Chapter 10 - The Boy Who Heard His Father’s Voice
They did not leave Pine Hollow immediately.
Martha refused.
“You take two children into another storm and I’ll lock all of you in my cellar myself.”
Caleb looked toward the approaching torches.
“Martha—”
“I raised six children and buried two husbands. Don’t use that tone with me.”
Thomas almost smiled.
“She means it.”
“I know.”
The boardinghouse became a fortress of ordinary people.
Martha’s cook barred the rear door.
The blacksmith arrived with three workers.
A schoolteacher brought blankets.
Two farmers positioned wagons across the main road.
Nobody wanted a fight.
But everyone had heard enough stories about Silas Vale.
More importantly, many names in Thomas’s ledger belonged to their families.
Caleb stood on the porch when Vale’s riders reached town.
This time Silas did not approach alone.
Deputy Warren rode beside him.
Clara watched through the window.
Sheriff Amos Bell stood in the street between the two groups.
Bell was nearly seventy.
Thin.
Gray mustache.
The kind of sheriff younger men underestimated.
“Silas,” Bell said.
“Amos.”
“You brought a lot of men into my town.”
“I’m looking for stolen property.”
Bell glanced around.
“Twenty men for a book?”
Vale smiled.
“I never said it was a book.”
Sheriff Bell’s eyes narrowed.
Caleb almost laughed.
Vale had made the same mistake Warren had.
He believed power made him untouchable.
Power also made men careless.
Bell looked toward the boardinghouse.
“Anyone inside steal something?”
Vale answered, “Caleb Reed.”
Caleb stepped from the porch.
“I copied it.”
Vale’s smile tightened.
“Hello again.”
Bell looked between them.
“This becoming a social gathering?”
Warren moved forward.
“Sheriff, Reed assaulted men at Black Pine Mill.”
Thomas appeared in the doorway.
Warren’s face changed.
For fourteen months, Thomas Harper had officially been a missing man.
Dead, most assumed.
Now he stood in plain view.
Thin.
Weak.
Alive.
The townspeople murmured.
Sheriff Bell stared.
“Thomas?”
“Hello, Amos.”
Bell looked at Vale.
“You told me Harper ran south.”
Vale remained calm.
“He did.”
Thomas laughed.
“I spent fourteen months under your mill.”
The murmuring grew louder.
Vale raised his voice.
“A ridiculous accusation from a thief.”
Thomas stepped onto the porch.
“Then let Sheriff Bell inspect the lower rooms.”
Vale’s eyes became cold.
“You’re confused after your ordeal.”
“I’m confused why you fed me the same bean soup every Tuesday for a year.”
Several townspeople laughed.
Even Bell smiled slightly.
Vale did not.
Sheriff Bell said, “Nobody takes anyone from this house tonight.”
Warren protested.
“You don’t have authority—”
Bell turned.
“I’m the sheriff.”
Warren stopped.
Bell continued.
“And as of this minute, you aren’t deputy.”
Silence.
Warren’s face flushed.
Vale leaned toward him.
Something passed between them.
Then Vale nodded to his riders.
They turned.
Caleb did not relax.
“Too easy.”
Thomas agreed.
Vale had not traveled through a storm to retreat because an old sheriff raised his voice.
Clara watched them disappear.
“What will he do?”
Caleb looked toward Mercy Ridge.
“Go after the seal plates.”
Thomas nodded.
“We need to beat him there.”
Martha sighed.
“I assume telling you to wait until morning is pointless.”
“Yes,” Clara and Caleb answered simultaneously.
Martha rolled her eyes.
“Of course.”
They prepared horses.
Eli appeared beside Thomas.
“Papa?”
“Yes?”
“I heard you.”
Thomas frowned.
“Heard me when?”
“The night you disappeared.”
Everyone stopped.
Eli looked uncomfortable.
“You were talking outside our house.”
Thomas crouched.
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did I say?”
Eli shut his eyes.
“You said, ‘Matthew left something with the preacher.’”
Clara stared.
“The preacher?”
Thomas’s expression sharpened.
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No.”
Eli became defensive.
