PART 2 — THE MAN WHO CAME TO CLAIM THE BABY

The knocking came a third time.

Three slow, deliberate knocks.

Silas Boone stood between the front door and the two children, his rifle resting against his shoulder.

“Who are you?” he called.

A man’s voice answered calmly.

“Name’s Gideon Vale. I’m looking for two children who belong to a woman named Mrs. Pruitt. A boy named Nathaniel and an infant girl.”

Nathaniel, sitting beside the stove, went pale.

He grabbed Eliza’s blanket and pulled it closer.

“That’s him,” he whispered. “That’s the man who bought her.”

Silas looked down.

“Bought her?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“He gave Mrs. Pruitt a leather bag full of money. She said Eliza was going to live with a rich family. But I heard him talking to her. He said the baby wasn’t going to have a family.”

Silas felt his jaw тιԍнтen.

Outside, Gideon knocked again.

“Mr. Boone, I know you’re in there. This is a private family matter. The boy is confused, and the infant needs to be returned to her legal guardian.”

Silas glanced at the sleeping baby.

“Funny thing about legal guardians,” he muttered. “They usually don’t send strangers chasing children through floods.”

He moved toward the door.

Nathaniel caught his sleeve.

“Don’t let him take her.”

Silas looked into the boy’s frightened eyes.

“I won’t.”

Then he opened the door just enough to see the visitor.

Gideon Vale was a tall man in a dark traveling coat. His boots were polished despite the mud, and his black hat was pulled low over his forehead.

Two men waited behind him.

Neither looked particularly interested in conversation.

“Mr. Boone,” Gideon said pleasantly. “You’ve caused me considerable trouble.”

“I reckon you’ll survive.”

Gideon’s eyes moved past him.

“I need the children.”

“They’re staying here.”

“That isn’t your decision.”

Silas stepped onto the porch.

“Then perhaps you’d better explain whose decision it is.”

Gideon produced a folded document.

“Mrs. Pruitt authorized me to collect the infant. I have papers proving it.”

Silas examined the document without touching it.

“Where’s the mother’s signature?”

Gideon smiled.

“Unfortunately, the mother is deceased.”

“And the father’s?”

“The father is unknown.”

Silas looked at the paper again.

Something about the document bothered him.

The seal belonged to the county children’s home, but the signature at the bottom looked freshly written.

“Leave it with me,” Silas said. “I’ll have Judge Whitcomb examine it.”

Gideon’s smile disappeared.

“I don’t believe you understand the situation.”

“I understand that two children arrived at my ranch half-drowned, and now a stranger wants to carry one away.”

Gideon stepped closer.

“Mr. Boone, I am offering you an opportunity to stay out of something that doesn’t concern you.”

Silas looked him directly in the eyes.

“Those children are sitting inside my house. That makes it my concern.”

For several seconds, neither man moved.

Then Gideon adjusted his gloves.

“Very well. I’ll return tomorrow.”

He turned toward his horse.

But before mounting, he looked over his shoulder.

“One word of advice. Don’t get attached to the girl.”

Then he rode away.

Silas watched until the riders disappeared beyond the cottonwoods.

When he returned inside, Nathaniel was standing beside the stove.

“Is he gone?”

“For tonight.”

The boy looked at Eliza.

“He’ll come back.”

Silas nodded.

“Then we’ll be ready to ask him some questions.”

The following morning, the storm finally pᴀssed.

Sunlight entered through the kitchen windows, revealing the damage the flood had left behind.

Silas prepared oatmeal, eggs, and warm milk.

Nathaniel sat at the table, holding his spoon but barely eating.

“What’s wrong?” Silas asked.

The boy looked down.

“Mrs. Pruitt said I was a troublemaker.”

“Were you?”

Nathaniel hesitated.

“I asked too many questions.”

Silas poured more milk into his cup.

“Questions aren’t trouble.”

“She said good boys don’t question grown-ups.”

Silas pulled out a chair.

“Then she was wrong.”

Nathaniel studied him.

“Were you ever a boy?”

Silas almost laughed.

“Believe it or not.”

“Did you have a family?”

The question caught Silas off guard.

He looked toward the window.

“I did.”

“What happened?”

Silas was quiet for a moment.

“My wife, Margaret, died five years ago. We had a little girl. Her name was Rose.”

Nathaniel lowered his spoon.

“Where is she?”

Silas swallowed.

“She died when she was four.”

The boy looked toward Eliza.

“I’m sorry.”

Silas nodded.

“Me too.”

For a moment, the kitchen was silent.

Then Nathaniel spoke again.

“That’s why you saved us?”

Silas considered the question.

“Maybe part of me remembers what it’s like to have a little one depending on you. But I saved you because you needed help. That’s enough reason.”

Nathaniel looked at him for a long time.

Then, very quietly, he asked:

“Can I call you Mr. Silas?”

“You can call me Silas.”

“Can I call you that again tomorrow?”

Silas smiled faintly.

“I reckon you can.”

After breakfast, Silas rode into town with Nathaniel.

Eliza stayed with Mrs. Abigail Turner, an elderly widow who lived on the neighboring property and had once helped Margaret through a difficult winter.

Abigail was delighted to have a baby in the house again.

She wrapped Eliza in a clean blanket and promised to keep her warm.

