The stagecoach stopped at a relay station less than an hour later.
Not because it was scheduled.
Because Caleb threatened to climb onto the driver’s bench and stop the horses himself if they did not.
Samuel had taken more milk than he had in two days.
Color had returned slightly to his face.
That should have been the only miracle Caleb could think about.
Instead he stood outside the relay station while Eliza paced beneath a cottonwood tree, clutching the cream blanket as though it contained the answer to everything.
Samuel slept against Caleb’s chest.
Mrs. Henderson sat on the station steps.
Pritchard lingered nearby.
Nobody seemed willing to continue toward Fort Collins without understanding what the tag meant.
Eliza stopped pacing.
“Tell me everything.”
Mrs. Henderson rubbed both hands together.
“I don't know everything.”
“What do you know?”
The older woman looked toward the road.
“My husband and I stayed in Julesburg for six weeks. The Methodist mission sent us because influenza had filled the infirmary.”
Eliza waited.
“There were too many patients.”
“Children?”
“Some.”
“Babies?”
“Yes.”
Eliza’s face tightened.
Mrs. Henderson continued.
“There was a matron named Vale.”
Eliza nodded immediately.
“She was there.”
“And Doctor Harrow.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Henderson looked increasingly troubled.
“Several infants were transferred.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“Why?”
“Some mothers died. Some were considered unable to provide care.”
Eliza stepped closer.
“I was alive.”
“I know.”
“I had money.”
Mrs. Henderson looked down.
Eliza laughed bitterly.
“Not much.”
“But some.”
She turned toward Caleb.
“I had thirty-two dollars left.”
Caleb said nothing.
Eliza looked back.
“I had rented a room.”
“I had work promised at a dress shop in Denver.”
“I could feed my daughter.”
She struck her own chest with one trembling hand.
“I could feed her.”
Mrs. Henderson stood.
“Eliza.”
“What?”
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
Eliza stopped.
Her face changed.
“The night before they told me she died, Doctor Harrow gave me laudanum.”
Mrs. Henderson’s expression hardened.
“For pain?”
“He said I needed sleep.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
Eliza looked terrified by her own memory.
“I remember waking.”
“Matron Vale had papers.”
“She said they concerned my room charge.”
Mrs. Henderson asked carefully:
“Did you sign?”
Eliza’s eyes filled.
“I don't remember.”
Pritchard swore quietly.
Everybody turned.
The salesman looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
Caleb stared at him.
“You know something?”
“No.”
Pritchard hesitated.
Caleb took one step closer.
Pritchard raised both hands.
“I deliver medical supplies.”
“To Julesburg?”
“Sometimes.”
“Talk.”
Pritchard looked toward Eliza.
“I've heard stories.”
Her face tightened.
“What stories?”
“That the infirmary helps place children.”
Mrs. Henderson said:
“That isn't secret.”
“No.”
Pritchard swallowed.
“But I've also heard there are families willing to pay.”
Silence.
Caleb’s jaw hardened.
“For babies?”