’re a lawman.”
“Was.”
“What does that have to do with Thomas?”
Silas’s gray eyes hardened.
“Your husband didn’t die in a mine accident.”
The words landed like a gunshot.
Maylin gripped the table.
“What?”
“The collapse was deliberate.”
“No.”
“Someone packed blasting powder into the northern tunnel.”
“No.”
“Thomas discovered it before they could destroy the entire shaft.”
She shook her head violently.
“The company said a gas pocket—”
“The company lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Black Ridge wasn’t just a silver mine.”
Maylin stared.
Silas continued.
“For three years, the owners had been smuggling federal gold shipments through tunnels beneath the property. Thomas found records. Names. Payment schedules. Bribes.”
“My Thomas?”
“He was keeping the mine ledgers.”
Maylin remembered her husband returning late.
The sleepless nights.
The whispered conversations he stopped whenever she entered.
The fear she had mistaken for exhaustion.
“He knew?”
“He found out.”
“And told you?”
“He rode seventy miles through a snowstorm to find me.”
“Why you?”
Silas looked away.
“Because I’d been investigating the same men for two years.”
Maylin’s throat tightened.
“Who?”
Silas looked back.
“Gideon Pike.”
The name meant nothing at first.
Then it did.
“Mr. Pike?”
Silas nodded.
Maylin almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the idea was absurd.
Gideon Pike owned the Willow Creek Mercantile.
