Thomas nodded slowly.
“I understand that.”
She smiled.
“Do you?”
“I think I'm beginning to.”
Neither knew that those words would matter later.
The trouble began with a missing shipment.
Thomas returned from town one afternoon carrying a ledger.
“Flour was canceled.”
Mercy looked up.
“Canceled?”
“Supplier says the order was never approved.”
“You approved it.”
“Yes.”
“Who canceled it?”
Thomas did not answer.
Mercy understood.
“Prescott.”
“I don't know.”
“But you suspect.”
Thomas put the ledger down.
“Adeline's family owns the mercantile.”
“And much of the supply trade?”
“Yes.”
Mercy thought.
“How much flour do we have?”
“Enough for two weeks.”
“Salt?”
“Three.”
“Kerosene?”
“Perhaps ten days.”
She nodded.
Thomas stared.
“You aren't frightened.”
“I am.”
“You don't look frightened.”
“I learned long ago that fear doesn't cook supper.”
He almost smiled.
Mercy walked to the pantry.
“We'll manage.”
“How?”
She began counting.
“Farmers.”
“What?”
“Who grows wheat around here?”
Thomas listed several names.
“Who grows potatoes?”
He answered.
“Who sells salt?”
“Not locally.”
“Then we start with wheat.”
Thomas frowned.
“You can't negotiate with half the county.”
Mercy looked at him.
“Why not?”
He laughed.
“You're serious.”
“Completely.”
The next morning Mercy went with Thomas to a farm twelve miles north.
The farmer, Silas Hargrove, was suspicious.
Prescott had controlled much of his business for years.
Mercy arrived carrying a basket.
Silas stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Biscuits.”
“I don't need biscuits.”
“Then eat them while you tell us no.”
His wife laughed from inside the house.
Silas eventually sold them flour.
Not enough for the winter.
But enough to begin.
Another farmer sold potatoes.
Another agreed to trade salt for cattle.
Mercy discovered something Thomas had forgotten.
People did not necessarily like Prescott.
They simply believed they had no choice.
By the end of two weeks, the Bell ranch had several new suppliers.
Adeline noticed.
Her response came quickly.
First, someone cut a section of fence.
Then three cattle disappeared.
Then a wagon carrying supplies was delayed.
Thomas became angry.
Mercy became careful.
She began writing down every event.
Date.
Time.
Location.
Witnesses.
She stored copies in three places.
One evening Thomas found her writing at the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping records.”
“For what?”
“For the day someone claims none of this happened.”
Thomas stared at her.
“You think this will become serious?”
Mercy looked at him.
“I think someone has already made it serious.”
The first real warning came in an envelope.
There was no name.
No signature.
Only one sentence.
Send the Missouri woman away before winter, or you will discover how quickly a ranch can become empty.
Thomas read it twice.
Then he handed it to Mercy.
She read it.
“What do you want to do?”
“Nothing.”
Thomas frowned.
“Nothing?”
“We don't know who sent it.”
“We know who benefits.”
“That isn't proof.”
He looked at her.
“You're calm.”
“No.”
She folded the letter.
“My hands are shaking.”
Thomas looked down.
They were.
He reached across the table.
He did not touch her hand immediately.
He waited.
Mercy placed her hand over his.
Neither spoke.
Then Peter entered the kitchen.
“Pa?”
Thomas withdrew his hand.
“What is it?”
“Can I sleep downstairs tonight?”
“Why?”
“I heard someone outside.”
Thomas stood.
“Where?”
“Near the barn.”
The three of them went outside.
The yard was silent.
Snow had begun falling.
There were footprints near the barn.
Boots.
Large.
Fresh.
Thomas followed them.
They disappeared near the fence.
Mercy crouched.
She studied the snow.
“These aren't yours.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
“Or Caleb's.”
“No.”
They looked toward the darkness.
Someone had been watching the house.
And whoever it was knew the family well enough to understand exactly how to frighten them.
Winter arrived early.
The roads disappeared beneath snow.
The ranch became isolated.
That was when Mercy discovered the hidden ledger.
It belonged to Ruth.
She found it inside an old sewing chest.