Chapter 8 - The House That Raised Him

The Boone ranch looked smaller when Elias returned.

Perhaps betrayal changed distances.

The farmhouse stood beneath a wide Kansas sky, its porch leaning slightly east, exactly as it had since Elias was a boy.

Ruth’s roses were dead.

Elias had not had the heart to replant them.

Tavan had sent Sani and two men with him, but they remained beyond the property line.

Tavan himself stayed in the territory with Silas.

Elias entered alone.

Dust lay across the table.

Ruth’s blue cup still sat beside the sink.

Three years after her death, he had never moved it.

He climbed the stairs slowly using a crutch Sani had fashioned.

Ruth’s bedroom remained nearly untouched.

Her quilt.

Her Bible.

The cedar chest.

Elias stood in the doorway.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered.

Then another thought followed.

Maybe she had tried.

Silas said the receipts were beneath the floor.

Elias lifted the rug.

Three boards near the bed showed faint scratches.

He pried them loose with a fireplace poker.

A tin box waited beneath.

Inside were bank receipts.

Dozens.

Every payment Silas claimed to have made.

Stamped.

Signed.

Enough to prove the Boone ranch mortgage had been fully paid eight years earlier.

Voss’s foreclosure was fraud.

But something else lay beneath them.

Letters.

All addressed to Elias.

None opened.

The oldest dated fifteen years ago.

Tavan.

Another from twelve years ago.

Another eight.

Ruth had hidden them.

Elias sat on the floor.

His hands shook.

He opened the first.

Elias Boone,

You do not know me.

I am your mother’s brother.

I have no right to ask you for anything.

When you are ready to know about Mara and Caleb, send word to Cedar Basin.

I will come alone.

—Tavan

Elias closed his eyes.

Ruth had received the letter.

She had not burned it.

She had hidden it.

Why?

Fear?

Love?

Cowardice?

All three?

The second letter was from someone else.

Mister Boone,

My name is Everett Crane.

I knew your natural parents.

There are false stories being circulated concerning their deaths and certain lands near Cedar Basin.

If anyone claiming to be your mother’s family contacts you, I strongly advise caution.

They may attempt to use your name against lawful property owners.

Elias stared.

Crane had been shaping his understanding years before Elias even knew there was something to understand.

The third letter was Ruth’s handwriting.

Never sent.

My dear Eli,

There is a truth I have postponed so long that every year makes speaking it harder.

You are mine in every way that has ever mattered to me.

But you did not begin with me.

Your first mother was named Mara.

Your father was Caleb.

Silas brought you to me when you were scarcely old enough to speak.

He was covered in blood that was not his own and held you so tightly I thought he would break.

I asked no questions that night.

Later I learned enough to be afraid.

I told myself I would tell you when you turned sixteen.

Then eighteen.

Then twenty-one.

Each birthday arrived and I chose one more year of being your mother without competition from a ghost.

That was selfish.

I am sorry.

Elias could no longer see clearly.

He pressed the letter against his forehead.

Ruth had not lied because she felt nothing.

She had lied because she felt too much.

That did not make it right.

But it made it human.

A floorboard creaked downstairs.

Elias immediately drew his revolver.

“Who’s there?”

Silence.

He moved toward the hallway.

His broken leg made every step clumsy.

Another creak.

Someone was inside.

Elias extinguished the lamp.

He waited beside the bedroom door.

Footsteps climbed.

Slow.

Careful.

The figure reached the landing.

Elias raised the gun.

“Another step and you lose a knee.”

A familiar voice answered.

“I’d prefer not to.”

Jonah Pike stepped into the moonlight.

Elias’s jaw tightened.

“How did you find me?”

“You came home.”

“Why?”

Jonah held up both hands.

“To warn you.”

“About Crane?”

Jonah’s face changed.

“You know.”

“I know enough.”

Jonah glanced at the open floorboards.

“You found Silas’s papers.”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to leave.”

“We?”

“Crane sent men ahead of us.”

Elias cocked the revolver.

“You rode with Voss.”

“I did.”

“You helped put that saddlebag in my path.”

“Yes.”

“You knew Voss wanted my signature.”

“Yes.”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”

Jonah’s voice dropped.

“Because I’m the clerk who has been feeding Tavan information.”

Elias froze.

“What?”

“Voss thinks I work for him.”

“You do.”

“I work close to him.”

“That isn’t the same thing?”

“Not anymore.”

Before Elias could answer, orange light flickered through the window.

He turned.

The barn was burning.

Then a second flame appeared beside the porch.

Jonah swore.

“They’re here.”

Elias stared at Ruth’s letters scattered across the floor.

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Someone had not come merely to steal the receipts.

They had come to erase the house.