Red Hollow had one church, one schoolhouse, one bank, two saloons, a feed store, a blacksmith, and enough gossip to reach Kansas before supper.
Annabeth rode into town beside Elias the next morning wearing her new boots and his old brown jacket over her dress.
She had refused his black coat.
Too recognizable.
Elias had agreed.
Again, no argument.
They stopped first at the boardinghouse.
Mrs. Abigail Bellamy was a stout widow with silver hair and arms strong enough to carry a flour sack.
She hugged Elias without warning.
Then studied Annabeth.
“So you’re the young lady.”
Annabeth stiffened.
Mrs. Bellamy noticed.
She stepped back immediately.
“Forgive me. I hug first and think second.”
Annabeth relaxed slightly.
“Elias says you may need work.”
“I always need work. Question is whether you can cook.”
“Yes.”
“Can you scrub?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tolerate travelers?”
Annabeth considered.
“Depends on the traveler.”
Mrs. Bellamy grinned.
“You’ll do.”
They arranged that Annabeth could work several days each week if she chose.
No lodging requirement.
No contract.
No debt.
Then Elias took her to Sheriff Nathan Reed.
Unlike Deputy Hale, Reed wore his badge straight.
He also listened without interruption as Annabeth described the auction.
When she finished, he leaned back.
“You saw Amos Redd in Missouri?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Would you recognize him?”
Her hands tightened.
“Yes.”
Reed exchanged a look with Elias.
“We’ve heard the name.”
“How long?” Elias asked.
“Years.”
“And done what?”
Reed’s expression hardened.
“Not enough.”
Annabeth watched both men.
Reed opened a drawer and removed several folded notices.
Missing women.
Young women.
Widows.
Girls between seventeen and twenty-four.
Different counties.
Different states.
Similar stories.
Marriage advertisements.
Employment promises.
Stagecoach arrangements.
Then disappearance.
Annabeth covered her mouth.
“I saw her.”
She pointed to a picture.
A girl named Miriam Cole.
Eighteen.
Missing seven months.
“You’re sure?” Reed asked.
“She was at the house in Fort Kearny.”
“What house?”
Annabeth described it.
Reed began writing rapidly.
Another face caught her attention.
Lucy Graves.
She had shared a room with Annabeth for three nights.
Lucy had been selected by a man claiming to own a ranch.
Annabeth never saw her again.
“I know her too.”
By the fourth name, Annabeth was trembling.
Elias reached toward her.
Stopped before touching her.
She noticed.
Then she placed her own hand in his.
It was the first time.
His fingers closed carefully around hers.
Reed looked away politely.
For the next hour, Annabeth gave details.
Names.
Buildings.
Roads.
A wagon painted green.
A man with a scar beneath his left ear.
Ledger books.
Codes used by the brokers.
Some women marked “M.”
Others “W.”
Still others “S.”
She had never understood why.
Sheriff Reed did.
“Married. Work. Sale.”
Annabeth went pale.
Elias stood abruptly.
“Enough.”
Reed nodded.
“Yes.”
Outside the sheriff’s office, Annabeth leaned against the wall.
Her stomach turned.
“I should have remembered sooner.”
Elias faced her.
“You survived. That was your job.”
“I could have helped those girls.”
“You were one of those girls.”
“I still am.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You’re the woman who walked out of the barn.”
The sentence settled somewhere deep.
Before she could answer, a wagon rolled down Main Street.
Deputy Hale sat beside the driver.
Behind them was the auctioneer.
Annabeth stiffened.
Elias moved closer.
The wagon stopped.
The auctioneer jumped down.
“There she is.”
Sheriff Reed came outside.
“What’s this?”
“Property dispute.”
Reed stared at him.
“No.”
The auctioneer produced papers.
“This girl was placed under legal guardianship following abandonment by her family.”
Annabeth laughed once.
A hard sound.
“My family didn’t abandon me.”
The auctioneer looked surprised she had spoken.
“My stepfather sold my contract.”
“Same thing.”
“No,” Reed said. “It isn’t.”
Deputy Hale climbed down.
“Sheriff, territorial law recognizes certain labor contracts.”
“Not human ownership.”
“Marriage contracts.”
“She isn’t married.”
The auctioneer smiled.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Annabeth’s blood went cold.
He unfolded another paper.
A marriage certificate.
Her name appeared beside another.
Annabeth Clay.
Amos Redd.
She stopped breathing.
“No.”
Elias grabbed the paper.
The date was two weeks earlier.
“No,” Annabeth repeated.
Reed examined it.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Witnesses?”
The auctioneer pointed to Hale.
“Deputy Hale and Mr. Whitcomb.”
A heavyset man stood near the wagon.
Annabeth recognized him.
The broker.
Rage replaced fear.
“You.”
Whitcomb smiled.
“Hello, Annie.”
Elias stepped between them.
“Don’t call her that.”
Whitcomb laughed.
“She knows me.”
“Yes,” Annabeth said.
Her voice shook.
“But not the way you’d like these people to believe.”
Townspeople had begun gathering.
Mrs. Bellamy emerged from the boardinghouse.
The blacksmith crossed the street.
Storekeepers appeared in doorways.
Annabeth looked at the crowd.
For most of her life, public attention meant humiliation.
Now she understood Elias’s words.
Enough people willing to say no.
Whitcomb lifted his hands.
