Weston’s fever climbed before midnight.
Nola sat beside the cradle changing cool cloths while Garrick paced the floor hard enough to make the boards complain beneath his boots.
Eli had fallen asleep sitting against the wall.
Clara refused to leave.
She curled beneath a blanket with her stuffed bear pressed beneath her chin.
Every few minutes her frightened eyes opened.
“Is baby going to heaven?”
“No,” Nola answered each time.
She never said maybe.
Children deserved certainty even when adults had none.
Garrick stopped beside the window.
“What are you doing?”
“Cooling him gradually.”
“Shouldn’t we put him in cold water?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because shocking him won’t help.”
“How do you know?”
Nola wrung out another cloth.
“Because this isn’t the first sick child I’ve cared for.”
Garrick turned.
“You were a nurse?”
“Something like that.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
She laid the cloth across Weston’s forehead.
“It’s all you’re getting tonight.”
Garrick watched her.
Before Rebecca’s death, he might have argued simply because he disliked being dismissed in his own house.
Now he lacked the strength.
Instead he looked toward the brown bottle on the table.
“Crow said it was a tonic.”
Nola did not look away from the baby.
“For what?”
“Weakness.”
“And Rebecca?”
“She couldn’t eat. Her stomach hurt. She kept getting dizzy.”
“When did it start?”
“Late summer.”
“Before Weston was born?”
“Just after.”
Nola glanced up.
“Did she have trouble with the delivery?”
“No.”
“Bleeding?”
“Some. Nothing the midwife thought dangerous.”
“Fever?”
“Not then.”
“What happened first?”
Garrick rubbed his jaw.
“She said food tasted wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Metallic sometimes.”
Nola became still.
Garrick noticed.
“What?”
“Keep going.”
“She vomited. Started losing weight. Her hands shook.”
“Did she complain about pain in her feet or hands?”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Sometimes.”
“And thirst?”
“Yes.”
Nola’s gaze moved toward the bottle.
Garrick saw the answer on her face.
“You’ve seen this before.”
She remained silent.
“Nola.”
“Years ago.”
“Where?”
“A mining settlement in Colorado.”
“What happened?”
“Men became sick after drinking from a well downhill from an ore-processing shed.”
Garrick stared.
“What poisoned them?”
“We didn’t know at first.”
“And then?”
“A doctor figured it out.”
Nola finally met his eyes.
“Arsenic.”
The word entered the room quietly.
Yet Garrick reacted as though somebody had fired a rifle.
“No.”
“I didn’t say that’s what this is.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking we don’t use anything Crow brought until we know.”
Garrick grabbed the bottle.
Nola caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
His jaw clenched.
“I’m going to Crow’s house.”
“And do what?”
“Ask him.”
“You mean hit him until he gives you the answer you want.”
“That’s one method.”
“And if he didn’t do anything?”
“He gave my wife that bottle.”
“That isn’t proof.”
“He gave Weston the same medicine.”
“Still not proof.”
Garrick pulled his hand free.
“You expect me to sit here?”
“I expect you to keep your baby alive.”
That stopped him.
Nola pointed toward the cradle.
“If somebody means your family harm, charging into town angry and exhausted is exactly what they’d want.”
Garrick looked down at Weston.
The infant’s breathing remained rapid.
Nola lowered her voice.
“You have three children, Garrick.”
It was the first time she used his first name.
“You don’t have the luxury of acting like a man with nothing left to lose.”
Something passed between them.
He slowly put the bottle down.
By sunrise, Weston finally drank several spoonfuls of boiled water.
His fever had not disappeared.
But it stopped climbing.
Nola remained awake.
Garrick did too.
When sunlight crept through the window, Eli stirred.
He saw his father sitting on the floor beside the cradle.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Eli said, “I’m sorry.”
Garrick frowned.
“For what?”
“I should’ve told you about Mr. Crow.”
“You were ten.”
“I’m still ten.”
Garrick closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
Eli looked down.
“Mama told me not to say anything.”
