“You had to say something.”
“I could have left off your last name and the FBI part. That seems disrespectful, though. Would you prefer I do that from here on out?”
Mercy glared at him. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”
Truman grinned. “Oh yeah? Coulda fooled me.”
TWELVE
Two decades ago
“Dammit, Deborah! I know it was one of Bevins’s crew!”
“You don’t know that, Karl. You’re making assumptions!”
Mercy hid at the top of the stairs, listening to her parents argue. They rarely raised their voices, and shouting was unheard of in their home. But their loud whispers had been enough to wake twelve-year-old Mercy and make her sneak out of the bedroom she shared with Pearl and Rose. The house was dark except for a dim-yellow glow from downstairs. That meant they were arguing in the kitchen, lit by the single bulb in the stove’s hood.
“Someone shot that cow. One of my best.”
“Accidents happen, Karl.”
“That was no accident. Bevins approached me again about joining his circle. He wants me to bring along our entire group. That’s not going to happen, and I’ve told him several times before.”
“He’s just scared and trying to reinforce his position. You’re valuable. His vet doesn’t have half the skills you do.”
“It’s not just me, Deborah. He wants you too.”
Her mother was silent. Mercy could imagine her mother’s one-shouldered shrug. She wasn’t a vain woman, but she knew her midwifery skills were unmatched in the area. All the area women called on her mother throughout their pregnancies. Even the ones who had medical insurance and went to a real doctor in Bend. They still checked in with her mother and asked for second opinions. It made Mercy proud.
“I know the cow was shot intentionally,” her father said, losing some steam. “It’s no coincidence that yesterday I turned Bevins down again.”
“What can we do?” asked Deborah.
The silence was long and Mercy leaned forward, waiting for her father’s answer. Joziah Bevins was the one man her father complained about. Karl Kilpatrick never had a bad word to say about anyone, unless it was Mr. Bevins. And even then, Mercy suspected he held back his words a lot of the time.
“Nothing.”
Mercy sagged against the stair rail in relief. She didn’t want her father to fight Mr. Bevins. Someone would get killed. Her brothers claimed their father wasn’t scared of Joziah Bevins, but her father’s frustration scared Mercy. Focusing on the care of his family and working on his preparations kept her father occupied, but this one man seemed to get to him.
“We have a plan,” said Deborah soothingly. “No one is going to change it. We’ve surrounded ourselves with good people who will stand by us. He’s simply jealous. He’s trying to force people to do his will and doesn’t understand that doesn’t command respect. He sees you getting respect and it eats at him.”
Her father said nothing.
“Come back to bed.”
The kitchen was silent and Mercy heard a click as the bulb was turned off. The dark swallowed up the house. She crawled on her hands and knees back to her room and felt her way to her bed.
“Are they okay?” Rose whispered in the pitch black. A faint snore came from the bunk above Mercy. Pearl could sleep through anything.
“Yes. Dad thinks Joziah Bevins shot Daisy.” Mercy stared into the dark and imagined she was Rose. No sight. Ever. Rose didn’t seem to mind it so much, but Mercy thanked God every day that he’d not chosen her to be the blind Kilpatrick sister. She wouldn’t have been as accepting as Rose.
“Mom will calm him down.”
“She did.”
“Poor Daisy,” whispered Rose. “She was good about coming when I called her. She’d always hold still for me.”
All the animals on the ranch held still for Rose. Mercy swore they were more considerate around her sister, as if they knew Rose couldn’t see where they set their big hooves. Mercy had several favorite cows, and Daisy had been one of them. She felt a hot tear roll from the corner of her eye to her pillow. She hadn’t cried when her father told her that Daisy was dead. But now, here in the dark, she felt safe expressing her sorrow for the sweet soul.
“She’ll have to be replaced,” said Mercy, swallowing hard. “She was important.”
“Two of the cows will calve in a few months,” said Rose. “We’re good.”
Mercy let the conversation drift away, her brain weighing the loss of the cow to the ranch. Milk, breeder, meat if needed. But cattle also required food, shelter, and health care. It was a fine balance to have the right amount of cows so that their benefit outweighed the cost. Her father had it down to a science for the size of his family. Everything had a value. Heirloom vegetable seeds: high value. A treadle sewing machine: high value. A compact disc player: low value.
Not even as a Christmas present.
Mercy understood. But it didn’t mean she liked it.