I glanced at Sam, a question in my eyes.
“Do you want to follow him?” he asked. “Would you feel safer in the company of others?”
I shook my head and went to the saddlebags. “The mules need rest, and so do we.” I pulled out two tin plates and forks before I returned to the fire to scoop the beans onto them. Sam tended the fire, glancing over his shoulder, no doubt to make sure Mr. Dixon was gone.
“Do you think he knows who you are?” I asked, handing him a plate of beans.
“I think he suspected it.”
“You’d better be careful, or people are going to start spreading a rumor that Iamyour wife.” I paused, realizing whyThe Annals of San Franciscomight have said we were married.
He took the plate, his brown-eyed gaze meeting mine.
I didn’t let the plate go as I asked, “Why do you tell people you were in the penal colony?”
“So they know what kind of a man they’re dealing with.”
“And what kind of man is that?” We were both holding the plate as I waited for his response. “Who are you, Sam Kendal?”
“I’m not even sure anymore.”
I let the plate go, and he took a seat next to the fire.
After filling a plate for myself, I joined him. I had chosen a simple skirt and blouse and knew they would be much filthier by the time we returned to San Francisco, but I didn’t mind sitting on the ground.
“I told Mr. Dixon I was an ex-convict to scare him away,” Sam finally said.
“And Reverend Green, too?”
Sam didn’t touch his beans as he looked into the fire. “It’s easier to have people think the worst of me than to have them think I’m something I’m not and be disappointed later.”
“Is that why you told me you were convicted of murdering your brother soon after I arrived? So I wouldn’t be disappointed when I learned about it later?”
“I suppose.” The flames flickered in his eyes. “It hurts to disappoint some people more than others.”
“You haven’t disappointed me, Sam.”
“Give it some time.”
I was quiet for a moment with the weight of his comment sitting between us. Finally, I asked, “Did you kill your brother?”
He lifted his fork and began to move his beans around his plate without eating them. “No.”
“But you were convicted of his murder?”
“Yes.”
“Who killed him?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I served time for his death, and to the world, I am his killer.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
Sam didn’t respond for a moment, and I was afraid I’d pushed him too far, but then he said, “Yes. Johnnie and I are the only two who know, and I’d like to keep it that way, Ally.”
“Johnnie knows it wasn’t you, and that’s why he trusts you more than anyone else. You took the blame for the real killer.” I suddenly realized who it was, and I lowered my plate to my lap. “Bess.”
Sam didn’t have to confirm the truth with words. His eyes said it all.
