Chapter 8
In the barn, the newborn calf was standing on wobbly legs, eagerly nursing from its mother while the warmth of the wood-stove box still lingered in the straw.
By midday, the rumble of iron wagon wheels and the snorting of heavy draft teams echoed across the valley road.
United States Marshal Vance McAllister arrived with four armed deputies and the territorial circuit magistrate, their heavy sleigh carving the first tracks through the four-foot drifts. They had been trailing Vance’s men since the previous Tuesday, waiting only for the storm to break.
Deputies hauled the frozen, miserable conspirators up from the root cellar with ropes, snapping iron shackles around their wrists.
Marshal McAllister sat at Elias’s scrubbed kitchen table, sipping hot chicory coffee while Serena laid out the water-damaged journals and the forged patents.
“This is enough to seize every holding Vance owns,” the Marshal said, his weathered mustache twitching with satisfaction as he stamped the legal documents. “Not just the timber leases—every single acre he stole from the families in the south valley will be returned by court order. And Miss Holt…” He looked up at Serena, removing his hat. “There’s a territorial reward for the recovery of these land patents. Two thousand dollars.”
Serena shook her head gently. “Distribute it to the families whose farms Vance burned out. I don't want blood money.”
The Marshal smiled, touched the brim of his hat to Beatrice, tipped it to Elias, and led the prisoners away into the blinding sunlight of the valley.
Hollis left with the deputies, his arm bandaged, swearing he would never laugh at another guide rope as long as he lived.
The door closed, leaving the cabin in a profound, golden silence.
In the center of the kitchen, the sunlight poured through the newly patched roof rafters where Elias had spent the morning working with cedar shakes.
Beatrice Crowell stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
Beside her on the floor sat the two small leather trunks she had packed weeks ago for Elsie and Ethan.
Serena’s heart tightened. She looked down at her hands, preparing herself for the quiet goodbye that had been hanging over her heart like a shadow.
Beatrice walked over to the trunks.
She picked up the first one, carried it into the children’s room, and unpacked a tiny embroidered dress, hanging it carefully inside the cedar wardrobe. Then she returned, picked up the second trunk, and set it empty beside the pantry.