Nola stopped pouring water.
“Rebecca told you?”
Eli nodded.
“Why?”
“She said Papa already had too much to worry about.”
Garrick’s voice turned raw.
“What else did she tell you?”
The boy’s eyes filled.
“That the medicine tasted wrong.”
Nola crouched beside him.
“How?”
Eli shrugged.
“She said bitter. She would hold her nose.”
“Did Crow watch her take it?”
Eli nodded again.
“Sometimes.”
Garrick stood abruptly.
His chair toppled backward.
“Why was Crow here so often?”
Eli flinched.
Nola shot Garrick a warning look.
He immediately softened.
“I’m not angry at you, son.”
The boy swallowed.
“He came when you were working.”
“What for?”
“He said he was helping Mama with papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara suddenly spoke from beneath her blanket.
“The red papers.”
Everyone looked toward her.
“What red papers?” Garrick asked.
Clara hugged Bear.
“The ones Mama hid.”
Garrick crossed the room.
“Where?”
Clara pointed vaguely toward the hallway.
“Mama’s place.”
Garrick went pale.
Rebecca’s place.
He knew what Clara meant.
His wife had kept a sewing cabinet downstairs.
He had not opened it since she died.
They descended together.
Dust covered the cabinet.
Garrick stood before it for several seconds before lifting the lid.
Thread.
Needles.
Fabric scraps.
Rebecca’s silver thimble.
Garrick touched it with one finger.
His breath changed.
Nola pretended not to notice.
He searched beneath the cloth.
Nothing.
Clara wandered forward.
“Mama put them under.”
“Under what?”
The little girl crouched.
Then tapped the bottom of the cabinet.
Nola knelt beside her.
The wooden panel lifted.
Beneath it lay a bundle wrapped in red cloth.
Garrick pulled it free.
Inside were three documents.
One was a property map.
One was a letter from Vernon Crow offering Garrick three thousand dollars for Hollow Creek.
The third contained Rebecca’s handwriting.
Garrick began reading.
His face changed.
“What does it say?” Nola asked.
He handed her the page.
The message was unfinished.
Garrick—if I get too weak to tell you myself, do not sell to Vernon. He wants the north spring more than the house or cattle. I heard him arguing with a surveyor. There is something beneath the ridge. He offered the man money to keep quiet. I don’t understand it yet. Eli saw him bring another bottle today. I know you trust him because he helped after Weston’s birth, but I am beginning to fear—
The writing stopped.
No signature.
No final sentence.
Garrick stared at the paper.
“I never saw this.”
“Clearly.”
“I would have believed her.”
Nola looked up.
“Would you?”
His head snapped toward her.
She did not retreat.
“You were trying to save cattle. Pay debts. Keep the ranch running. Your wife knew that. Maybe she feared adding another burden.”
“You think I ignored her.”
“I think grief is already telling you that. I don’t need to.”
Garrick’s anger died.
He sat heavily in Rebecca’s old chair.
Nola examined the map.
The north spring was marked in blue.
“What’s there?”
“Water.”
“Anything else?”
“Rock.”
“What kind?”
“I’m a cattleman, not a geologist.”
The corner of Nola’s mouth moved.
“I noticed.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then a sound came from outside.
A horse.
Garrick immediately stood.
Through the window, a rider approached.
Dark coat.
Black hat.
Perfect posture.
Vernon Crow.
Nola watched him dismount.
He was a handsome man in his late forties, well-fed in a place where most people looked weather-beaten. His black coat was clean. His boots were polished.
Nobody rode across Hollow Creek country with polished boots unless somebody else cleaned them.
Garrick moved toward the door.
Nola caught his arm.
“Remember what I said.”
His voice stayed low.
“I remember.”
Crow entered without knocking.
“Garrick!”
His smile was warm.
Then he noticed Nola.
“Well.”
His gaze lingered.
“You must be the new bride.”
“Nola Vance.”
“Vernon Crow.”
“I know.”
His smile changed slightly.
