“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say to the man.
The patriarch—I haven’t been given names—shrugs and says, “Cancer. It got bad, and she decided she was done.”
I hope I don’t blink at that. I can’t tell if he’s saying she committed suicide or they helped her. I’ve known people who died of cancer, and I cannot imagine what it’d be like out here, with no access to doctors or painkillers. What shocks me is the way he says it, so matter-of-fact. It’s like saying one of the sled dogs had to be put down … and not even a favorite dog at that.
None of the three daughters give any other reaction. They just wait for us to get on with the conversation. Or so it seems until I notice the youngest daughter’s eyes glistening. When Cherise shoots her a sneer, the girl blinks fast and straightens. They are very clearly sisters. All blond and pretty with a similar look—tall and thin and a little bit distant.
If I’d peg Cherise at mid-twenties, I’d put the middle sister a few years younger and the youngest at maybe nineteen. When the youngest glances Cypher’s way, there’s trepidation and anxiety in the look. I remember what he’d said about one of the girls asking him to take her. Those looks say she’s worried that he might say something and get her in trouble.
As I’m thinking this, the middle girl says to Dalton, “I knew you weren’t Jacob.”
Dalton turns to her. “Never said I was.”
“You’re nothing like him,” she says. “He’s…” She wrinkles her nose. “Skittish. Weak. I don’t know how he survives out here.”
“I would suggest that you don’t know my brother very well. And you don’t know me at all.”
She smiles. “We could fix that.”
“I’m married,” he says.
She shrugs. “I don’t care.”
“His wife might,” Cypher says. “You can ask her. She’s sitting right there.”
The middle sister’s gaze trips over me, and she shrugs again. Then she turns to Dalton. “Offer stands.” She smiles at me. “Unless you have a problem with that.”
“Don’t worry, Leila,” Cherise purrs. “His wife is just as helpless as she seems. She’ll be fine with it.”
Leila’s brow furrows as Owen laughs, and she scowls at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Not a damn thing.” He waves at Dalton. “Go for it. Please.”
“It’s not Casey you need to worry about,” Dalton drawls. “If I’m stupid enough to fuck up what I have with her, that’s my problem. And I’m neither stupid nor remotely interested.”
“So you say, in front of her.”
“I’ll say it behind her back, too. You come sneaking into my bed, and you’ll find my brother really is the nice one.”
Cherise and Owen laugh and the girls’ father joins in. Even the youngest smiles, though she tries to hide it.
Family? Hell, no. This is a pit of vipers.
“Are we done with this bullshit?” Cypher says. “These two need to get back to Rockton, and we have trading to do. First, though, I think Casey was hoping to see the baby.”
My gaze shoots to him. He pretends not to notice.
“Baby?” Cherise says.
“The new family addition. I heard one of you girls is a momma, and Casey was hoping for the chance to bounce a baby on her knee.” He looks around. “You hiding the little tyke?”
The family’s expressions … I hesitate, worried that I’m seeing what I want to see. But there isn’t a single look of comprehension among them. The youngest sister frowns, as if she’s misheard. The father scowls, as if Cypher is making some kind of joke. Cherise peers at Cypher, as if there’s some hidden meaning to his words. Owen and Leila just look confused.
“Baby…” Cherise says carefully.
“Right. You know, miniature human. Demanding little critters that expect everyone to wait on them hand and foot. Are you the proud new momma?”
Cherise looks nothing short of horrified, and I restrain a shuddering sigh of relief.
“There’s no baby here,” the father snaps. “You think we’re fool enough to have one in winter?”
“Or fool enough to have one at all,” Leila says.
“I’d like a baby someday,” the youngest says, her voice soft. “But not now.”
I want to drop the matter here. See? There’s been a terrible mistake, and these are not the parents. Yet I hear the father’s words and wonder what would happen if one of the girls did give birth in winter. Edwin mentioned abandonment. That’s what people used to do, whether it was a baby or an infirm relative, when winter came with no extra rations to sustain the weak.
If that is the case, then I need to know that I can stop searching. Fine, you abandoned your baby, and now we have it and may proceed with whatever option we choose. However, if Abby’s mother is still out there, I need to keep looking.
I’m struggling for a way to get a definitive answer when Cypher says, “See, that’s what I was wondering. I told Casey and Eric that if you folks did have a winter baby, you might be willing to part with it. But since you don’t…”
When I realize what he’s saying, I flinch. The words have barely left his mouth before Cherise pounces.
“You want a baby?” she says to me.
“We’re not—” I begin.
“If you had one, she might be willing to pay,” Cypher says. “But since you don’t—”
“We can fix that,” she says. “Make us an offer, and me and Owen will consider giving you a baby.”
“Unless the problem is the cowboy,” Owen says. “Which I’m sure it is. In that case, I can fix it for you.” He winks at me, and I tense, my gaze shooting to Cherise. But she only says, “For a price he will. I’m not giving you free access to my man.”
“Unless the problem’s yours,” Leila says, “in which case, I’ll help. For the right price, of course.”
“Jesus,” Cypher mutters. “You want to get in here, Missy? Offer to rent out your baby-making body parts, too?”
The youngest shakes her head, her gaze lowered, and I shoot Cypher a look to back off her. He frowns, as if genuinely baffled.
