“You stare.”
He smiled.
“You're facing away.”
“I can feel it.”
“Useful skill.”
She rolled toward him.
His beard was worse in the morning.
She touched it.
“You need trimming.”
“Cruel.”
“You look like something living under a bridge.”
“You seemed less critical last night.”
Clara smiled.
“Last night was poorly judged.”
“Repeatedly.”
She hit his shoulder.
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I need to tell you something.”
“That usually ends well.”
“The dispatch case.”
Clara waited.
“I'm working an investigation.”
Her expression changed.
“Military?”
“War Department contracts.”
“Grain.”
“Transport.”
“Procurement.”
Clara sat up.
Elias continued.
“Supplies purchased for troops aren't matching what was delivered.”
“Some contracts were billed twice.”
“Some weights altered.”
“Some shipments recorded that never existed.”
Clara thought immediately of Silas.
She hated herself for it.
Elias saw.
“Don't say a name.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want anything you tell me shaped by what I know.”
She frowned.
“What do you know?”
“Not enough.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because my presence here might become dangerous.”
Clara stared.
“Silas.”
Elias closed his eyes.
“Clara.”
“You said grain.”
“Many men sell grain.”
“Not many men are thieves.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“My husband believed—”
She stopped.
Elias leaned forward.
“What?”
Clara got out of bed.
Wrapped the blanket around herself.
Walked toward the window.
“Thomas kept books.”
“Everyone kept books.”
“Not business books.”
“Notes.”
“He was convinced Crowe's warehouse scales were altered.”
Elias sat.
“Where are those notes?”
“I don't know.”
“You said he kept them.”
“I sold almost everything after he died.”
“Desk.”
“Ledger box.”
“Farm equipment.”
“Some papers burned because I couldn't pay for coal.”
Elias rubbed his face.
Clara looked at him.
“You knew Silas was under investigation.”
“I suspected.”
“And said nothing.”
“Because an investigation isn't a conviction.”
She turned.
“He is trying to take my farm.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me.”
“And then what?”
“You start searching?”
“You confront him?”
“He knows federal officers are looking?”
“He burns records?”
Elias stood.
“Clara, I came here because of a storm.”
“I stayed because of you.”
“But the first time I returned, I was already under instructions not to reveal targets.”
She looked away.
He continued.
“I am sorry.”
She believed him.
That was inconvenient.
By afternoon, they began searching Thomas's remaining possessions.
Not because Elias ordered it.
Because Clara chose.
The attic.
Barn.
Old trunk.
Church books.
Nothing.
Then Clara remembered the pie cupboard.
Thomas hated sweets.
That was why she remembered.