Dalton says to me, “Yeah, under Tyrone, Rockton traded ammunition to help those who chose to leave. Giving them a higher chance of survival. Of course, another philosophy is that if you don’t trade, maybe they’ll see the light and come back. That’s what Gene thought. By the time he left, people had found other sources of ammo, and I’m sure as hell not giving them extra.”
He looks at Tomas. “I’d supply it in a matter of life or death. I’m not going to let anyone starve. B
ut personally, I’m on your side. I’d like to see a lot fewer guns. Fuck, I’d make our own residents use bows if that didn’t mean we’d be facing settlers and traders and miners with guns. Rockton hasn’t supplied weapons or ammunition in years. And, though you haven’t suggested it outright, we didn’t kill this woman. We found her on a camping trip.”
Tomas nods. “I wasn’t accusing you, but thank you for clarifying. I’m guessing that’s how it happened? A hunting accident?”
“It’s … difficult to tell,” I say. “The reason we’re pursuing it is that she had something … with her. Something that may be important to someone.”
I still want the chance to evaluate Abby’s parents before I return her. I know I may not have that right. Yet after meeting Owen and Cherise, I will place myself in this role, judging who does and does not deserve their child back.
If I need to justify that, I’ll do it with the reminder that Ellen could have rescued Abby from abandonment. If her parents were from the Second Settlement and hid the pregnancy, they won’t want their fellow settlers knowing what they did. If the Second Settlement was complicit in the abandonment, they won’t want her back. Either way, the settlement might lie and take the child to save face.
When I say this, being cagey, Tomas’s gaze drops to the bracelet, still in his hands.
“Not that,” I say. “If anyone in the settlement knew Ellen well, we’d love the chance to speak to them. I’m trying to piece together her final days.”
The corners of his lips rise in a strained smile. “You really are a detective then.”
“I am.”
“Well…” He trails off, and I can see him thinking. Considering his options.
Finally, he says, “My wife was close to Ellen. They were friends. I would appreciate the chance to speak to Nancy—my wife—first, if you don’t mind. I’d like this news to come from me.”
“We understand.”
“I’ll go into the settlement and tell people what has happened. They won’t be thrilled at you being here, but with a death involved, they will understand. Many were fond of Ellen. This will be difficult.”
I nod. He starts to leave. Then he looks down at the bracelet. He stares at it a moment before clearing his throat, his expression unreadable as he says, “May I ask…” Another glance at the bracelet. “I’d rather not show this to anyone yet. It was … very personal.”
Dalton and I exchange a glance. I agree, and Tomas pockets the bracelet before heading toward the village.
THIRTY-ONE
It takes a while for Tomas to return, but we expect that. We take off our snowshoes and packs, drink some water, share another protein bar, and play with Storm. Or Dalton plays with her. I lie on my back in the snow. Just making snow angels, really. Not collapsed from the exhaustion of snowshoeing all day.
When Tomas returns, he’s alone, and I’m braced for “Sorry, but you can’t come in,” but he waves for us to follow. After a few steps, he says, “Nancy is … taking it hard, as you might expect. She’ll speak to you, but she asks for a few minutes to gather her thoughts.”
“Of course.”
As we approach the village, I expect a loose cluster of buildings, like the First Settlement. Instead, there are a few small outbuildings clustered around two large ones that remind me of Indigenous longhouses.
“Communal living,” I murmur. I think I’ve said it low enough, but Tomas hears and smiles.
“Yes. It’s more economical for heating and food. Everyone works together, whether it’s cooking or child-rearing.” He glances to the side and his smile grows. “Speaking of child-rearing…”
A little girl, maybe five or six, comes racing over and throws herself into Tomas’s arms. He swoops her up and swings her about as she squeals. I notice a boy a year or two older eyeing us. Tomas waves him over.
“These are my children,” he says. “Becky and Miles.”
“Eric,” Dalton says. He shakes the boy’s hand. The girl just giggles, but when I introduce myself, she shakes mine. They aren’t really interested in us, though. Both pairs of eyes are fixed on our furry companion. I introduce Storm and have her sit while the children pet her.
“Can you guys do me a favor?” Tomas asks. “Your mom is busy right now, so I’d like you to stay with us. We’re going to speak to the elders.”
“And if you can keep Storm company while we do that, we’d appreciate it,” I say. Then to Tomas, I add, “She’s very well trained, and we’ll be close by.”
He nods and charges the children with “watching” the dog, which really means just walking along beside her and petting her while we all enter the first longhouse.