Chapter 4 - HANNAH’S ROOM
The children were moved upstairs that night.
Not because the second floor was safer.
Because Silas could block one staircase easier than six windows.
Rose and Violet slept together.
Sam refused a bed and took a blanket beside the door.
Josie stayed near Emiline.
Lily slept in a laundry basket padded with quilts because it was the only thing that kept her close enough to her mother.
Silas stood in the hallway.
One room remained closed.
Hannah’s.
It had been closed for five years.
Micah came beside him.
“You’ll need it.”
“No.”
“There are six people and four bedrooms.”
“We’ll make room.”
Micah looked at him.
“You’ve been making room around that door for five years.”
Silas turned.
“Not tonight.”
“Especially tonight.”
Silas’s face hardened.
Micah did not move.
The old man had worked for Silas’s father before Silas was old enough to ride.
Very little frightened him anymore.
“Rose needs a bed,” Micah said.
Silas stared at the door.
“It’s Hannah’s.”
“No.”
The word struck harder than expected.
Micah continued.
“It was Hannah’s.”
Silas looked at him.
“That child is dead, boy.”
Silas’s eyes flashed.
Micah’s voice softened.
“And you loved her.”
Silas said nothing.
“But a room isn’t a grave.”
Then Micah walked away.
Silas remained there.
The brass knob waited.
Five years earlier, Hannah had painted one small blue star beside the window despite being told not to mark the wall.
Eleanor laughed when Silas complained.
“It’s one star.”
“It’s my wall.”
“It’s her room.”
He remembered surrendering.
He remembered Hannah hugging him.
He remembered everything.
Silas opened the door.
Dust moved in the cold air.
Nothing had changed.
Yellow quilt.
Wooden horse on the dresser.
A stack of school primers.
Brown boots beneath the bed.
And the blue star.
Silas stood there until his chest hurt.
Then Rose appeared behind him.
Barefoot.
Hair tangled.
She held a rag doll.
“Is this somebody’s room?”
Silas could not speak at first.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My daughter.”
Rose looked around.
“Where is she?”
Silas swallowed.
“She died.”
Rose lowered her eyes.
“Oh.”
He expected pity.
Children often offered blunt cruelty without knowing it.
Instead, Rose walked to the bed.
“She had a horse.”
Silas followed her gaze.
The wooden toy.
“Yes.”
“Can I touch it?”
He almost said no.
The word rose automatically.
Then he looked at Rose.
Five years old.
Cold only yesterday.
Terrified.
Still asking permission in a room no one used.
“Yes.”
She picked up the horse carefully.
“She liked horses?”
“More than people.”
Rose smiled.
“Me too.”
Silas sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress sank.
Memory flooded him.
Hannah jumping there.
Eleanor telling her to stop.
Rose looked at him.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Because I touched it?”
“No.”
“Because she died?”
“Yes.”
Rose nodded like this made sense.
Then she placed the horse back exactly where she found it.
“I can sleep somewhere else.”
Silas stared at her.
“Why?”
“So you don’t be sad.”
Something broke inside him.
Not dramatically.
A hairline crack.
Enough.
“No.”
His voice was rough.
“You sleep here.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Can Violet too?”
“If she wants.”
Rose smiled.
Then she climbed onto the bed and bounced once.
Silas flinched.
She stopped immediately.
“Sorry.”
He closed his eyes.
“Don’t.”
Her face fell.
“No, I mean…”
He looked around the room.
“You can bounce.”
Rose stared.
“Really?”
“One time.”
She bounced.
“Two?”
Silas almost smiled.
“Don’t push it.”
By morning, Hannah’s room was alive again.
Blankets on the floor.
Violet’s ribbon on the dresser.
Rose had moved the wooden horse three inches.
Silas noticed.
He did not move it back.
Downstairs, Emiline watched him enter the kitchen.
“You opened the room.”
He stopped.
“How do you know?”
“Rose told me about Hannah.”
Silas reached for coffee.
“I suppose the entire territory knows by now.”
“She liked the horse.”
“I heard.”
Emiline studied him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“For what?”
“Using her room.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Silas looked at her.
Emiline’s expression was gentle.
He hated gentle expressions.
They invited honesty.
“Eleanor was my wife,” he said.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Micah.”
“Traitor.”
“She and Hannah died the same night?”
Silas nodded.
“Fever?”
“No.”
He stared into his coffee.
“Road accident.”
They had been returning from town during heavy rain.
A wagon wheel failed on the ridge road.
By the time Silas found them, Hannah was injured badly.
Eleanor survived the crash.
Not the night.
Silas spent five years blaming the broken wheel.
The rain.
The doctor.
Himself.
Mostly himself.
“I was supposed to pick them up.”
Emiline said nothing.
“I got delayed moving cattle.”
“You didn’t cause the wheel to break.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It was to Hannah.”
Emiline looked down.
“Nathan died thirty feet from me.”
Silas’s eyes lifted.
“I still wake up thinking if I had gone outside thirty seconds earlier, maybe Crane wouldn’t have fired.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
She met his gaze.
“Neither do you.”
Silas looked away.
The silence between them changed.
Not comfort.
Recognition.
Then Sam ran into the kitchen.
“Mr. Thornton.”
Silas turned.
“What?”
“One of the cows is loose.”
Micah shouted from outside.
“Not loose! Cut loose!”
Silas grabbed his coat.
At the north fence, three sections of wire had been severed.
Cattle tracks led toward the road.
Not random vandalism.
A lure.
Silas scanned the tree line.
Nothing.
Then Sam pointed.
“There.”
A small piece of red cloth hung from a branch.
Silas walked toward it.
Emiline followed despite his warning.
“That’s mine.”
He turned.
“What?”
“My shawl.”
A strip torn from the blue-and-red shawl she had worn the night Crane took her.
Silas’s stomach tightened.
Under it was another note.
COME TO COLD WATER SPRINGS ALONE.
BRING THE FOLDER.
OR THE NEXT THING YOU FIND WILL BELONG TO A CHILD.
Sam read enough to understand.
His face changed.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“Again?”
Silas turned.
“Yes. Again.”
“You always tell me no.”
“Because you’re thirteen.”
“Twelve.”
“Even worse.”
Sam’s jaw clenched.
“He killed my father.”
“And he wants you angry.”
“I am angry.”
“Good.”
Sam looked confused.
Silas stepped closer.
“Anger tells you something matters. It does not get to tell you what to do next.”
Sam looked toward the note.
“What are you going to do?”
Silas’s eyes hardened.
“I’m going to town.”
Emiline stared.
“He said alone.”
“He also lies.”
“You don’t have the folder.”
She did.
Silas knew that from her face.
“Where is it?”
Emiline looked toward the house.
Josie was standing in the doorway.
Emiline whispered, “Inside Lily’s mattress.”
Silas stared.
“You carried the evidence with the baby?”
“No one searches an infant first.”
Silas almost smiled despite himself.
“That may be the smartest thing I’ve heard all week.”
Emiline’s expression remained serious.
“If Crane wants the folder this badly, it means Nathan was right.”
Silas looked toward Cold Water Springs in the distance.
“And if Nathan was right…”
He folded the note.
May you like
“…Crane isn’t working alone.”
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