Silence.
Clara's knees nearly weakened.
Silas went pale.
The sheriff continued.
“There's even a notation that Mr. Crowe retained the original marked canceled.”
Clara looked directly at Silas.
“So.”
Her voice shook.
“Show me the note.”
Silas said nothing.
That was enough.
He was taken to town.
Not dragged.
Not beaten.
Not theatrically humiliated.
He rode his own horse between deputies.
Clara watched until they disappeared.
Then she sat on the porch step.
Elias sat beside her.
Neither spoke.
Finally Clara said:
“I lied about the thumb seal.”
He turned.
“What?”
“Thomas never marked notes.”
Elias stared.
Then laughed.
Hard.
Clara started laughing too.
Months of fear released at once.
She covered her face.
Elias put one arm around her.
She leaned against him.
“He believed me.”
“Apparently you're terrifying.”
“I learned from the cow.”
Elias laughed harder.
Silas's case took months.
Federal fraud.
False weights.
Duplicate billing.
Diversion.
He was not the only merchant investigated.
The war created scarcity.
Scarcity created opportunity.
Opportunity revealed character.
Some people shared.
Some hoarded.
Some stole.
Silas had done all three, depending on who benefited.
Clara kept the farm.
Spring arrived.
Then summer.
The war moved toward its final bloody year.
Elias received new orders.
Not field combat.
Washington.
Administrative testimony.
He came to Clara’s cabin the evening before leaving.
She knew before he spoke.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
Clara nodded.
Again.
Always the truthful answer.
He sat at the table.
Something smelled familiar.
His eyes widened.
“No.”
Clara smiled.
The pie sat on the windowsill.
He stood.
“After all this?”
“Yes.”
“You're finally telling me?”
“Maybe.”
“Clara.”
She laughed.
They ate supper first because she refused to reward impatience.
Elias barely tasted it.
Finally Clara carried the pie to the table.
Still warm.
His eyes followed.
She cut.
Served.
He took a bite.
Same flavor.
Cinnamon.
Sweet.
Tender filling.
That strange apple sharpness.
He pointed.
“Apple.”
“No.”
“You cannot keep doing this.”
“I can.”
“What is it?”
Clara sat opposite.
“Guess.”
“Pear.”
“No.”
“Dried peach.”
“No.”
“Turnip.”
She laughed.
“No.”
“Potato?”
“Absolutely not.”