Then she became serious.
“Thomas worried they’d try something like this.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Miriam.”
She sighed.
“Last summer, a truck came up here without permission.
Two men started marking trees near the southern ridge.”
“What happened?”
“Thomas caught them.”
“And?”
“He took photographs, called the sheriff, and had the markers removed.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Thomas asked us not to.”
I sank into a chair.
Anger rose through my grief.
Not at Miriam.
Not even entirely at Richard.
At Thomas.
My sweet, stubborn, infuriating husband.
He had known trouble was coming.
He had built security systems and hidden documents.
He had made plans.
But he had left me to discover the danger one piece at a time.
“I wish he’d trusted me enough to tell me,” I whispered.
Miriam sat beside me.
“He trusted you more than anybody.”
“Then why all these secrets?”
