Then vomited outside.
Not from poisoning.
Grief.
Penny followed.
He would not let her touch him at first.
He knelt in snow.
Hands shaking.
“I fed them that water.”
“No.”
“I brought every wife into that house.”
“You didn't know.”
“I filled the tank.”
“You didn't know.”
“I watched them get sick.”
Penny crouched.
“You believed doctors.”
“I should have known.”
“How?”
He looked at her desperately.
“Because they all died.”
Penny grabbed his face.
“For once, listen instead of punishing yourself.”
His eyes widened.
“You did not poison them.”
“You used the same water?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you alive?”
Declan stared.
She continued:
“Because you spent days trapping in upper country.”
“You drank spring water.”
“You were away.”
“The women remained at the cabin.”
“That is exposure difference.”
His breathing slowed.
Penny said:
“If this is your fault, then every person who drank from a bad well is guilty of poisoning themselves.”
He looked down.
“Doesn't feel different.”
“I know.”
She sat beside him in snow.
Feelings were rarely persuaded immediately by facts.
Then Penny found the letters.
Beneath the bedroom floor.
Loose plank.
Why did she notice?
A nail newer than the wood.
She pried it up.
Wrapped bundle.
Seven letters.
All written by Helen Frost, fourth wife.
Not sent.
Hidden.
The first described loneliness.
The second headaches.
The third suspicion.
Silas came again while Declan was trapping. He inspected the well and stove although nothing seemed wrong. I asked why he visits only when Declan is gone. He laughed.
Penny’s pulse accelerated.
Another:
I found papers regarding the Frost Pass Trust. Declan apparently controls all pass and timber income only while married. When unmarried, management returns to Silas as trustee. I do not understand why this should matter.
Penny did.
She found the deed.
Marriage clause.
Old family arrangement designed decades earlier to encourage settlement.
While Declan had a legal wife, he held full personal control over Frost Pass land.
If widowed, revenue management reverted temporarily to family trust until remarriage.
Absurd.
But legal.
Silas controlled the trust.
Penny searched county records.
Dates.
Wives died.
Months passed before remarriage.
During those periods, enormous timber contracts and freight access agreements were executed by Silas.
Thousands of dollars.
Repeatedly.
Seven deaths.
Seven profitable intervals.
Penny stared at the figures.
Samuel whispered:
“My God.”
Declan looked physically ill.
Thomas Reed said:
“You think Silas poisoned them?”
Penny answered:
“I think contamination started accidentally.”
“Old silver works uphill explains arsenic.”
“The old solder explains lead.”
Thomas frowned.
“Then Silas didn't create it.”
“No.”
Penny pointed toward the new seam.
“But someone kept it useful.”
The first wife may have died because of ignorance.
Maybe the second too.
Then Silas noticed the pattern.
Realized wives died.
Realized he profited.
And instead of fixing the water…
He maintained it.
Possibly intensified it.
Penny felt sick.
Declan stood.
“I’ll kill him.”
Thomas immediately blocked the door.
“No.”
Declan’s expression changed.
Thomas was not a small man.
Declan made him look small.
Penny stepped between them.
“Declan.”