He had been living outside the town in a small house beside a wheelwright's workshop, repairing wagons for farmers who couldn't afford new equipment. He was sixty-three, suffered from a chronic injury to one leg, and had little interest in discussing his former employment at Willow Creek.
But when Whitcomb's acquaintance mentioned Henry Hart's daughter, Samuel reportedly began to cry.
Evelyn read the telegram twice.
Then she looked toward Caleb. “He remembers Father.”
Caleb nodded. “He worked for him a long time.”
“Then why did he leave?”
Caleb's expression darkened. “Victor dismissed him after the foreclosure. Said he couldn't be trusted.”
Evelyn closed her eyes. Another man cast aside after questioning the new owner. Another fragment of her father's life deliberately pushed out of sight.
They traveled to Laramie three days later, stopping frequently to accommodate Evelyn's needs and avoiding the roughest sections of road. By the time they arrived, she was tired and sore, but her determination remained unshaken. Caleb helped arrange a comfortable place for her to rest while Whitcomb's acquaintance invited Samuel Pike to meet them in a suitable ground-floor room.
Samuel entered carrying a battered felt hat.
His red beard had turned mostly gray, and the little finger on his left hand was missing. He wore a plain brown coat and moved with the careful steps of a man whose body had endured too many years of difficult labor.
When he saw Evelyn, he stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then his eyes filled with tears. “Miss Evelyn?”
She nodded, already crying.
Samuel removed his hat. “Lord Almighty. You've got your mother's eyes.”
Evelyn smiled through tears. “And you still have the same voice, Mr. Pike.”
The older man gave a broken laugh. He approached slowly and accepted her offered hand, holding it between his rough fingers as though he feared she might disappear.
“I should've come to find you,” he whispered.
Evelyn studied him. “Why didn't you?”
Samuel looked toward Caleb, then toward the attorney seated beside the table. For a moment, the old wagon driver's expression became so ashamed that Evelyn felt something tighten in her chest.
“Because I was afraid of Victor Harrow,” he admitted. “And because I thought one poor wagon driver couldn't stand against a man who owned half the county.”