“Stop feeding it pieces of yourself that do not belong to it.”
Garrick’s face crumpled.
He sank onto a hay bale.
For the first time since she arrived, he did not try to hide the crying.
Nola sat beside him.
Not touching.
Not until his hand slowly found hers.
Then she held on.
Amos quietly walked away.
There were things men understood without language.
The proof they needed came from Eli.
Of course it did.
The boy had spent years unnoticed because adults mistook quiet children for children without information.
At breakfast the next morning, he said:
“Wren keeps papers in his black bag.”
Every adult looked at him.
Garrick frowned.
“How do you know?”
“I looked.”
“When?”
“When Mama was sick.”
Nola closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
Eli continued:
“There were papers with Crow’s name.”
Garrick leaned forward.
“What papers?”
“Bills.”
“Maybe.”
“I couldn’t read all the words then.”
“What do you remember?”
The boy frowned.
“Powder.”
“Shipment.”
“V.C.”
Nola and Garrick exchanged a look.
Crow’s initials.
“Anything else?”
“A list.”
“Names?”
“I think.”
“Was Mae’s?”
Eli looked down.
“Yes.”
Garrick stopped breathing.
The boy whispered:
“I saw H-A-L-E.”
“Maybe it was Papa.”
“Maybe Mama.”
Nola looked toward Garrick.
“We need the bag.”
He nodded.
“I’ll take it.”
“No.”
“Nola—”
“We need evidence that cannot be called stolen by a desperate rancher.”
“How do we get it?”
Nola thought.
Crow would return for the sale.
Wren might return to ensure Weston’s condition.
If the doctor brought the bag inside…
She smiled.
Garrick immediately looked worried.
“I hate when you do that.”
“What?”
“That expression.”
“Good.”
The plan was simple.
Which meant it immediately went wrong.
Wren arrived before Crow.
He said he wanted to examine Weston prior to the sale.
Nola had Weston back in bed.
The boy protested until she promised two biscuits after.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Jam.”
“Fine.”
He lay back dramatically.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
Terrible liar.
Wren entered.
Nola remained close.
Garrick waited downstairs.
Eli had explicit orders to remain outside.
He did not.
Wren checked Weston’s pulse.
His eyes narrowed.
The boy was too healthy.
“You said he was worse.”
Nola replied:
“The fever comes at night.”
“Vomiting?”
“Yes.”
“Shaking?”
“Yes.”
The doctor looked suspicious.
He opened his bag.
Removed a fresh bottle.
Nola’s pulse accelerated.
“There.”
He said.
“Three doses today.”
Nola reached for it.
Wren pulled back.
“I’ll give the first.”
“No.”
The word came from Garrick.
He stood in the doorway.
Wren looked toward him.
“Excuse me?”
Garrick’s face was stone.
“My wife hated that medicine.”
Wren’s eyes changed.
Nola felt the plan collapsing.