Chapter 9
Martha found Silas in the barn shortly after breakfast the day after his arrival.
He stood at the end of the center aisle beside an empty stall, one shoulder resting against the post while he inspected the leather of a bridle as though he had worked there for years.
Pale winter light entered through the loft window above him, catching dust and bits of hay suspended in the cold air.
Martha stopped inside the door.
She had sent Percy to the mercantile for nails, though even that small expense weighed on her. The two guests whose horses occupied the nearest stalls were still eating. From the inn came only the faint clatter of dishes through the yard.
She had chosen this moment carefully. It was time to figure out what he was doing here and what she’d have to do to get him to leave. All night she’d tossed and turned, sweating despite the cold, her worry only interrupted by flashes of haunting memory of another life.
He glanced up from the bridle. “Nice place you got here, Martha.”
Martha closed the barn door behind her, though every instinct told her to leave it open. “What do you want from me? We couldn’t speak plainly last night, but we can now, so tell me straight.”
Silas ran his thumb over a crack in the leather. “You always did get straight to business.”
She looked toward the far doors. If Percy returned, she could send him away before he heard anything. If Jonas came outside, she would have less warning, though they ought to hear his cane before he got close enough to overhear anything.
Silas noticed her looking. “No need to worry. I’m not planning to shout your sordid history across the yard.”
“Trusting that would require me to believe anything you say.”
He laughed softly and hung the bridle back on its peg.
Prison had changed him, but not enough. The scars across his cheeks were deeper than Martha remembered, and his face had grown leaner. The old charm remained. That was the part that frightened her most.
Silas had always been able to smile while deciding how badly he intended to hurt someone. Even before, this skill of his had frightened her, and she had hoped to never find herself on the wrong end of it.
Martha kept several feet between them as she asked, “What will it take for you to leave?”
His expression barely changed. “You just hired me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I came here for work.”
“You came here because you knew I was here.”
Silas stepped into the aisle. Martha did not retreat.
“Suppose I tell you I’m just a man looking for a fresh start after spending two years in prison,” his smile was still easy as he spoke, but the phrase “two years in prison” came out with fury. “A man like that would have trouble finding an honest living. So here I am, looking to work.”
Silas had spent two years in prison. She hadn’t thought of him since… She shook her head. That was all in the past now.
Amos was dead.
Martha was what remained.
“I got released,” Silas said. “Served my time, such as it was. Seems reasonable I’d want somewhere new to start.”
“Willow Crossing is not the only town in Oregon.”
“No, but it has someone who owes me a chance, no matter what sort of record I’m bringing with me.”
The words settled between them.
A horse stamped inside the nearest stall. Its hoof struck wood with a heavy thud that made Martha flinch despite herself.
Silas saw, and his smile faded into something more thoughtful.
“You think I came to kill you?”
Martha hated that he could read the fear she had tried to hide.
“I know what you’re capable of.”
“So do I.”
He moved closer, lowering his voice.
“You and Amos got your fresh start. Pretty inn. Respectable name. Nice little life while I sat behind stone walls because your husband decided I was worth leaving behind.”
“That was Amos’s decision.”
“You were with him.”
“I didn’t know what he planned.”
Silas’s face hardened. “You still rode away.”
Martha had no answer that would matter.
“What do you want from me now?” she asked, eager to stay focused on the point and to get him out of here as quickly as possible.
“For the moment? Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That isn’t my problem.” He leaned against the stall again, casual once more. “I’m here. I plan to work, to keep my mouth shut. You do the same, and we won’t have a problem.”
“And when you grow bored?”
“Maybe I’ll just up and move on.”
Martha studied him.
There was no chance it would be that simple. Silas had not crossed whatever distance lay between prison and Willow Crossing merely to shovel manure and sleep above the stable.
“And what would you do should I, hypothetically of course, dismiss you? Perhaps we don’t need much more help once spring comes.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Then I walk straight over to the Sheriff’s office.”
Her throat tightened.
Silas continued in the same conversational tone. “And I tell him everything I know. Everything about you, about your husband, about the money you used to buy all this.”
Martha glanced toward the doors again. “Lower your voice.”
“No one’s here.”
“That doesn’t mean no one can come in.”
He smiled. “Still careful, just like always.”
“You should try it.”
“I did. Your husband made sure it didn’t help.”
