"Somewhere they won't look first."
He lit a single match, shielded it with his palm, and studied her face for the first time in the light. She was young. Tired past her years. And fierce in a way that made him wary.
"Your name really Clara Bennett?"
"Yes."
"And everything else?"
"You want my life story now?"
"Five armed men chase us."
Clara sank onto an overturned crate. For a long moment, she just rocked her daughter. When she spoke again, her voice was flat, as if she were reading from someone else's diary.
"My husband died 11 days ago."
"What happened to your husband?"
"They said Matthew lost control of his wagon."
"You don't believe them."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Matthew was afraid before he died."
"Afraid of who?"
"The men following us."
She reached into the lining of her coat and pulled out a folded, stained scrap of paper. Ethan held the match closer.
"What am I looking at?"
"I found it inside Matthew's coat after they brought his body home."
One name had been underlined three times.
"Who's Gideon Voss?"
"The man those riders work for. If Voss knows you have this—"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Ethan frowned, turning the paper over. Something still didn't fit.
"That explains the riders. It doesn't."
"Why not?"
"They searched my house yesterday. They searched her room. Why would armed men be looking for a baby?"
Clara looked down at Rose, who had finally fallen asleep against her shoulder.
"Hoping you could tell me."
Ethan crouched in front of her.
"Think, Clara. Did Matthew ever hide anything with Rose?"
"He was her father. He held her, fed her, put her to sleep. That's all."
"Men don't send five riders after 'that's all.' You know it."
The silence stretched. Outside, far away, a horse screamed.
Neither of them breathed.
By morning, the wind had changed.
Ethan crept out before dawn and found it standing at the edge of the clearing: a saddled horse, reins dragging, sides lathered white. No rider.
He came back inside with his hand resting on his gun.
"They found us?"
"Maybe."
"That isn't very reassuring."
"I'm not trying to reassure you. I'm trying to keep you alive."
Clara glanced toward the door.
"No rider."
"There was one."
"How do you know?"
"This horse didn't come all this way alone."
"Then where's the rider?"
Ethan's eyes stayed fixed on the ridgeline.
"That's what worries me."
He looked at the map in his mind, the long dry miles between them and anything resembling safety.
"Fort Mercer is north."
"I know."
He said it quietly. Because Fort Mercer was exactly where he'd expect Voss's men to wait.
The Fort Mercer rail depot was crowded, noisy, and nothing like safe.
They walked in like any other family waiting for a train: Ethan carrying the baby, Clara at his side with her hat low. Nobody looked twice.
Until Clara stopped, her eyes on a wall of numbered brass lockers.
"Ethan."
He followed her stare. She had pulled something from her pocket: a small, tarnished key, wrapped in the corner of a baby blanket.