Chapter 8
I did not scream.
I had screamed enough in dreams.
Pike stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
He was a polished man, with silver buttons, clean hands, and boots that had never worked a mine shaft. He looked nothing like hunger, but hunger had his signature.
“Put the ledgers down,” he said.
I held them tighter.
“Daniel died for these.”
“No.” Pike’s smile thinned. “Daniel died because he forgot his place.”
My fear turned sharp.
“And what is my place?”
“Where you were this morning.” His eyes traveled over my worn dress, my hollow cheeks, the patch at my sleeve. “On your knees.”
Something inside me went quiet.
Very quiet.
I backed toward the window.
He noticed.
“There is no help there. Rourke is watching the wrong door. Deputy Wicks has already been detained. Doctor Bell and the old woman are busy explaining why stolen medicine is in their wagon.”
My chest tightened.
He had known.
Maybe not all of it.
Enough.
“Coldwell?” I asked.
“On his way.”
The name chilled me, but I forced my hand behind me until my fingers found the coal chute latch.
Pike stepped closer.
“You do not understand the world, Mrs. Turner. Men like your husband pull rock from the earth. Men like me decide what it is worth.”
“Men like you bury them when they ask for their share.”
“Yes.”
The simple answer stole my breath.
No shame.
No denial.
“Yes,” he repeated. “Because there are always more desperate men. More widows. More children to send away before they become questions.”
I thought of Lily.
Of her weak hand on my skirt.
Of seven pennies on the floor while no one moved.
I smiled then.
Pike stopped.
“Something amusing?”
“You just confessed.”
His eyes narrowed.
I lifted my left hand.
Daniel’s torn sleeve was wrapped around the coal chute lever, holding it open.
The chute led to the alley.
And voices rose below.
Caleb’s voice.
Wicks’s voice.
And others.
Pike lunged.
I shoved the ledgers through the chute.
He grabbed my wrist so hard pain shot to my shoulder.
“You ignorant woman.”
He struck me across the face.
I hit the desk, stars bursting in my vision.
But my other hand found the ink bottle.
I smashed it into his temple.
He staggered back with a roar.
I ran for the door.
It opened before I reached it.
Sheriff Coldwell stood there, pistol drawn.
Blood marked one sleeve. His eyes were wild.
Behind him, Harper Pike blocked the hall.
“Enough,” Coldwell said.
My cheek burned.
My wrist throbbed.
My hands were empty.
But the ledgers were gone.
So I laughed again.
Coldwell’s face twisted.
“Where are they?”
“Ask your conscience.”
“Wrong answer.”
He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the hall.
Pain tore through my scalp.
I stumbled, catching myself against the wall.
From the yard came shouting.
Martha’s voice rose above everyone.
“You touch that doctor again, and I’ll feed you your own teeth!”
Then a gunshot cracked.
Coldwell flinched.
I used that heartbeat.
I drove my elbow back into his ribs and tore free.
He cursed and raised his pistol.
Harper grabbed me.
I bit his hand.
He screamed.
I ran.
Not toward the front.
Toward the stairs.
Daniel had once told me company offices always had roof exits because rich men liked escaping fires without helping workers.
I prayed he was right.
Behind me, boots thundered.
“Stop her!”
I climbed with my lungs burning.
The roof hatch was bolted.
I shoved.
Nothing.
Coldwell reached the stairs.
I shoved again.
The bolt gave.
Cold air burst in.
I climbed onto the roof and nearly slipped on ice.
Silverton spread below in snow and lantern light.
The yard was chaos.
Doctor Bell stood beside the wagon holding a rifle.
Martha had a man pinned against a barrel with her shotgun.
Wicks, bruised but standing, held up the ledgers while Caleb faced three armed men near the alley.
People were gathering.
Town people.
Miners.
Wives.
Shopkeepers.
For the first time, they were not whispering behind windows.
They were watching.
Coldwell climbed onto the roof behind me.
Pike followed, bleeding ink and blood down one side of his face.
“There she is!” Pike shouted to the crowd below. “A thief!”
I stood at the roof edge.
My legs shook.
My face throbbed.
My hair had fallen loose.
But my voice carried.
“Daniel Turner did not die in an accident!”
The yard went quiet.
Coldwell moved toward me.
I kept speaking.
“Ellis Pike stole shares from dead miners! Sheriff Coldwell signed the thefts! They starved widows until children were taken away!”
Pike laughed.
“Lies!”
Caleb shouted from below.
“Read it!”
Wicks opened the ledger and began yelling names.
Samuel Bell.
Henry Cobb.
Patrick Doyle.
Elias Turner.
Daniel Turner.
Each name landed like a hammer.
Women in the crowd began to cry.
Men cursed.
Pike lunged toward me.
Caleb raised his gun but had no clear shot.
Coldwell grabbed my arm.
“You’re done.”
I looked into his eyes.
“No.”
I twisted.
His boot slipped on ice.
For one terrible second, he grabbed for me, dragging me toward the edge with him.
I hit the roof hard.
He went over.
The crowd screamed.
Coldwell crashed onto the awning below, then through it to the ground.
He did not move.
Pike stared down, stunned.
That was when Martha Turner fired her shotgun into the air.
“Ellis Pike,” she shouted, “come down and answer to the women you robbed!”
The crowd surged.
Pike backed away.
Right into Caleb, who had reached the roof from the other stairs.
Caleb struck him once and drove him to his knees.
Then he looked at me.
Not as a helpless widow.
Not as Daniel’s wife.
As Grace.
“Are you hurt?”
I touched my bleeding lip.
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“But I’m standing,” I said.
May you like
Below, the town roared Daniel’s name.
And for the first time since the funeral, I felt my husband was not buried alone.
