Amos noticed.
“Still alive?”
Colum ignored him.
Martha held up invoices.
“You’ve been stealing from me.”
Amos’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
She tossed the papers onto the porch table.
Colum had circled discrepancies in charcoal.
Amos glanced at them.
“That cripple tell you this?”
Martha’s face hardened.
“His name is Colum.”
“Since when do you care?”
“Since you dumped him in my yard.”
Amos laughed.
“You should thank me.”
Martha stepped forward.
“Three hundred seventeen dollars.”
“Those numbers don’t mean anything.”
“Then show me the original invoices.”
“I don’t keep every scrap.”
“Convenient.”
Amos looked toward Colum.
“What are you?”
Colum answered calmly.
“Better at arithmetic than you hoped.”
Amos’s eyes narrowed.
For a moment something passed between them.
Recognition.
Hatred.
Martha saw it.
Her skin prickled.
“You two know each other.”
Amos answered too quickly.
“No.”
Colum said nothing.
Martha looked from one to the other.
“Colum.”
His jaw tightened.
Amos smiled.
“Careful what you ask, Martha.”
She turned.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Amos put on his hat.
“Means strangers aren’t always what they say.”
Colum’s pale eyes sharpened.
“Neither are relatives.”
Amos froze.
Then he looked back at Martha.
“You ought to send him away before winter.”
“Why?”
“Because dead weight gets expensive when snow comes.”
Martha stepped closer.
“You stole from me.”
“Prove it.”
“I will.”
His smile returned.
“You always were stubborn.”
“I learned from Elias.”
At the mention of her husband, Amos’s expression shifted.
Only slightly.
But Colum noticed.
So did Martha.
Amos climbed onto the wagon.
As he turned away, Colum said, “How’s your left shoulder?”
Amos stopped.
Martha frowned.
Amos did not look back.
Then he drove away.
Martha turned.
“What was that?”
Colum stared toward the road.
“Nothing.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
The word fell heavily.
Martha’s anger ignited.
“You lied.”
“I didn’t.”
“You let me believe you didn’t.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It is in my house.”
Colum looked at her.
Martha stepped inside.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Colum Reed.”
“I know your name.”
“I was a surveyor.”
She stopped.
“For who?”
“Territorial land office. Sometimes private claims.”
Martha’s pulse changed.
“What does Amos have to do with that?”