Emma sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
The frame did not groan.
Abigail had not lied.
“Is he always like that?”
“Stubborn?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Abigail considered.
“Sometimes worse.”
Emma smiled again.
Then the smile faded.
“Why did the town do it?”
“Some of them are cruel.”
“Some are bored.”
“Most become brave when cruelty has company.”
Abigail’s face hardened.
“But Amos Pike had a reason to know more than the others.”
“What reason?”
“That,” Abigail said, “you should ask Elias.”
Then she left.
Emma washed.
Changed her hair.
Considered changing the dress.
Decided against it.
The blue dress had survived the stagecoach and the street.
It could survive one conversation.
She found Elias sitting on the boardinghouse porch nearly an hour later.
He stood immediately.
His eyes swept over her face.
“You all right?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
Emma sat in the reinforced porch chair Abigail had indicated.
Elias remained standing until she gestured toward the bench.
“You may sit.”
He did.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Emma held out his letter.
“You kept a copy?”
“No.”
“This is the one I sent.”
“So how did you get it back?”
“The bureau returned everything when I asked them to investigate.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You already knew something was wrong before I arrived?”
“I knew letters were missing.”
“Not the rest.”
Emma nodded.
“What did Mrs. Mercer mean when she said Amos had a reason?”
Elias looked toward the street.
“Amos owes Harlan Bell money.”
“Who is Harlan Bell?”
“Owner of Mercy Bend Bank.”
“Half the cattle pens.”
“Two grain warehouses.”
“And every opinion in town if you ask him.”
Emma waited.
Elias continued.
“I owe Bell’s bank eight thousand four hundred dollars.”
“How much is the ranch worth?”
“Twenty-five thousand in a good year.”
“More if the spring is included.”
Emma heard the last part.
“What spring?”
“Cottonwood Spring.”
“Runs year-round.”
“Only reliable water for six miles by late August.”
“And Bell wants it.”
“Yes.”
Emma looked toward him.
“Why would your marriage matter?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“That means it does.”
Elias glanced at her.
“You always interrogate people like this?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He rested his forearms on his knees.
“My father borrowed money from Bell’s father fifteen years ago after a cattle fever killed half our herd.”
“We paid most of it.”
“Then my father died.”
“I refinanced the remainder.”
“Bell handles the accounts.”
“About two years ago, the balance stopped going down.”
Emma stared.
“You kept paying?”
“Every quarter.”
“How much?”
“Depends.”
“Elias.”
He looked over.
“That tone sounds expensive.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred to seven hundred.”
“Interest rate?”
“Nine percent.”
“Original principal?”
“Eleven thousand.”
“Current balance after fifteen years?”
“Eight thousand four hundred.”