She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The cabin became very quiet.
Caleb waited.
Beatrice had rehearsed the answer for weeks.
Not this answer.
The simpler one.
Family conflict.
Cruel stepfather.
Fresh start.
But Caleb had defended her in church without asking anything in return.
He had admitted he did not know whether he would have married her if they had met first.
An awkward truth was worth more than a pretty lie.
“My mother held half ownership in the Silver Crown Mine.”
Caleb frowned.
“Outside Ridge Creek?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus owns that.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Marcus operates it.”
Caleb placed his spoon down.
“My mother inherited her share from my grandfather.”
“And after she died?”
“It went into trust.”
“For you?”
“Yes.”
Caleb leaned back.
“How much?”
“Half.”
He stared.
Silver Crown was one of the richer mines in the district.
Not enormous.
But profitable.
“Since when?”
“Since Mother died.”
“And Marcus controls it?”
“Until I’m twenty-seven.”
“When?”
“November third.”
Caleb did the count.
“Three months.”
“Yes.”
He began to understand.
“If you’re in Ridge Creek when you turn twenty-seven…”
“Marcus loses control of my half.”
“That’s why he wanted you gone.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“No.”
The single word changed the room.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed.
“No?”
“I let him send me.”
He sat completely still.
“You let him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Beatrice stared at the stew.
The smell that had comforted her moments earlier suddenly turned her stomach.
“For months, I became sick after supper.”
Caleb’s expression hardened.
“What kind of sick?”
“Pain here.”
She touched the upper abdomen.
“Dizziness. Weakness. Headache.”
“How often?”
“At first once every few weeks.”
“And then?”
“Three times a week.”
Caleb stopped breathing normally.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He said my weight strained my heart.”
Caleb’s face changed.
“He blamed your size?”
“Yes.”
“Did he examine you?”
“Briefly.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Edwin Vale.”
The name meant something.
Beatrice noticed.
“You know him?”
Caleb looked toward the fire.
“He treated me years ago.”
“For the fever?”
His eyes shifted back.
“How do you know about that?”
“Ridge Creek knows everything.”
“Apparently.”
She continued.
“The meals tasted strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Metallic.”
Caleb’s chair scraped as he leaned forward.
“Beatrice.”
“I know.”
“Arsenic.”
She nodded.
The fire popped.
Neither moved.
“How can you know?”
“My grandfather was a physician.”
“You said the books in your trunk—”
“His.”
Caleb looked toward them.
“I studied them.”
“How long?”
“Since I was fourteen.”