Chapter 15 - Blaine Mercer Came Down From the Mountain
The letter from Thomas Mercer was not about revenge.
That surprised Blaine.
His father named no enemies.
Gave no instructions.
Asked for no justice.
Instead he wrote about ordinary things.
The creek where Caleb learned to swim.
The pie their mother made badly but proudly.
The first foal Blaine delivered alone.
Thomas apologized for spending too many evenings working.
He told Caleb his laughter made the house better.
He told Blaine responsibility was useful until a man began mistaking it for loneliness.
Then came the line Blaine read four times.
If life hurts you, don't build a home inside the hurt.
Six years in the mountain cabin flashed before him.
The solitude.
The silence.
The empty chair.
Blaine had believed isolation was survival.
Maybe it had only been another form of waiting.
May sat beside him as he finished.
She did not speak.
That was why he could.
By the time Blaine folded the letter, dawn had arrived.
“What now?” May asked.
He looked toward the valley.
“Down.”
The word meant more than direction.
They returned to Bitterroot Crossing with prisoners, evidence, and Silas Vane in custody.
People lined the street.
Nobody cheered.
Not at first.
Too many families had spent years waiting for names.
Caleb carried records into the courthouse.
For two days, people searched.
Some found proof their relatives had survived.
Others found endings they had feared.
There was grief.
Anger.
Relief.
Justice rarely arrived as celebration.
Usually it arrived as truth.
Federal Marshal Nathan Cole reached town on the second evening.
He took control of prisoners and evidence.
Judge Harlan had been caught thirty miles south.
Banker Mellor surrendered.
Several officials fled.
Others cooperated.
Bell walked into the marshal's office and confessed without requesting immunity.
Before entering, he found Blaine.
“I don't expect forgiveness.”
“Good.”
Bell nodded.
“I wanted you to know I'm sorry.”
Blaine considered.
“Sorry is useful when it changes what happens next.”
Bell looked toward the jail.
“I suppose I'll have time to prove it.”
He entered.
Blaine never saw him as sheriff again.
Three days later, the newspapers arrived.
Headlines spread across the territory.
Not rumors.
Not whispers.
Names.
Documents.
Witnesses.
The Vane syndicate was no longer a ghost story.
Families began traveling to Bitterroot Crossing.
May avoided the courthouse whenever possible.
Too many questions.
Too many people staring at the faded mark she kept covered.
Some called her heroic.
She disliked that.
She had not felt heroic while running.
She had felt terrified.
Ruth understood.
“People like simple stories,” she told May.
“They want brave or frightened. Good or bad. Saved or lost.”
“What was I?”
“Alive.”
May smiled.
Clara was reunited with her uncle.
She refused to leave Ruth.
Her uncle agreed Ruth could remain in her life.
Caleb returned to the Mercer ranch.
Or what remained.
The property had sat abandoned.
Barn collapsed.
House damaged.
Blaine joined him there.
Caleb stood on the porch.
“Needs work.”
“Needs fire.”
“Optimistic as ever.”
Blaine looked toward the mountains.
“I'm not going back.”
Caleb stopped.
“To the cabin?”
“Nothing to go back to.”
“You could rebuild.”
“I could.”
“But?”
Blaine didn't answer.
Caleb smiled.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Caleb.”
“May.”
Blaine glared.
Caleb laughed.
“You've got exactly the same face you made at seventeen when Mary Foster asked you to dance.”
“I hate having you back.”
“Liar.”
May was staying with Ruth temporarily.
Blaine found himself walking past the house more often than necessary.
Eventually May noticed.
“You know you can knock.”
“I was going somewhere.”
“Where?”
Blaine looked down the road.
“General store.”
“It's the other direction.”
“Changed my mind.”
May folded her arms.
“You're terrible at this.”
“At what?”
“Being around people.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Coffee?”
Blaine entered.
They sat on Ruth's porch.
For a while neither spoke.
May broke the silence.
“What happens to Winter House?”
“Technically, it belonged to my father.”
“So yours and Caleb's.”
“Yes.”
“You want it?”
“No.”
“Could sell it.”
“Don't want money from it.”
May stared toward the road.
“What if it became something else?”
Blaine looked over.
“What?”
“A place for people who need somewhere to go.”
He understood immediately.
People rescued from Red Hollow had nowhere to return.
Some families were gone.
Others lived far away.
Winter House had beds.
Kitchen.
Land.
A railroad spur.
“It would take work.”
“Yes.”
“A lot.”
“Yes.”
“Roof leaks.”
“Yes.”
“Half the windows are broken.”
“Yes.”
Blaine smiled.
“You really want it.”
May looked down.
“I want that place to stop meaning what it meant.”
Something inside Blaine softened.
“Then we'll do it.”
She looked up.
“We?”
He realized what he'd said.
May waited.
Blaine was more comfortable facing blizzards than answering.
Finally:
“If you'll have me.”
May smiled.
“For construction?”
“Yes.”
“Only construction?”
Blaine looked at her.
She immediately regretted asking.
Maybe too soon.
Maybe she had misunderstood.
Then Blaine reached across the space between their chairs.
He took her hand.
Nothing dramatic.
No speech.
Just warmth.
May's fingers closed around his.
Footsteps sounded inside.
Caleb appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, finally.”
Blaine released May and stood.
Caleb ran.
May laughed so hard she cried.
For the first time, her tears came from something other than fear.
But happiness did not mean danger had completely disappeared.
The next morning Marshal Cole arrived with news.
Silas Vane had requested to speak with May.
Alone.
He claimed one final group of missing children had never been recorded in the ledgers.
May you like
And unless May came to him, he would take their location to his grave.
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