“Silas?”
He stopped.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
“If you want me to.”
“I do.”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll be here.”
Clara watched him leave.
For several minutes, she stood in the center of the room, uncertain what to do with the sudden quiet.
She had imagined that learning Amos was alive would bring her joy.
Instead, she felt betrayed, frightened, and strangely bereft.
The man she had mourned had become a stranger.
And the stranger who had sheltered her was now the person she trusted most.
She sat on the bed and took the leather belt from her bag.
The worn surface was marked with shallow creases from years of use.
She ran her fingers over it.
It was an ordinary object.
But it reminded her of the moment Silas had offered her a choice when she was frightened and in pain.
He had not taken her hand without permission.
He had not told her she was being foolish.
He had given her something to hold.
Clara set the belt beside her valise.
Then she went downstairs for soup.
The telegraph reply arrived the following afternoon.
The sheriff summoned Clara to his office.
Silas was already there, standing near the stove with his hat in his hands.
The sheriff held a narrow strip of paper.
“The western station confirms that no death report was filed for Amos Reed.”
Clara felt the room tilt.
“None?”
“None.”
“Then he was never reported dead?”
“Not through that station.”
The sheriff tapped the telegram.
“This message was sent from Red Creek, not from the western territory. It was signed by a company agent, but the agent’s name is not on the official staff list.”
Clara stared at the paper.
“Mr. Bell told me it came from the railway.”
The sheriff nodded.
“Which means he may have forged or arranged a false telegram.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“Can you arrest him?”
“Not yet. I need to establish who sent it and why. But I’ve asked the county attorney to review the matter.”
Clara sat slowly.
“Why would he do this?”
The sheriff placed the telegram on the desk.
“That’s the question.”
A knock sounded at the office door.
The sheriff opened it.
A young deputy stepped inside, carrying a folded newspaper and a sealed envelope.
“Sir, this came by the morning stage.”
The sheriff took the envelope.
It bore the name of Amos Reed.
Clara recognized the handwriting.
Her stomach tightened.
The sheriff looked at her.
“Do you want to read it?”
She hesitated.