He had arranged Thomas’s funeral.
He had brought the girls peppermint candies afterward.
He had extended Maylin credit.
He had bought her wedding ring.
He had been the closest thing they had to a friend.
“No.”
“He owns Black Ridge through three shell companies.”
“Gideon gave me money after Thomas died.”
“He took far more from you first.”
Silas pulled another document from his coat.
“Thomas had nearly eight hundred dollars saved.”
Maylin stared.
Eight hundred dollars.
A fortune.
“He told me we had fifty-three.”
“Pike emptied the account two days after Thomas died using forged debt papers.”
Maylin sat down because her knees had stopped working.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
Silas’s expression darkened.
“I tried.”
“What stopped you?”
“Someone shot me.”
Silence.
“Pike?”
“One of his men.”
Silas touched the scar above his eyebrow.
“I spent six months recovering in Wyoming. By the time I could travel, Pike had people watching every road into Willow Creek.”
“And now?”
“Now he’s under investigation.”
“So he’s going to prison?”
Silas did not answer.
Maylin understood.
“You don’t have enough evidence.”
“We had one ledger.”
“Had?”
“It disappeared the night Thomas died.”
The wind howled outside.
Silas leaned closer.
“Thomas told me before we separated that he had hidden evidence somewhere no one would think to search.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Then why come here?”
“Because three days ago somebody searched Thomas’s grave.”
Maylin went completely still.
“What?”
“The coffin wasn’t disturbed. But the ground around the marker had been dug up.”
Her skin prickled.
“Who?”
“I think Pike.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks Thomas gave you the ledger.”
“He didn’t.”
Silas studied her.
“I believe you.”
Maylin stared toward the bedroom where her children were laughing over their presents.
“Does Pike know you’re here?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer frightened her.
Silas rose.
“We should leave at first light.”
“In this storm?”
“If it breaks.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Silas glanced toward the door.
“Then I make sure nobody comes through it.”
By afternoon, Christmas had become something Maylin no longer recognized.
Faun received a cloth doll wearing a red dress.
Shaw received boots, a storybook, and a tiny leather saddle for her wooden horse.
Silas had somehow brought oranges.
Real oranges.
The girls had never tasted one.
Faun bit into the peel before Silas could stop her.
For the first time in months, Maylin laughed.
Not politely.
Not carefully.
She laughed until she covered her mouth with both hands.
Silas laughed too.
The sound surprised them both.
For a few hours, the cabin almost felt whole.
Almost.
Yet Thomas’s letter remained folded inside Maylin’s pocket.
Forgive me.
Those words would not leave her.
As darkness approached, the storm worsened.
Silas checked the horses.
Maylin prepared supper.
Shaw and Faun fell asleep near the stove, exhausted from happiness.
Silas returned with snow in his hair.
“You should rest,” Maylin said.
“So should you.”
“I don’t think I remember how.”
He smiled faintly.
“Thomas said that about you.”
She looked up.
“What else did he say?”
Silas hesitated.
“That you were stubborn.”
Maylin almost smiled.
“He would know.”
“That you sang when you kneaded bread.”
