Chapter 2 - The Name He Buried
Caleb caught the door before it opened.
“Stay where you are,” he ordered.
Martha watched from the bed.
The man outside laughed.
“You still sound like him.”
Caleb’s hand tightened around the rifle.
“Name yourself.”
“You already know my name.”
“I wouldn’t be asking.”
Silence.
Then:
“Samuel Pike.”
Caleb went still.
Martha noticed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Caleb opened the door only a few inches.
A gray-haired man stood on the porch wearing a long dust-covered coat. He looked around sixty, perhaps older, with a scar pulling one side of his mouth downward.
His gaze moved past Caleb.
Toward Martha.
Then toward the wooden medical case.
Samuel’s expression changed.
“You opened Elias’s box.”
Caleb stepped into the opening.
“Why are you here?”
Samuel ignored the question.
“You actually opened it.”
“My wife is hurt.”
“I can see that.”
“You can also see the road.”
Samuel looked at Martha again.
She disliked him immediately.
Not because he seemed dangerous.
Because he looked at her the way men in Cincinnati had.
As though her size was the first and most important thing about her.
“Well,” Samuel said, “you certainly didn’t choose a delicate one.”
Caleb’s fist hit him before Martha could react.
Samuel fell backward from the porch.
Martha stared.
Caleb stared too.
Then looked at his own hand.
“I probably should have warned you,” he said without turning around. “My conversational skills worsen under stress.”
Despite the pain, Martha almost laughed.
Samuel wiped blood from his mouth.
“Still quick.”
“Leave.”
Samuel climbed to his feet.
“I came because your south fence is down.”
Caleb’s expression sharpened.
“So?”
“So I saw it from the ridge.”
“You rode three miles because of a fence?”
“No.”
Samuel looked at Martha.
“I rode here because someone else is already coming.”
Caleb’s face changed.
“Who?”
Samuel took a breath.
“Men looking for you.”
Martha interrupted.
“Would either of you like to explain why armed men might be looking for my husband while I’m bleeding on his bed?”
Neither answered.
Martha nodded.
“Excellent. I’ve married into a family of communicators.”
Caleb closed the door.
He turned the lock.
Then returned to her.
“We deal with you first.”
Samuel pushed the door once.
“You may need me.”
“I don’t.”
“You haven’t done this in fifteen years.”
Martha stared at Caleb.
“Fifteen?”
Samuel’s voice came through the door.
“He was better than most surgeons I knew.”
Martha looked slowly at her husband.
“You said your father taught you enough to keep men alive.”
“He did.”
“You left out the part where you apparently used it.”
Caleb said nothing.
“Were you a doctor?”
“No.”
Samuel laughed from outside.
“He’ll never call himself that.”
Caleb raised his voice.
“Pike.”
“Fine.”
Martha watched her husband.
“Then what were you?”
Caleb looked exhausted.
“A medic.”
“In the army?”
“Not exactly.”
That answer created ten more questions.
But another wave of dizziness swept over Martha.
Caleb saw it immediately.
The past disappeared from his face.
Only the present remained.
“Martha.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He caught her shoulders as she swayed.
Her forehead touched his chest.
“Still fine,” she muttered.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You married me.”
“I’m beginning to suspect impaired judgment.”
He lowered her carefully onto the pillows.
Martha caught his wrist.
“Do it.”
Caleb met her eyes.
“Now.”
He hesitated.
She tightened her fingers.
“I trust you.”
Those three words affected him more than she expected.
His throat moved.
Then he nodded.
Samuel remained outside.
Caleb boiled what needed boiling.
He cleaned his hands again.
He arranged folded cloths beside the bed with almost military precision.
Martha watched his transformation.
The awkward farmer disappeared.
The man kneeling beside her became someone focused, disciplined and frighteningly calm.
She understood suddenly why Samuel had called him doctor.
Not because of a degree.
Because Caleb knew what to do when another human being was running out of time.
He explained every step before taking it.
He kept her covered.
He kept his voice low.
When Martha’s breathing quickened, he stopped.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Not the instrument.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was judging your equipment.”
“My equipment is older than I am.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It was my father’s.”
“Also not comforting.”
He nearly smiled.
Then his expression became serious again.
“This part will hurt.”
Martha nodded.
“Tell me about Cincinnati.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Talk.”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“You choose now to become conversational?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
Then understood.
Distraction.
She swallowed.