Garrick noticed.
“What are you doing here?”
Crow removed his gloves.
“Checking on Weston.”
“How did you know he was worse?”
A pause.
Small.
But Nola saw it.
Crow recovered.
“You told Bernard at the feed store he was sick yesterday.”
“I told Bernard he had a cough.”
Crow shrugged.
“News travels.”
His gaze moved toward the stairs.
“Has he had his tonic?”
“No,” Nola said.
Crow looked at her.
“I beg your pardon?”
Nola stepped between him and the staircase.
“The baby isn’t taking anything from that bottle.”
Crow smiled.
“Are you a physician, Mrs. Vance?”
“Miss Vance.”
“Of course.”
His eyes remained pleasant.
His voice did not.
“That tonic came from a respected supplier.”
“Which one?”
Crow hesitated.
“Back East.”
“Where?”
“You ask an unusual number of questions.”
“I’ve been told.”
Crow laughed.
Garrick did not.
“I want to know where it came from,” Garrick said.
The smile vanished from Crow’s eyes.
“I brought medicine for your sick son out of friendship.”
“Rebecca took the same medicine.”
Silence.
Nola watched Crow carefully.
He looked at Garrick.
Then at the sewing cabinet.
Then back.
“That tonic eased Rebecca’s stomach.”
“No,” Garrick said.
“It didn’t.”
Crow sighed.
“You’re grieving.”
“My wife’s been dead seven months.”
“Grief doesn’t keep a calendar.”
Garrick stepped closer.
“You were helping her with papers.”
Crow’s face remained composed.
“Business matters.”
“What business?”
“Your debts.”
“You tried to buy my ranch.”
“I’m still trying.”
“For three thousand dollars.”
“That was generous considering your condition.”
Garrick’s fists tightened.
Nola saw Crow notice.
Perhaps even enjoy it.
So she interrupted.
“What’s underneath the north ridge?”
For the first time, Vernon Crow lost control.
Only for a second.
But his eyes snapped toward her.
Then he laughed.
“Dirt.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“Water rights.”
Garrick stared at him.
“You told me the spring was nearly worthless because it dries every third summer.”
Crow turned back.
“And it is.”
“Then why buy it?”
The room became still.
Crow slowly pulled on his gloves.
“I came here because I believed we were friends.”
Garrick said nothing.
Crow walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked at Nola.
“You might reconsider involving yourself in matters you don’t understand.”
Nola smiled faintly.
“I’ve spent forty-three years involving myself in matters men said I didn’t understand.”
Crow’s jaw tightened.
“Women who ask dangerous questions sometimes receive dangerous answers.”
Garrick moved between them instantly.
“Get off my land.”
Crow held his gaze.
Then smiled.
“Your land?”
He opened the door.
“For now.”
He rode away.
Nobody spoke until the hoofbeats disappeared.
Then Eli ran downstairs.
“Pa!”
Garrick turned.
“What?”
“Weston.”
They rushed upstairs.
The baby’s body shook in the cradle.
Nola reached him first.
His fever had spiked again.
She touched his face.
Then his throat.
His breathing was worse.
Garrick’s panic filled the room.
“What do we do?”
Nola looked toward the window.
Town was six miles away.
The doctor had refused once.
She grabbed her coat.
“You stay with him.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get the doctor.”
“He won’t come.”
Nola tied her coat.
“Then I’ll give him a reason.”
She looked Garrick directly in the eyes.
“And while I’m gone, lock the doors.”
Garrick stared at her.
“Why?”
Nola glanced at the medicine bottle.
“Because Vernon Crow knew your son was worse before anybody told him.”
That afternoon, Nola Vance rode toward town on a borrowed mare with a suspicious bottle hidden inside her coat.
Behind her, Garrick stood on the porch holding his sick infant.
For the first time since his wife’s death, he was no longer certain grief had destroyed his family.
He was beginning to wonder if someone had done it deliberately.
And if Rebecca had discovered the truth just a little too late.
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