Ben’s eyes lowered.
“She told me Daisy remembers things.”
Mercy smiled gently.
“Dolls are good at that.”
“No.”
Ben looked up.
His face had changed.
“She said it the night before she died.”
Mercy stopped sewing.
“What exactly did she say?”
Ben squeezed his hands together.
“Keep Daisy safe.
Daisy remembers what people forget.”
A cold sensation moved along Mercy’s spine.
Before she could ask anything else, the front door opened.
Thomas entered with snow on his shoulders.
Ben snatched the doll from the table and ran.
Mercy watched him disappear upstairs.
Thomas noticed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Mercy looked down.
Something small glittered beside her spool of thread.
A brass key.
No bigger than her smallest finger.
It must have fallen from the doll’s torn arm.
Mercy closed her hand around it.
For the first time since arriving at Bell Ranch, she felt certain Ruth Bell’s death had left more behind than grief.
Two days later, Silas Rook arrived.
Mercy disliked him before he removed his hat.
She could not explain why.
Maybe it was the polished black coat.
Maybe the clean gloves.
Maybe the way he entered the Bell house as if he already owned the walls.
He was perhaps forty.
Handsome once, Mercy thought.
Now a pale scar ran from his left temple toward his jaw, pulling slightly at one corner of his mouth.
Thomas’s expression hardened.
“Rook.”
“Bell.”
Rook smiled.
“Always a pleasure.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Rook’s gaze moved past him.
Then stopped on Mercy.
Something strange happened.
The color left his face.
Only briefly.
But Mercy saw it.
Rook recovered instantly.
“And who might this be?”
“Mercy Calloway.”
Thomas spoke before Mercy could.
Rook repeated the name.
“Mercy.”
The way he said it made her skin tighten.
“Have we met?” she asked.
Rook studied her.
“No.”
A pause.
“I would remember.”
Mercy felt a flicker of irritation.
“Most men who say that don’t.”
Thomas almost smiled.
Rook did not.
He opened his leather case.
“I’m here concerning the mortgage.”
Mercy glanced at Thomas.
He had never mentioned a mortgage.
Thomas’s jaw clenched.
“Not in front of the boys.”
“Then pay it in front of the boys.”
Silence.
Rook placed several papers on the table.
“You have until March first.”
“It was June.”
“Terms changed.”
“They cannot change without my signature.”
Rook smiled.
“They can when previous installments are unpaid.”
Thomas grabbed the paper.
Mercy saw his face change as he read.
“That isn’t my signature.”
Rook’s smile vanished.
“I recommend caution before accusing a territorial bank of forgery.”
“I know my own name.”
Rook gathered his gloves.
“March first, Bell.”
He turned toward Mercy.
For the briefest moment, his gaze softened into something almost sorrowful.
Then he said:
“Some places are better left before they bury you.”
Mercy went cold.
She had heard those words before.
Or something close.
A long time ago.
From someone else.
But the memory vanished before she could catch it.
