Garrick laughed through tears.
It was the first time she had heard him laugh.
Rough.
Unexpected.
Alive.
He wiped his face.
“You really don’t know when to leave a moment alone.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He placed the cedar box on the washstand.
Inside were pieces of Mae Hale’s life.
A blue ribbon.
A small silver comb.
Letters tied with faded twine.
A dried sprig of lavender.
Two photographs.
And three brown medicine bottles.
Nola’s breath stopped.
Garrick saw.
“No.”
He whispered it as though refusing reality could force it back into the box.
Nola lifted one bottle.
Empty.
The second held only a trace.
She tilted it toward the window.
The sediment moved.
The same oily drag along the glass.
Garrick backed away.
“No.”
Nola uncorked it.
A faint bitter scent.
The same.
She did not say anything.
She did not need to.
Garrick gripped the bedpost.
“Mae took that.”
Nola nodded.
“Every night.”
“I know.”
“For months.”
“I know.”
He looked toward his feverish son.
Then toward the bottle.
Then toward Eli.
“Where did Wren come from?”
Garrick asked.
Nola turned.
“What?”
The question seemed directed at himself now.
“Who sent him?”
“You said Vernon Crow recommended him.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Garrick thought.
The color drained from his face.
“Two weeks after Mae refused Crow’s final offer.”
Nola felt the room tilt.
“What offer?”
Garrick sat.
“Hollow Creek.”
“All of it?”
“Land.”
“Water rights.”
“Cattle.”
“House.”
“How much?”
“Eleven thousand dollars.”
“That low?”
Garrick looked at her.
“You know land values?”
“I know desperation values.”
He almost smiled.
Not quite.
Nola continued:
“Why did he want it?”
“North spring.”
“Only?”
“Hollow Creek controls the cleanest water between Bitter Ridge and the southern trail.”
“And Crow owns land around you.”
“South and west.”
“So Hollow Creek would connect his holdings.”
Garrick nodded slowly.
Nola looked toward Mae’s medicine bottle.
“Did Mae manage your accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know Crow wanted the spring?”
“She knew everything about this ranch.”
“More than me.”
“Did she find anything unusual before she became sick?”
Garrick frowned.
Then his expression changed.
“There were survey papers.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“She found them mixed with bank correspondence.”
“Crow’s surveyor had marked a proposed cattle route crossing our north pasture.”
“Without your permission?”
“Yes.”
“Mae went mad.”
“She told Crow if he stepped onto our land with another survey crew, she’d take it to the territorial office.”
Nola sat slowly.
“When?”
“Maybe a month before she became ill.”
There it was again.
A pattern.
Still not proof.
But no longer coincidence worth ignoring.
Nola placed the bottle down.