Sylvie laughed before she could stop herself.
The sound hurt her ribs.
The older woman smiled but said nothing.
The man with the black braid rarely entered unless necessary.
When he did, he watched Sylvie with the caution of someone rebuilding a truth he had once believed settled.
On the fourth evening he brought the board again.
“There is something else,” he said.
Along one broken edge were three fresh nail holes.
The nails used at the cottonwood had split the cedar near an older cut.
Sylvie touched the damaged edge.
“My father kept this for almost a year.”
“Or someone kept it for him.”
She looked at the man.
“You think the riders know.”
“I think men who help hang a woman from a tree rarely become brave when questions begin.”
Sylvie almost smiled.
Instead she said, “Take me home.”
The older woman objected immediately.
The man did not.
“You can barely walk.”
“I don’t need to walk far.”
“What happens when your father sees you alive?”
Sylvie looked at the board.
“He talks.”
Two mornings later they rode toward the Carrick property.
Sylvie sat wrapped in blankets on a calm horse, every step jarring her shoulder.
The man with the black braid rode beside her.
The second rider who had helped cut her down followed several lengths behind.
The bear cub tried to follow until the older woman blocked its path with her body.
It cried once as the horses moved away.
Sylvie looked back.
“I’ll come back,” she whispered.
For the first time in days, she believed herself.
Smoke rose from the Carrick chimney before the cabin appeared through the trees.
Joseph’s horse stood tied outside.
So did two others.
Sylvie recognized them.
Her hands went cold despite the gloves.
The men who had left her at the cottonwood were inside with her father.
The third horse was missing.
The man beside her saw her expression.
“You can turn back.”
“No.”
He dismounted first and offered his arm.
Sylvie ignored it until her boots touched the snow and her knees nearly folded.
Then she took it.
They crossed the yard together.
Joseph opened the door before they reached the porch.
For one extraordinary second, Sylvie watched her father lose control of his own face.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Then his eyes moved to the man beside her.
The fear disappeared beneath anger.
“You.”
Sylvie stepped onto the porch.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