“Simple misunderstanding. Miss Clay agreed to marry Mr. Redd. Then she ran.”
“I never agreed.”
“The paper says otherwise.”
Sheriff Reed frowned.
“A paper can lie.”
Whitcomb’s smile vanished.
Hale stepped forward.
“You questioning my witness?”
“I’m questioning everything about you lately.”
A murmur moved through the crowd.
Deputy Hale’s face reddened.
Elias looked at Annabeth.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised everyone.
Even her.
She stared at the forged paper.
Then at the men who expected fear to silence her.
“I want to testify.”
Whitcomb laughed.
“Against whom?”
Annabeth looked directly at him.
“All of you.”
The laughter stopped.
Sheriff Reed took the certificate.
“Then nobody leaves town until I investigate.”
Hale reached for his gun.
Reed’s hand was faster.
“Don’t.”
The street became still.
For one second Annabeth thought gunfire would erupt.
Then Hale slowly lifted both hands.
“This is foolish.”
“Maybe,” Reed said. “But you’re suspended until I decide how foolish.”
The sheriff removed Hale’s badge.
The crowd whispered.
Annabeth watched the small piece of metal disappear into Reed’s pocket.
Hale looked at her with naked hatred.
“This isn’t over.”
“No,” she said quietly.
“It isn’t.”
That evening Elias wanted Annabeth to remain at Mrs. Bellamy’s boardinghouse.
More people.
Closer to the sheriff.
Safer.
She refused.
“I’m going back to the cabin.”
“It may not be safe.”
“Neither is town.”
“Annabeth—”
“You said I decide.”
Elias exhaled.
She crossed her arms.
“Well?”
“You decide.”
They rode home.
Halfway there, Annabeth asked, “Do you regret the three dollars?”
Elias looked ahead.
“No.”
“You’ve had nothing but trouble.”
“I had trouble before you.”
“What kind?”
He glanced at her.
“The quiet kind.”
She understood.
Loneliness.
That evening Annabeth cooked supper.
Real biscuits this time.
Elias ate four.
“You don’t need to pretend.”
“I’m not.”
“You ate your own biscuits too.”
“Out of necessity.”
Annabeth smiled.
Afterward, they sat outside beneath a sky scattered with stars.
Elias told her about Lily.
Annabeth told him about her mother.
Her name had been Margaret.
She sang while cleaning.
Burned pie crusts.
Loved lilacs.
Could make a dress from almost nothing.
“Your bonnet was hers?” Elias asked.
“Yes.”
Annabeth touched it.
“She wore it west from Kentucky when she was sixteen.”
“Keep it safe.”
“I tried.”
A thought came to her.
“Do you think Lily would have liked me?”
Elias answered without hesitation.
“She would’ve asked you seventy questions before breakfast.”
Annabeth laughed.
Then silence settled.
Comfortable this time.
Elias finally said, “You don’t have to testify if it becomes too much.”
“I know.”
“Amos may come.”
“I know.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
She looked at him.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Of Amos?”
Elias gazed toward the dark fields.
“Of failing twice.”
Annabeth understood instantly.
“You didn’t fail Lily.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you searched twelve days.”
“Twelve days too late.”
“You didn’t take her.”
“No.”
“You didn’t hurt her.”
“No.”
“You brought her home.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop putting Amos’s guilt on your shoulders.”
Elias stared at her.
Perhaps nobody had ever said it before.
Annabeth knew something about carrying another person’s cruelty as personal shame.
She reached for his hand.
This time she did not hesitate.
Elias looked down at their joined hands.
Then toward her.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
For once, silence did not feel empty.
It felt full.
Three nights later, somebody set fire to the barn.
Annabeth woke to horses screaming.
“Elias!”
He was already coming down from the loft.
Orange light flashed through the window.
They ran outside.
Flames climbed one wall.
Elias raced toward the animals.
Annabeth grabbed buckets.
Together they fought the fire.
Neighbors arrived after seeing the glow.
By midnight, the flames were out.
Half the roof was gone.
One horse was burned along its flank but alive.
Elias found something nailed to a fence post.
A small scrap of paper.
Three words.
RETURN WHAT’S MINE.
Annabeth stared at it.
Elias tore it down.
“He knows where I am.”
“Yes.”
“You should have let me leave.”
“No.”
She turned on him.
“Stop saying no like you can command everything!”
“I’m not commanding you.”
“You’re risking your home!”
“It’s wood.”
“Your animals!”
“They’re alive.”
“Your life!”
Elias stepped closer.
“So is yours.”
Annabeth’s anger cracked.
Tears came.
“I’m not Lily.”
He stopped.
“I know.”
“You can’t save her by saving me.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
His voice became rough.
“Because I care whether you live.”
Annabeth froze.
Elias looked almost angry with himself for saying it.
She whispered, “Why?”
He laughed once bitterly.
“I don’t know when it happened.”
Smoke drifted between them.
“I just know I wake up listening for your footsteps. I know I bought tea because you don’t drink coffee. I know I hate that you still flinch when somebody moves too fast.”
He swallowed.
“And I know this has nothing to do with Lily anymore.”
Annabeth stared at him.
The confession frightened her more than Amos.
Because she wanted to believe it.
A horse shifted nearby.
Someone shouted for more water.
The moment broke.
But the words remained.
And somewhere beyond the dark cottonwoods, a rider watched the smoking barn.
Then turned his horse toward Red Hollow.