The mention of Amos carried an old bitterness. Martha wondered how much time in prison Silas had spent hating Amos, blaming him for his misfortune.
She would not ask.
Silas stepped past her toward the stable doors. “Whether you like it or not, Martha, I’m staying.”
She turned. “You can’t threaten me forever.”
He paused with one hand on the latch. “I don’t need forever.”
Then he opened the door and walked into the yard.
Cold air moved through the barn before the door swung shut behind him.
Martha stood alone.
Her hands had begun shaking.
She clenched them into fists until they stopped.
She had spent two years building a life that belonged to someone else. Martha Bellamy paid bills, attended church, worried over sheets and leaking roofs. Martha Bellamy had taken in Percy and learned which guests liked coffee before breakfast.
The woman Silas knew was a different sort of one entirely.
If he exposed her, the distinction would disappear before she could open her mouth to protest.
Sheriff Crane would hear his story and nothing that came after it would matter.
Neither would the inn.
Neither would Percy.
Martha looked around the barn Amos had once proudly called theirs.
Silas could take all of it without touching a match.
For now, she had one choice.
Keep quiet.
Keep him close enough that she knew what he was doing.
Wait until he decided he had punished her enough to leave.
The plan felt weak even as she made it.
Still, it was still the only one she had.
***
The following morning, Martha ate breakfast at the end of the kitchen table while Eliza stood near the stove buttering thick pieces of bread.
It was the first quiet meal they had managed in days. The guests had already been served, Percy was outside, and Jonas had not yet appeared from the ground-floor room.
Eliza placed another piece of toast on Martha’s plate.
“You’ve eaten half of one and nothing else.”
“I’m eating.”
“You’re moving food around.”
Martha took a deliberate bite, rolling her eyes at her. “How’s that?” She asked, her mouth full of food.
Satisfied, Eliza returned to the stove, ignoring her silliness.
“I saw Reuben yesterday.”
Martha looked up.
Eliza had spoken too casually. A little smile tugged at her lips as she watched the woman move studiously, eyes on her work.
“At the general store?”
“Yes.”
“Again?”
A faint pink appeared beneath Eliza’s cheeks. “He needed coffee, from the sound of it.”
“Does the Numa homestead consume an unusual amount of it?”
Eliza shot her a look over one shoulder. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You seem to see him every time you shop.”
“What a strange coincidence.”
“Of course it is.”
Eliza returned her attention to the toast, though she too was smiling now.
Martha wanted to ask more. The distraction was welcome, and she had become increasingly curious about what existed between Eliza and the man who had greeted Martha as though she might be an armed tax collector.
Before she could decide whether Eliza would allow any sort of prying, a walking stick tapped against the floor outside, and Jonas entered the kitchen doorway.
He was moving more easily than he had the day before. The limp remained, but he no longer leaned heavily on the stick with every step.
Eliza gathered her plate almost immediately. “I should check the laundry.”
“You should take the afternoon off,” Martha said firmly.
Eliza stopped.
Martha kept her expression innocent. “You’ve been working without a break. Perhaps go for a ride. See what you discover.” She cocked her head teasingly. “Where you end up.”
Eliza stared at her and color climbed fully into her cheeks.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy yourself.”
Eliza picked up the breadbasket and fled toward the pantry.
Jonas watched her go before looking at Martha.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing important.”
He lowered himself into the chair across from her. “She looked embarrassed.”
“Did she?”
Martha poured coffee into his cup before he could continue.
“You’re walking better today,” she said, changing the subject. She wished she could ask Jonas more about his brother, but if Eliza was a woman who wouldn’t take well to prying, Jonas had her beat by a mile.
“The leg feels stronger.”
“That wasn’t permission to wander.”
“I crossed a kitchen.”
“You crossed half the inn yesterday.”
Jonas’s mouth shifted.
Before Martha could respond, Silas entered through the back door.
Cold came in with him. He brushed snow from his shoulders and crossed to the stove as though he belonged there.
Martha’s appetite vanished all at once, and so did any of her lasting amusement and curiosity.
Silas looked from her to Jonas.
“Morning.”
Jonas gave a brief nod.
Silas poured coffee into an empty cup without asking and leaned one hip against the worktable.
“You two look comfortable.”
Martha set down her fork. “The stable needs mucking.”
“Already done.”