At the courthouse, Silas found Judge Whitcomb reviewing land records.

He explained everything.

The judge listened carefully.

When Silas showed him Gideon’s document, the old man’s expression hardened.

“This is fraudulent.”

Silas leaned forward.

“How can you tell?”

“The county seal was retired last spring. And this signature belongs to a clerk who died two years ago.”

Nathaniel looked up.

“So he lied?”

The judge nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

Silas placed both hands on the desk.

“Who is Gideon Vale?”

Whitcomb removed his spectacles.

“That’s the troubling part. He isn’t listed as a guardian, attorney, or representative of any children’s organization.”

“Then why would he have papers from the children’s home?”

“Someone inside that insтιтution must be helping him.”

Nathaniel suddenly spoke.

“Mrs. Pruitt.”

The judge turned.

“Who?”

“Mrs. Pruitt. She gave him Eliza. She told the other children not to talk about it.”

Whitcomb wrote down the name.

“Mr. Boone, I want you to take these children somewhere safe while I investigate.”

Silas shook his head.

“I’m not running.”

“I’m not asking you to run. I’m asking you to be careful.”

The judge lowered his voice.

“Gideon Vale has friends in places where people don’t ask questions.”

On the ride home, Nathaniel remained unusually quiet.

Silas eventually asked him what was troubling him.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Silas slowed the horse.

“What is it?”

“The night I took Eliza, I heard Mrs. Pruitt talking to Gideon.”

“What did they say?”

Nathaniel stared at the road.

“She said the baby had a mark on her shoulder. A little red mark shaped like a bird.”

Silas glanced at him.

“Does Eliza have one?”

The boy nodded.

“She told him that if anyone saw it, they would know who the baby was.”

Silas felt a chill.

“Did Gideon say anything?”

Nathaniel swallowed.

“He said the baby was worth more alive than ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

Silas тιԍнтened his grip on the reins.

That was not an adoption.

That was something far darker.

When they reached the ranch, Abigail was waiting on the porch.

Eliza was in her arms.

But something was wrong.

“Silas,” she said, her voice trembling. “Someone came while you were gone.”

He dismounted immediately.

“Who?”

“A woman. She claimed to be from the county. Said she needed to examine the baby.”

“Did you let her in?”

Abigail shook her head.

“I asked for her papers. She didn’t have any.”

Nathaniel rushed forward.

“Where is Eliza?”

“Safe, sweetheart.”

Abigail handed the baby to him.

Nathaniel held her close.

Silas examined the porch.

There were fresh footprints near the back door.

And beside them lay a small white envelope.

He opened it.

Inside was a pH๏τograph of a woman holding a newborn baby.

On the back, someone had written:

THE CHILD BELONGS TO THE HAWTHORNE FAMILY. RETURN HER BEFORE YOU LEARN WHY.

Silas stared at the pH๏τograph.

The woman looked frightened.

But it was the infant in her arms that caught his attention.

A tiny red birthmark shaped like a bird was visible on her shoulder.

Silas turned the pH๏τograph over again.

Beneath the message was a name.

ELEANOR HAWTHORNE.

He had heard that name before.

Everyone in Wyoming had.

The Hawthornes owned three banks, two rail companies, and thousands of acres of land.

But the family had supposedly lost its only child in a tragic accident nearly a year earlier.

Silas looked at Nathaniel.

“Son, I think someone has been lying to you.”

Nathaniel’s eyes filled.

“Does that mean they’ll take Eliza?”

Silas looked at the pH๏τograph.

“Not while I’m standing here.”

But as he spoke, he noticed something else.

The woman in the pH๏τograph was wearing a wedding ring.

And on the ring was a small engraved letter.

B.

Silas recognized it.

It belonged to Benjamin Hawthorne.

A man who had been reported ᴅᴇᴀᴅ eight months earlier.

That evening, Silas placed the pH๏τograph beside the judge’s documents.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the connection.

Why would a ᴅᴇᴀᴅ man’s ring appear in a pH๏τograph of a baby?

Why would Gideon Vale risk so much to recover an infant?

And why had Nathaniel been taken along with her?

He turned toward the boy.

“Did your mother ever tell you anything about your father?”

Nathaniel shook his head.

“She said he was gone.”

“Did she ever mention the Hawthornes?”

The boy suddenly looked frightened.

“Yes.”

Silas sat forward.

“What did she say?”

Nathaniel reached into the pocket of his borrowed trousers.

He removed a small brᴀss key.

“Mother gave me this before she died.”

Silas took it carefully.

“What does it open?”

“I don’t know. She told me never to give it to anyone except a man named Silas Boone.”

Silas stopped breathing for a moment.

He looked at the boy.

“Your mother knew my name?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“She said you were the only man she trusted.”

Silas stared at the key.

He had never met Nathaniel’s mother.

Or so he believed.

Then the boy added something that made the entire room go silent.

“She also said you promised to protect her children if anything happened.”

Silas slowly looked toward the fireplace.

A memory returned.

A young woman.

A desperate winter night.

A promise made beside a hospital bed.

And a name he hadn’t heard in almost eight years.

Clara Whitmore.

The woman he had once loved.

The woman he believed had left Wyoming forever.

And the woman who, according to Nathaniel, was his mother.