"And you're still standing."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she leaned forward.
He kissed her.
And this time, neither hurried to pull away.
A week later, Edwin Shaw sent another message.
A lawyer in Massachusetts had obtained important information concerning Beatrice Carrington.
An independent medical examination had been requested.
Lydia Hale was preparing to challenge restrictions on her sister's correspondence and visitors.
And Marian Bellamy had agreed to testify about what she personally observed at Brookmere House.
The progress was encouraging.
But there was a problem.
Edmund's representatives had begun discussing Beatrice's transfer to another institution.
A place farther from Lydia's home.
If the transfer occurred before the independent review, communication might become more difficult.
Eleanor read the message in silence.
Then looked toward Silas.
"We have to help."
He nodded.
"What does Shaw recommend?"
"That Lydia's counsel challenge the transfer through the appropriate process and preserve the medical and financial records."
Silas considered it.
"And what do they need from us?"
Eleanor looked toward the message.
"Copies of the correspondence I found. A statement explaining where and when I discovered it. And any information about the payments."
He nodded.
"Then let's prepare it."
For the next two days, they worked together.
Eleanor wrote a careful account.
Silas helped organize the attachments.
They made copies where possible.
Preserved the original letter.
And sent the materials through the legal representatives rather than allowing private investigators or family agents to demand them directly.
It was slow.
Frustrating.
Sometimes frightening.
But they were doing something.
Not merely hiding from Horace Whitmore's power.
Building a record capable of being examined by people who weren't beholden to him.
When the packet was finally ready, Eleanor held it for a long moment.
Silas stood beside her.
"What's wrong?"
She looked down.
"I keep thinking about Beatrice."
He nodded.
She swallowed.
"What if she thinks everyone abandoned her?"
Silas rested one hand against her shoulder.
For several seconds, he considered the question.
Then said quietly, "Perhaps the best thing we can do is make sure she learns somebody didn't."
Eleanor's eyes filled.
She nodded.
Then sealed the packet.
And sent it east.
February brought the kind of cold that made men speak less and work faster.
Water froze inside the troughs unless someone broke the ice.
Leather straps stiffened.
Horses stood close together beneath blankets.
And the ranch hands began every morning with the same question: whether the day would remain merely uncomfortable or become dangerous.
Eleanor had learned enough by then to understand why Silas treated the weather with such seriousness.
One poorly secured gate could scatter cattle across miles of frozen pasture.