“He has records saying I’m weak.”
“Probably.”
Beatrice laughed bitterly.
“They weren’t trying only to kill me.”
Caleb understood.
“If the poison didn’t kill you, they could make you look chronically ill.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“And argue she required continued guardianship.”
Beatrice sat.
A plan with two paths.
Death.
Or legal erasure.
Nathaniel looked at her.
“We need another doctor.”
“Who?”
“There is a physician in Durango. Dr. Miriam Hale.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
“Marcus will hate that.”
For the first time that day, Beatrice smiled too.
Dr. Miriam Hale examined Beatrice three days later.
Thoroughly.
No comments about size.
No assumptions.
She inspected nails, skin, eyes.
Asked about pain.
Meals.
Timing.
Then she examined the hair Beatrice had saved from her brush during the worst months.
“You kept this?”
“My grandfather’s books mentioned hair.”
Miriam looked impressed.
“I can perform preliminary tests, but I want a chemist in Denver to confirm.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks.”
Beatrice exhaled.
Two weeks felt impossible.
Miriam touched her arm.
“You are not currently showing signs of acute poisoning.”
Relief.
Caleb, standing by the window, released a breath.
Miriam continued.
“But repeated low exposure could explain much of what you described.”
“Could?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice almost smiled.
Finally, someone else who respected uncertainty.
“Good.”
Miriam frowned.
“Good?”
“She refuses to say things without proof,” Caleb explained.
“Terrible habit.”
Miriam smiled.
“I approve.”
Before leaving, Miriam took the tonic sample.
She returned the silver spoon.
“The metal discoloration itself proves little.”
Beatrice nodded.
“But the liquid?”
“We’ll know.”
On their way back to the mountain cabin, Caleb was quiet.
Beatrice noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Caleb.”
He looked toward the trail.
“I keep thinking about your mother.”
“So do I.”
“If Marcus—”
“We don’t know.”
“I know.”
“That sentence sounded painful.”
“It is.”
Beatrice smiled faintly.
Caleb pulled the horses to a stop near a high meadow.
“What?”
she asked.
He looked at her.
“I need to say something before this becomes worse.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What?”
“If we prove the mine is yours…”
She waited.
“I want nothing from it.”
Beatrice stared.
“Caleb—”
“No.”
He removed his hat.
“This marriage began because of money.”
“Your debt.”
“Yes.”
“I knew.”
“That does not make it clean.”
She looked away.
Caleb continued.
“When your share becomes yours, it stays yours.”
“We are married.”
“I know.”
“That has legal consequences.”
“Nathaniel can draw papers.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you wondering whether I stayed because half a silver mine appeared.”
The words touched exactly the fear she had not admitted.
Caleb saw it.
“There.”
“What?”
“You did wonder.”