“Cincinnati smelled terrible in summer.”
“Good start.”
“My boardinghouse had seventeen rooms and only four windows that opened.”
“Criminal.”
“The woman downstairs played piano every Sunday.”
“Good?”
“Terrible.”
“Better.”
“She only knew three songs.”
“What songs?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember.”
Martha squeezed his hand as pain sharpened.
“Caleb.”
“I know.”
“Caleb.”
“I’m here.”
Her breath caught.
He stopped immediately.
“Look at me.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
“You’re not the one on the bed.”
“No.”
“Then you don’t get equal hatred.”
“Fair.”
She breathed.
Again.
Again.
Then nodded.
“Continue.”
He did.
The procedure itself did not take long.
It simply felt like forever.
When Caleb finally leaned back, sweat covered his forehead.
Martha looked at him.
“Is it done?”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
“We wait.”
She hated those words.
He covered her with the quilt.
Then touched the side of her face with the back of his fingers.
“You’re warm.”
“I feel cold.”
“I know.”
He gave her water.
Samuel called through the door.
“You finished?”
Caleb did not answer.
Martha whispered, “Let him in.”
“No.”
“He might know something useful.”
“He usually knows something useful. That’s what makes him dangerous.”
“Caleb.”
“No.”
She gave him a look.
He exhaled.
Marriage, Martha was discovering, consisted largely of discovering exactly how long it took before the other person surrendered.
Caleb lasted eight seconds.
He opened the door.
Samuel entered carefully.
His attention went first to Martha.
“You still with us?”
Martha frowned.
“I was considering dying, but your manners convinced me to remain out of spite.”
Samuel barked a laugh.
Caleb did not.
Samuel noticed the cloth.
“The bleeding?”
“Slowed.”
“Good.”
“Now talk.”
Samuel removed his coat.
Underneath, he wore a leather shoulder holster.
Martha saw it.
Caleb saw her see it.
“Pike.”
Samuel raised both hands.
“I’m not here for trouble.”
“You carry trouble.”
“So do you.”
Samuel sat.
“Three men came through Red Creek yesterday asking about a man named Caleb Ward.”
Martha’s stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“They had a photograph.”
Caleb looked at him.
Samuel continued.
“Old photograph. Army hospital. Twenty years ago.”
Caleb went pale.
Martha had never seen him pale.
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know everything.”
“I know enough to still be alive.”
Samuel’s eyes moved to the medical box.
“They asked about Elias too.”
“My father’s dead.”
“They know.”
“Then why ask?”
Samuel leaned forward.
“Because they believe he left something behind.”
Caleb glanced toward the box.
Martha followed his gaze.
Samuel smiled without humor.
“That.”
Caleb immediately closed the lid.
“What do they want?”
“The ledger.”
Martha frowned.
“What ledger?”
Samuel looked at Caleb.
Caleb looked at Samuel.
Then Martha understood.
Another secret.
She sighed.
“If I survive this marriage, I’m going to spend the rest of it discovering things my husband forgot to mention.”
Samuel smiled.
“You’ll be busy.”
Caleb ignored him.
“My father didn’t leave a ledger.”
“He did.”
“You saw it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Samuel leaned back.
“Because I helped him steal it.”
Silence.
Outside, something moved through the trees.
A horse.
Then another.
Caleb heard it.
So did Samuel.
Samuel went instantly rigid.
“How many?”
Caleb crossed to the window.
He looked through the narrow gap beside the curtain.
His expression told Martha before he spoke.
“Three.”
Samuel stood.
“Too late.”
Martha pushed herself upright.
Caleb turned.
“No.”
“I am not lying here while armed men enter my house.”
“Our house.”
“Even more reason.”
Another wave of weakness hit her.
She stopped.
Caleb returned immediately.
“You stay here.”
“Stop telling me—”
A gunshot cracked outside.
The window shattered.
Caleb threw himself over Martha.
Glass scattered across the bed.
Samuel drew his pistol.
A voice called from the trees.
“CALEB WARD!”
Caleb lifted his head.
The stranger shouted again.
“We don’t want the woman!”
Samuel looked toward Caleb.
Then toward Martha.
His expression suddenly changed.
Because the next words were not addressed to Caleb at all.
They were addressed to her.
“MARTHA BELL!”
Martha’s blood ran cold.
The man outside knew her name.
May you like
And he shouted:
“ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER.”
