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“You don’t have to know today.”

Eden looked at the scrap of paper in her hand. “Josiah might have spent three years trying to recover from something that wasn’t an accident.”

“It’s possible. The lawmen are looking into it. That’s all we know.”

“I keep thinking about the stranger who came to see Papa.”

“Have you told Whit everything you remember?”

“Some. At Marmee’s meeting.”

“Then tell him the rest. The smallest detail might matter now.”

Eden nodded. That was something she could do here, without guessing what was happening hundreds of miles away.

They passed the church. Reverend Billings was sweeping rain-soaked leaves from the steps. He lifted his hat and offered a quiet greeting, leaving them to their walk.

At the mercantile, Mr. Arden greeted them with an expression of grave sympathy that made Eden wish the whole town didn’t already know her business.

“I’d like to send a telegram to Willow Bend,” she said, and took the pencil he offered.

She wrote carefully, then read the message once before handing it over.

LAUREL WHITCOMB. PLEASE TELL ME HOW JOSIAH TRULY FARES AND WHAT HELP YOU NEED. I HAVE HEARD OF REOPENED INVESTIGATION. DO NOT SPARE ME THE FACTS. EDEN.

Mr. Arden counted the words and quoted the cost. Eden paid him. Her hand was steady as she passed over the coins.

“How soon might I hear?” she asked.

“Depends on the office in Hillsboro and whether Mrs. Whitcomb can get word there. I’ll send it now.”

“Thank you.”

There was nothing more she could accomplish by standing at the counter. Turning away took more determination than she’d expected. She purchased a small bag of lemon drops and returned to the clinic with Carolina.

On the way back, she asked Tater to tell Whit she had remembered a few details about the Missouri visitor and wished to speak to him when he was free.

Emily met them in the front room. “Jesse woke a little while ago.”

“Did he ask for me?”

Emily’s smile broadened. “Twice. The second time he pretended he wanted to know where the book had gone.”

Eden’s cheeks warmed. “He does like the book.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Eden left the women to their conversation and went down the hall.

Jesse was awake, propped against the pillows. He had combed his hair, or had someone comb it for him. A lock had escaped across his forehead. His battered face brightened when she appeared, and the sight did something thoroughly unreasonable to her heart.

“Your book is on the chair,” she told him.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“That’s not what Emily said.”

He gave a faint grin. “Woman can’t keep a confidence.”