If you stay in this broken wagon, girl, the night frost will claim you and that unborn child before moonrise.
Two nights later, the blacksmith shed was plunged into an even deeper quiet. Leo and I sat by the small, smoldering fire pit, discussing our next move. The wind whistled through cracks in the old timbers.
A faint scratching sound came from the shed door. Leo’s hand went instantly to the rifle leaning against the wall.
“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice a low growl.
The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a sliver of darkness. Then, a nervous, youthful face peered inside. It was Ephraim Finch, Silas’s hired hand. His eyes darted around the shed, wide with apprehension.
“Mr. Kincaid,” Ephraim whispered, his voice barely audible. “You… you need to leave. Now. Silas is asking about you.”
Leo lowered his rifle slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. “What’s Silas asking?”
“He says you’re causing trouble. Asking questions about… about Martha. He said you’re spreading lies.” Ephraim wrung his hands, shivering despite his thick wool coat.
I stepped forward, my voice soft but steady. “Ephraim, what happened out on that trail? When Silas left me.”
Ephraim flinched, his eyes fixed on the floor. He tried to pull back, but the raw shame on his face was clear.
“He… he told me to smash them,” Ephraim stammered, his chin trembling. “He said they were just junk. To throw them into the ravine.”
“Smash what, Ephraim?” I pressed gently, my stomach clenching. A new, cold dread was building.
He finally looked at me, his eyes brimming. “Your things, ma’am. From the cabin. He sent me there before you even left town.”
My jaw tightened. Silas had packed up my home *before* abandoning me on the trail. He’d planned this.
“He told me to take your trunk, the small one,” Ephraim continued, tears now rolling freely down his cheeks. “The one with the baby clothes.”
My hand flew to my mouth. The cedar trunk. It held all the tiny, delicate garments I had stitched by hand, little bonnets and embroidered blankets. Each one a thread of hope, a piece of my future.
“He said to break everything inside,” Ephraim choked out, scrubbing at his face with a sleeve. “Then throw the whole trunk into the Cedar Creek ravine, so no one would ever find it.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. Silas hadn’t just wanted me gone; he wanted every trace of my life, of my child’s existence, erased.
“Did you, Ephraim?” I asked, my voice thin, hardly daring to hope. “Did you throw it away?”
Ephraim shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “No, ma’am. I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”
He looked up, his expression desperate. “I hid it. In the old hay barn, behind the north pasture. No one goes there. It’s still there, ma’am. The baby clothes, everything. Just like you left it.”
The cold fear that had seized me slowly began to thaw, replaced by a fierce, fragile hope. The trunk. My belongings. It was proof. Tangible, undeniable proof that Silas had cleared out my home and then lied about my death.
But Ephraim’s confession also exposed his own immense danger. If Silas found out, what would he do?
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