Chapter 6 - The Grave That Had Been Opened
Martha could not speak.
Samuel’s ring rested in her palm.
There was a scratch along the inside edge.
She knew it.
She had made it accidentally with a sewing needle during their first winter together.
It was his.
“Silas opened the grave,” she whispered.
Caleb looked sick.
“Why?”
Briggs answered.
“Because Samuel was buried with something.”
Martha remembered.
The coat.
Before the coffin closed, she had placed Samuel’s favorite coat over him.
Inside its pocket—
“A key.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Samuel kept a little brass key on his watch chain. I buried it with him.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know.”
Caleb swore softly.
Silas had taken Samuel’s ring to prove he had reached the body.
Whatever the key opened mattered.
Martha wanted to ride immediately.
Caleb refused.
“You’re seven months pregnant.”
“And Silas desecrated my husband’s grave.”
“That doesn’t make riding into a trap sensible.”
“I’m going.”
“Then I’m going too.”
“The note says alone.”
“I don’t care.”
Briggs devised a plan.
Martha would enter Fort Laramie visibly alone.
Caleb and the marshal would follow separately.
They arrived two days later.
The fort bustled with soldiers, traders, emigrants, and wagons.
For the first time in weeks, Martha stood among civilization.
It did not make her feel safe.
Silas had instructed her to enter an abandoned trading warehouse after sunset.
She went.
Alone.
Or apparently alone.
Inside, Silas waited.
No gunmen.
No theatrics.
Just Silas.
And Samuel’s cedar box.
“You burned my home.”
“It can be rebuilt.”
“You opened Samuel’s grave.”
His eyes showed no shame.
“The dead don’t care.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
Martha wanted to kill him.
She understood now how easily hatred could turn ordinary people into something else.
Perhaps Samuel had understood that too.
“What did you find?”
Silas held up the brass key.
“This.”
He walked to an old safe in the corner.
Martha stared.
“How did Samuel—”
“He and I used this warehouse years ago.”
Silas inserted the key.
The safe opened.
Inside was a ledger.
Silas smiled.
“This is what Samuel feared.”
Martha took a step.
“What is it?”
“The truth.”
He tossed it toward her.
She opened the ledger.
Names.
Payments.
Robberies.
Then she found Samuel’s.
Samuel Hale.
Beside it were amounts.
Dates.
Martha’s stomach twisted.
“He was part of it.”
“Yes.”
“You said he walked away.”
“He did. Eventually.”
Silas leaned against the safe.
“Your saint was a thief.”
“I never said he was a saint.”
“He killed men.”
“Caleb said you killed Ward.”
“Caleb lies.”
Martha turned pages.
Then she noticed something.
Samuel’s handwriting changed halfway through.
Beside several entries were notes.
RESTITUTION PAID.
FAMILY COMPENSATED.
CLAIM RETURNED.
Samuel had spent years repaying stolen money.
Silas saw her understand.
“He tried to make himself clean.”
“No.”
Martha closed the ledger.
“He tried to make things right.”
Silas laughed.
“Same difference.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“It isn’t.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“You always did defend him.”
“He deserved defending.”
“He abandoned me.”
“Maybe he finally saw you clearly.”
Silas struck her.
Not hard enough to knock her down.
But enough.
Martha stumbled.
Pain seized her abdomen.
She gasped.
Silas froze.
“Martha?”
Another contraction.
Too early.
“No.”
She grabbed a table.
Silas stepped toward her.
The door exploded inward.
Caleb entered with his revolver raised.
“Move away from her.”
Silas drew.
Martha screamed.
Two shots.
Silas staggered.
Caleb dropped to one knee.
For one horrible second Martha did not know who had been hit.
Then blood appeared on Caleb’s shoulder.
Silas ran through the rear door.
Briggs and deputies pursued.
Martha collapsed.
Caleb crawled toward her.
“Martha.”
“The baby.”
His face lost all color.
Briggs returned moments later.
“Silas escaped through the stable.”
Caleb shouted, “Forget him! Get a doctor!”
The fort surgeon arrived.
Martha was carried to quarters.
For six hours, everyone believed she would deliver.
But gradually the contractions stopped.
The child remained safe.
Martha slept.
When she woke, Caleb sat beside the window with his shoulder bandaged.
“You were shot.”
“Grazed.”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Silas escaped.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m tired of him escaping.”
“So am I.”
Caleb approached.
Martha took his hand.
It was the first time she had done so without fear or necessity.
“Samuel knew what he had been,” she said.
“Yes.”
“He spent years trying to repair it.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because shame makes cowards of good men.”
Martha looked at Caleb.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“What are you ashamed of?”
He was silent.
Then he told her.
During the payroll robbery years earlier, Caleb had been the one who planned the route.
Silas turned it violent.
Samuel stopped him from killing a second guard.
Caleb had spent twelve years believing that his plan made him responsible for everything that followed.
“Samuel forgave you,” Martha said.
“I know.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
Martha squeezed his hand.
“Maybe that’s why he sent you to me.”
Caleb looked at her.
Their faces were close.
Neither moved.
Then someone knocked.
Marshal Briggs entered.
His expression destroyed the moment.
“What?”
“We found Silas’s horse.”
“Where?”
“Outside the fort.”
Caleb stood.
Briggs continued.
“There was blood on the saddle.”
“Silas?”
“We thought so.”
Briggs placed something on the table.
A deputy’s badge.
Covered in blood.
“Silas took one of my men.”
Martha stared.
Then Briggs unfolded a second note.
Caleb read it.
His face changed.
“What does it say?” Martha asked.
Caleb did not answer.
She snatched the note.
Martha—
You wanted the truth.
Come to Samuel’s land tomorrow at sunset.
Bring the original deed.
Or I’ll start killing one man every hour until you do.
May you like
The first name written beneath the message was Caleb Mercer.
And the second was Martha’s unborn child.
