Chapter 2 - The Locked Room
Calder carried Ingrid's trunk upstairs himself.
She followed him through a house that seemed far too large for one man.
The furniture was sturdy but sparse. A clock ticked above the fireplace. A faded rug covered part of the floor, and an old rifle rested over the mantel.
There were no flowers.
No photographs.
Almost nothing personal.
Until Ingrid noticed the locked door at the end of the upstairs hallway.
Calder saw her looking.
“That room stays closed.”
His tone changed so quickly that she knew immediately not to ask why.
“This is yours.”
He opened the room beside it.
Ingrid stopped.
A freshly made bed stood beneath the window. There was a washstand, a small wardrobe, a chair, and a vase containing wildflowers.
Wildflowers.
Ingrid looked at Calder.
“Did you put those there?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Tom did.”
“The older gentleman?”
“He'll be pleased you called him a gentleman.”
That almost-smile returned.
Ingrid stepped inside.
Calder set down her trunk.
“You can lock your door.”
She looked at him.
“Why would I need to?”
“You don't.”
He met her eyes.
“But I thought you might sleep easier knowing you could.”
Ingrid didn't know how to answer.
They were expected to marry.
Yet Calder had given her a separate bedroom.
More than that, he had made certain she knew she could keep him out.
“You aren't expecting me to…”
She couldn't finish.
Calder understood.
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“Nothing happens in this house that you don't agree to.”
Heat rose into Ingrid's cheeks.
Calder politely looked away.
“Supper in an hour.”
He left.
That evening Ingrid cooked because she needed something familiar to do.
Calder protested once.
She ignored him.
Tom joined them at the table and complimented her biscuits.
Eli barely spoke.
After supper, Ingrid began washing dishes.
Calder came beside her.
“I can do that.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“You?”
“I've survived this long.”
“Surviving and properly washing dishes aren't necessarily the same thing.”
Tom coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
Calder stared at Ingrid.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It transformed him.
For a moment, the severe rancher disappeared and Ingrid saw the younger man underneath.
She smiled back before remembering herself.
Later, the house went quiet.
Ingrid lay awake.
Wind whispered against the windows.
Somewhere downstairs, a board creaked.
She turned over.
Then she heard something else.
A faint sound from the hallway.
She sat up.
Another creak.
Ingrid lit her lamp and opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
But the locked room was no longer locked.
Its door stood slightly open.
A strip of darkness waited beyond it.
Ingrid knew Calder had told her to stay away.
She should have returned to bed.
Instead she stepped closer.
The door opened beneath her fingertips.
Moonlight fell across the floor.
She saw a child's rocking horse.
A small wooden bed.
A shelf filled with books.
And on the wall—
a portrait.
Calder stood beside a beautiful dark-haired woman.
Between them was a little girl.
They were smiling.
A family.
Ingrid's stomach dropped.
“You shouldn't be in here.”
Calder's voice came from behind her.
She turned.
He stood in the hallway wearing trousers and an open-necked shirt.
But anger wasn't what frightened her.
Pain was.
“I heard something,” Ingrid whispered.
Calder entered the room.
For several seconds, he looked at the portrait.
“My wife,” he said.
Ingrid's throat tightened.
“And your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Calder's eyes remained on the painting.
“A winter fever.”
Ingrid understood before he continued.
“Both?”
He nodded.
The silence changed.
She suddenly understood the emptiness of the house.
“I am sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“How can I not be?”
“Because you didn't do it.”
The bitterness in his voice made her flinch.
Calder noticed.
His expression softened.
“That wasn't meant for you.”
He walked to the child's bed and touched the wooden post.
“My daughter was named Clara.”
Ingrid looked at the tiny quilt.
“She would have been nine.”
Something inside Ingrid broke.
She had expected a secret lover.
A deception.
Perhaps even another woman.
Not this.
“Why did you send for another wife?”
Calder looked at her.
The question hung between them.
His answer came quietly.
“Because a man can survive being lonely long enough that he forgets he's dying from it.”
Ingrid's breath caught.
Then Calder added something she didn't expect.
“But loneliness wasn't the only reason.”
“What was?”
He looked toward the portrait.
“Not tonight.”
The door closed behind them.
Ingrid returned to her room, but sleep would not come.
Calder had lost a wife.
A daughter.
And somewhere inside that grief was the real reason he had sent for Ingrid.
The following morning, she would learn that someone else already knew the secret.
May you like
And that person intended to use it against her.
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