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Izzy tightened her grip on the shawl. “I didn’t mean for anybody to get hurt.”

Eden crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside her. “I’m Eden Whitcomb.”

“I know,” Izzy whispered.

“Did you hurt him?”

“No.”

“Then you needn’t answer for the men who did.”

Izzy’s eyes filled, but she held Eden’s gaze.

“He might remember something about the music,” Eden said. “That doesn’t mean you must play for him. If anyone asks, you’re allowed to refuse.”

Izzy swallowed. “Even the sheriff?”

“Even the sheriff.”

The front door opened, and a broad-shouldered man came in, dust on his coat and a badge pinned to his vest.

“That sounds like a question I ought to answer,” he said.

Carolina rose. “Whit, this is Eden Whitcomb. Eden, Sheriff Whitney Hartman.”

Whit tipped his hat. “Miss Whitcomb. I’m glad Jesse has someone keeping track of what he says.”

“I haven’t begun yet.”

“Then you’ll want paper. He’s given us fragments, and a fragment is better than nothing.” Whit turned to Bass. “Morris finally gave us the name of the man asking to buy your land. Silas Rusk.”

Bass was on his feet before Whit finished.

“He wanted the south pasture,” Whit continued, “especially the water crossing. Came to see Morris three days before Jesse was attacked.”

“I’m going to talk to Morris,” Bass said.

“Beau and Marshal Davis are already there. Let them ask the questions.”

“He should’ve told us.”

“He knows that now.”

Bass reached for his hat. Emily caught his sleeve.

“Please,” she said.

His eyes dropped to her hand. After a moment, he set the hat on the table.

Eden returned to her bread, though her appetite had gone. There was a name now, and an offer made just before Jesse’s beating. She wanted to know what Jesse had overheard, but his exhausted face was still fresh in her mind. She would not chase answers at his expense.

The sickroom door opened.

“He wants to know why everyone is shouting,” Nate said.

Simon raised one finger. “In fairness, only Bass.”

“Simon,” Carolina warned.