“I heard you.”
Caleb crouched beside him.
“Think carefully. Did you hear your father’s voice?”
“Yes.”
“Could you see him?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“In bed.”
“Who else was talking?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he sound like?”
Eli frowned.
“Like Papa.”
Thomas and Caleb exchanged a look.
Clara understood.
“Someone imitated him?”
Caleb nodded slowly.
“Or Eli heard a similar voice.”
Eli protested.
“I know Papa.”
Thomas hugged him.
“I believe you heard what you heard.”
Then Caleb asked, “What happened the next morning?”
“A man came to the house.”
Clara frowned.
“What man?”
“Deputy Warren.”
Warren had not been deputy then.
But he had worked as Vale’s security man.
Thomas stood.
“It was Warren.”
Clara felt sick.
“He used your voice to make Eli believe you were outside.”
“Why?”
Caleb answered.
“To find out if Matthew left evidence with someone at the church.”
Thomas nodded.
“Vale must have suspected.”
Clara looked at Matthew’s button.
Mercy Ridge Cemetery was beside St. Michael’s church.
Maybe Matthew had deliberately spread a false rumor.
Or maybe the church held something else.
They rode before dawn.
Thomas shared Caleb’s horse.
Clara rode with Eli.
June stayed with Martha.
“You are coming back?” June asked.
Clara kissed her.
“Yes.”
It was a promise.
She intended to keep this one.
The road to Mercy Ridge took four hours.
Snow slowed them.
When the church steeple finally appeared, the sun was rising.
Caleb stopped.
Smoke rose near the cemetery.
Too much smoke.
Clara kicked her horse forward.
“No.”
They reached the hill.
Several graves had been disturbed.
The Whitmore family plot lay near the far wall.
Matthew’s mother’s stone stood intact.
But the flower box beside it had been broken apart.
Empty.
Clara dropped from the horse.
“We’re too late.”
Caleb searched the snow.
Tracks everywhere.
Thomas sank onto a bench.
“Vale has the plates.”
Clara stared at the broken stone.
Two years of secrets.
Two years of sacrifice.
And Vale was still ahead.
Then Eli walked toward the grave.
He crouched.
“What is it?” Clara asked.
“There’s something here.”
He reached into the cracked base.
A small wooden cylinder slid free.
Caleb opened it.
Inside was a rolled strip of paper.
Matthew’s handwriting.
Clara read.
If this place has been searched, then the wrong men found the decoy.
She looked up.
Thomas almost laughed.
“Decoy?”
Caleb took the note.
More words followed.
The real seal plates are where Clara first told me she loved me.
Everyone looked at her.
Thomas smiled.
“Well?”
Clara’s cheeks warmed despite the cold.
“That is none of your business.”
“Right now it is extremely my business.”
Caleb gave her an amused look.
She glared at both men.
“It was embarrassing.”
“Clara.”
She sighed.
“It was not in Mercy Ridge.”
Thomas leaned closer.
“Where?”
Clara looked west.
Toward the mountains.
“A little chapel.”
Caleb frowned.
“There are dozens.”
“This one burned down.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
Thomas began smiling.
He knew.
“Saint Agnes.”
Clara nodded.
The ruined chapel sat fourteen miles away.
On land now owned by Silas Vale.
Caleb looked toward the snow-covered ridge.
“Then Vale has been searching miles away from the real evidence.”
For the first time since the chase began, they were ahead.
But their advantage depended on one thing.
Silas Vale could not learn the truth.
Then a church door creaked behind them.
Everyone turned.
A woman stepped outside.
Clara recognized her.
Mrs. Eleanor Warren.
The former deputy’s mother.
She had been listening.
Her face was pale.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Caleb moved toward her.
“For what?”
Tears filled the woman’s eyes.
“My son made me tell him if anyone came here.”
Thomas went still.
“When?”
She looked toward the road.
“Just now.”
A telegraph wire ran from the church office into town.
Caleb raced inside.
The machine was still clicking.
A message had already been sent.
Two words.
SAINT AGNES.
Silas Vale knew.
May you like
And once again, the race had begun.
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