And she was hiding behind our kitchen stove.
I stepped backward.
"Your what?"
William slowly turned toward me.
Tears were running down his face.
"Rose."
I stared.
He looked toward the panel again.
"I thought she was dead."
The cabin seemed to tilt.
Outside, the wind struck the shutters.
Inside, the hidden child began crying again.
And suddenly the mystery of the missing chicken no longer mattered.
Because the man I had married was standing in front of a secret that had been buried long before I entered his life.
He knelt beside the panel.
"Annie, listen to me."
The child sniffled.
"Papa?"
"I'm here."
She began crying harder.
"I didn't know if you'd come."
William pressed one hand against the wood.
"You're safe."
The child whispered, "He said you'd hurt me."
William closed his eyes.
His shoulders trembled.
"No, sweetheart."
I had never heard such pain in a man's voice.
"I would never hurt you."
A pause.
Then the little girl asked, "Can I come out?"
William looked toward me.
His face was devastated.
I nodded.
Whatever secrets existed between us, a frightened child needed help.
He turned back toward the panel.
"Yes, darling."
He reached for the wooden latch.
But before he opened it, another sound came from behind the stove.
A heavy scrape.
Then a low male voice.
"Don't."
William froze.
My breath caught.
The child's words returned to me.
He's still here.
I looked toward the dark space.
And realized she had not been talking about someone outside the cabin.
There was another person behind the wall.
A grown man.
Hiding with her.
William slowly stood.
His expression changed.
The grief remained.
But something colder appeared beneath it.
He reached toward his rifle.
The voice from the darkness spoke again.
"Put that down, Wolf."
William stopped.
His jaw tightened.
He recognized that voice too.
"Daniel."
I stared at him.
"William?"
He didn't look away from the panel.
"What are you doing in my house?"
The hidden man laughed softly.
"Funny question."
William stepped closer.
"Come out."
"Not while you're holding that rifle."
William looked toward the weapon.
Then carefully set it against the far wall.
He moved back.
"There."
The voice paused.
"Now step away."
William did.
The wooden panel creaked.
Then shifted outward.
A hand appeared.
Pale.
Thin.
Dirty.
A man slowly crawled from the hidden passage.
He was perhaps forty-five, with a narrow face, tangled brown hair, and an old scar running across his forehead.
He wore a torn gray coat.
One sleeve was soaked with blood.
His left leg dragged slightly as he moved.