Chapter 8
I said nothing.
“Did she tell you why she fled St. Louis?”
Still nothing.
Cora’s face became motionless.
“Did she tell you,” Vane said softly, “that she was promised to another man?”
My eyes moved to her.
There it was.
The first knife.
Cora did not deny it.
Vane must have seen my silhouette shift because his voice became warmer.
“She did not.”
Cora stepped closer.
“Wyatt.”
“Later.”
“Please.”
“Later.”
Vane laughed again.
Then footsteps moved away from the door.
I waited.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
No shot came.
No second voice.
Eventually the tracks disappeared beneath fresh snow.
But neither Cora nor I believed he was gone.
I banked the stove low and extinguished the lamp.
Darkness filled the cabin.
Cora stood near the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Making us harder to see.”
“You think he’ll stay?”
“I would.”
She nodded.
I checked each window.
Then I took my coat from the peg.
Cora caught it.
“No.”
“I need to circle the cabin.”
“You can barely walk in deep snow.”
That irritated me because it was true.
“I can walk.”
“Not quietly.”
“I know these woods.”
“And he knows you know them.”
I turned.
“You plan to argue every decision I make?”
“If it keeps you alive.”
Something about the words silenced me.
We remained inside.
Minutes became an hour.
The storm thickened.
Finally I sat near the stove, the Winchester across my knees.
Cora sat opposite me.
Neither of us spoke.
I wanted answers.
But answers could be dangerous too.
A man watching a dark cabin waits for the people inside to become distracted.
So I listened to the snow and studied Cora’s face.
At last she whispered, “There was a family in St. Louis named Vane.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“My mother worked in their house for almost fifteen years. When she became ill, Mrs. Vane arranged for me to attend school with her niece. I learned reading, bookkeeping, music, French, all the things they considered appropriate.”
I glanced at her hands.
That explained them.
“When my mother died, I remained.”
“As a servant?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they wanted me grateful.”
Her mouth twisted.
“I learned very young that there are prisons with carpets.”
I felt some of my anger shift.
“Elias?”
“The eldest son.”
“Were you promised to him?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Not by me.”
That mattered.
More than I expected.