“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The knife remained raised.
Samuel looked around.
Blankets in one corner.
Dried roots.
A water bucket.
A small stack of vegetables.
Cabbages.
Two.
Apples.
Potatoes.
Carrots.
Everything.
He stared.
The girl shifted toward the food.
Protective.
Samuel understood.
“You put those things in our cabin.”
Her expression changed.
Not denial.
Fear.
“Why?”
Still nothing.
He crouched slowly.
“You’re not in trouble.”
The girl whispered:
“I took first.”
Her voice was so quiet Samuel almost missed it.
“What?”
“I took first.”
“From us?”
She nodded.
His mind raced backward.
Cornbread disappearing.
Clara once thinking the salt pork looked smaller.
A jar of beans lighter than expected.
They had blamed mice.
Samuel sat on the dirt floor.
“You were taking food.”
The girl nodded again.
“Then leaving food?”
Another nod.
“Why?”
Her chin shook.
“Didn’t want stealing.”
Samuel felt something inside him break.
“What is your name?”
The girl hesitated.
“Anna.”
“Anna what?”
“Hale.”
Samuel stopped breathing.
“Hale?”
She nodded.
No.
Jacob Hale had no young daughter.
His only son—
Samuel’s chest tightened.
“Who is your father?”
The girl’s eyes filled.
“Thomas.”
Samuel closed his eyes.
Thomas Hale.
He knew that name.
Everyone in the valley did.
Thomas had left the mountains twelve years earlier after a bitter dispute with his father.
He had married somewhere east.
Rumor said he died.
Others said he went south.
Jacob never spoke of him again.
Samuel looked at the child.
“Where is your father?”
Anna pointed upward.
Not toward heaven.
Toward the mountain.
Samuel followed her gaze.
Then understood.
“Is he here?”
She started crying.
Samuel rose.
“Where?”
Anna backed away.
“Don’t.”
“Anna.”
“He said nobody.”
“Is he sick?”
She covered her mouth.
Samuel moved toward the stairs.
The girl grabbed his coat.
“No!”
“Anna, listen to me.”
“He said they take us.”
“Who?”
“Men.”
“What men?”
“Sheriff.”
Samuel stared.
The girl continued through tears.
“Papa said don’t let anybody know.”
“Why?”
“He stole.”
Samuel’s stomach dropped.
“Stole what?”
Anna looked toward the vegetables.
“Food.”
Samuel almost laughed from relief.
“Food?”
She nodded.
“After Mama died.”
Samuel crouched again.
“Where is your father?”
The girl led him upstairs.
Thomas Hale lay in a back room beneath several blankets.
Alive.
Barely.
One leg swollen badly.
A wound near his ankle infected.
His face burned with fever.