The freight ledger listed consignment 47.
Origin: Julesburg.
Destination: Denver.
Contents:
Medical supplies / charitable transfer.
Pritchard had bribed a clerk two dollars to inspect the receiving log.
The delivery had not gone to a children’s home.
It went to a private residence.
Mrs. Henderson stared at the copied address.
“Who lives there?”
Pritchard shrugged.
Caleb read the name.
“Caldwell.”
Eliza went still.
“What?”
“Jonathan and Beatrice Caldwell.”
Mrs. Henderson knew the name.
“Banking family.”
Pritchard nodded.
“Very wealthy.”
Eliza gripped the table.
“Why would my daughter be sent to bankers?”
Nobody answered.
Samuel cried.
Eliza closed her eyes.
She fed him while the others planned.
By morning, Doctor Avery reluctantly cleared Samuel to travel if they moved carefully and stopped often.
Caleb rented a private carriage.
Mrs. Henderson joined them.
Pritchard insisted on coming.
Caleb looked at him.
“You have business.”
“I've decided to become temporarily unsuccessful.”
They left for Denver at sunrise.
The Caldwell house stood behind an iron fence on the edge of the city.
Two stories.
Stone facade.
Carriage house.
Servants.
Nothing about it resembled the foundling institutions Eliza had imagined.
She sat inside the carriage staring through the window.
“What if she’s here?”
Caleb looked at her.
“What if she isn't?”
She whispered:
“What if she is and they won't give her back?”
Caleb’s jaw hardened.
“Then we don't leave quietly.”
Mrs. Henderson said:
“We leave legally.”
Caleb looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Legally.”
Pritchard muttered:
“Eventually.”
Mrs. Henderson glared.
They approached the door.
Caleb carried Samuel.
Eliza felt strangely empty without the baby in her arms.
A servant answered.
Mrs. Henderson spoke first.
“We need to see Mrs. Caldwell.”
“Regarding?”
“A child.”
The servant’s expression changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
Eliza saw.
“So there is a child.”
The servant looked toward the hall.
Caleb stepped forward.
“Don't shut that door.”
The servant froze.
Not because Caleb shouted.
Because he did not.
His size did the rest.
A woman's voice came from inside.
“Who is it?”
Then Beatrice Caldwell appeared.
Forty perhaps.
Beautiful clothes.
Pale face.
She saw Eliza.
Then Samuel.
Then Mrs. Henderson.
Her entire expression collapsed.
Eliza knew before anyone spoke.
“You have her.”
Beatrice’s lips parted.
Eliza stepped forward.
“You have my daughter.”
“No.”
The denial came too quickly.
Eliza’s knees nearly failed.
Caleb shifted closer.
Beatrice backed away.
Mrs. Henderson said:
“We have the transfer tag.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
Eliza whispered:
“Please.”
The word changed everything.