“Morning.”
Declan cursed.
They left after sunrise.
Declan rode in a wagon with his injured leg elevated.
Penny sat beside him.
Samuel and Thomas rode behind.
The mountain trail narrowed as they climbed.
Snow deepened.
Pines closed around them.
Then the cabin appeared.
Large.
Strong.
Stone chimney.
Seven simple crosses beyond the rear fence.
Penny’s stomach tightened.
Seven.
Seeing them was different.
Declan noticed.
“You can still leave.”
She looked toward him.
“No.”
Inside, the cabin was clean but cold.
Declan had been away weeks.
Penny immediately began.
Well.
Bucket.
Cooking pots.
Water tank.
Pipes.
Samuel tested visually.
No modern laboratory existed nearby, so they used basic chemical reagents Samuel possessed, along with samples to send to Denver.
The well bucket carried gray residue.
Penny scraped it.
Declan watched.
“What?”
“Maybe nothing.”
He hated that answer.
They checked the stove.
A large water reservoir attached to one side.
Useful during winter.
Heat water all day.
Penny inspected solder.
Gray.
Old.
Potential lead.
But something else bothered her.
One seam looked newer.
Cleaner.
She touched it.
“Declan.”
He approached.
“When was this repaired?”
He frowned.
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Three weeks before my accident.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“My cousin.”
“Silas?”
“Yes.”
Samuel looked over.
“Why?”
“Pipe leaked.”
Penny scraped the seam.
A gray flake fell.
She collected it.
The medical suspicion became colder.
Old contamination could explain historic deaths.
Fresh repair could explain continued danger.
Who repeatedly repaired toxic infrastructure?
Maybe ignorance.
Maybe not.
They stayed overnight because snow worsened.
Penny slept in the room once used by seven dead women.
That knowledge made rest impossible.
Near midnight she got up.
Declan sat by the fire.
Leg stretched.
He looked toward her.
“You should sleep.”
“You first.”
“I've slept badly here for twenty years.”
She sat opposite.
“Do the graves bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Why keep them here?”
“Where else?”
Fair.
Declan looked into the flames.
“Agnes liked roses.”
“Couldn't grow them at this altitude.”
“She tried anyway.”
“Margaret sang constantly.”
“Louise hated horses.”
“Helen could shoot better than me.”
“Rose made terrible bread.”
“Mary wanted children.”
“Abigail…”
He stopped.
Penny listened.
Declan whispered:
“I forget her voice sometimes.”
His face changed.
“Then I feel guilty.”
Penny moved closer.
“You remember people incorrectly because you're alive.”
He looked at her.
“That sounds cruel.”
“It’s human.”
She sat beside him.