“We aren’t in the market for a baby,” I say. “Ty’s beating around the bush here, and I appreciate his discretion, but it’s leading to a serious misunderstanding. We found a baby. A little boy, left in the woods. He seems to have been abandoned, but we want to be absolutely certain there isn’t a family frantically looking for him before we send him down south for adoption.”
Leila’s mouth opens, and I know she’s about to claim that, whoops, yes, she totally forgot about that baby she left in the forest. Cherise beats her to it with a more measured, “All right. It is … possible that we had a winter-born child. If we didn’t say so, it’s because we don’t need your judgment. You have no concept of a life where horrible choices must be made.”
“Like leaving a baby to die of cold?” Dalton says. “Or be ripped apart by predators? Instead of just suffocating him mercifully? Also…” A pointed glance around their well-stocked camp, complete with storage facilities. “I can tell you folks are hard up for supplies. I have no idea how you’ll get through the winter.”
Cherise glares at him. “Don’t presume to understand our choices. I thought I had suffocated the child, but clearly, I was too distraught to do it properly.”
Dalton’s mouth opens, and I know he’s going to tell her to cut the crap, but a look from me stops him. I must admit, I’m impressed by Cherise’s performance. But dragging this out isn’t going to help anyone.
“So you bore a son?” I say.
I’m sure I say it with complete calm, and certainly the others don’t react. But by now, I’ve realized their father is patriarch in name only. I sense that the real power lies in a nearby grave, her position taken over by Cherise, who sees the trap in my words.
“Did you say son?” she says carefully. “A boy?”
She’s gauging my reaction as carefully as I’m gauging hers, like prizefighters in the ring trying to antici
pate the next blow and react accordingly.
I could gamble here. I don’t need to, though. I shrug and say, “Okay, you got me. It’s a girl.”
She leans back. “Of course it is. I know my own child.”
I take my backpack, dump the water from my canteen and hold it out. “I’ll need proof.”
Her face screws up.
“Proof that she’s yours,” I say. “Proof that you’re a nursing mother.”
Leila bursts out laughing. Cherise swings on her so fast, the next thing I see is blood in the snow and then Leila cupping her nose. She didn’t make a sound, only glares at Cherise before dropping her eyes in submission. Cherise’s gaze turns on Missy. I expect the youngest to look away fast, but she holds her sister’s gaze with a level, open stare. Not challenging her, but not backing down either. Cherise snorts, and it’s an animal sound, the alpha accepting that no threat is forthcoming and leaving the younger one be.
“That’s enough, girls,” their father says, and it is the voice of every parent who doesn’t want to seem as if he’s lost control of his children. The girls ignore him—they’re already settling in after their scuffle.
“So the baby isn’t from here,” I say. “That’s all I wanted to know. However, if you have any idea who she does belong to, and you’re correct, we’ll pay for that information.”
“Two hundred dollars’ worth of goods,” Dalton says. “Tell us what you want, and I’ll get it in Dawson or Whitehorse.”
The patriarch’s eyes glitter. “Alcohol. That’s liquid gold out here, especially this time of year.”
“We’ll take some alcohol,” Cherise says. “Among other things. And we want a thousand dollars’ worth.”
“First you need to get us the information,” Dalton says. “Then we need to confirm it. Then you can choose between two hundred dollars from your shopping list or four hundred from ours.”
“Five hundred.”
Dalton looks at me. He’s not verifying the amount. With my bank account, that’s pocket change. He’s seeing if I have any restrictions or limitations to add.
I pet Storm and casually say, “We have a doctor in town who will examine the mother, to be sure she gave birth at the time the baby was born.” Of course, there’s no way to be quite that specific, but these aren’t medical professionals.
I continue. “So if someone claims to be the mother in hopes of getting a reward, it’ll be a waste of everyone’s time. The mother must come to Rockton for the child.”
In other words, I don’t want this family taking the mother captive and then calling us to deliver the cash.
I add, “And if the child was abandoned, we’re fine with that. We won’t judge the mother’s choice, and we will make sure the baby goes to a good home.”
“How much will you get for that?” Cherise says.
“Paid adoptions are illegal in Canada.”
She snorts. “Their laws are not our laws. If you sell the baby—”
“We won’t,” Dalton says. “We may keep it or we may find a suitable home, but no cash will exchange hands. People aren’t trade goods.”
She rolls her eyes at our ridiculous scruples. This is a woman who was sold herself, from a very young age, probably—as I realize now—by her own mother. That practice hasn’t stopped since their mother died. Cherise certainly was ready to see what she could get for me. I would like to say I can’t wrap my head around that—how could you be sold yourself and then do the same to others? The truth is much more complex. Just ask anyone who was abused as a child and does the same to their own offspring.
As we finish the negotiations—which is mostly closing any loopholes for Cherise to exploit—we’re preparing to leave when the father says, “I’m glad we reached an agreement here. I’ve always said that trade relations are important.”
Dalton slowly turns but says nothing, waiting for what we both know is coming.
“We’d be a valuable trade partner for Rockton,” the man says.
He means that we’d be valuable to them. I see Dalton getting ready to make some sarcastic comment, but then he tightens his jaw and slides a look my way, tossing this grenade to me.
“That’s an interesting proposition,” I say. “If this goes well, we could discuss it.” I take off my pack and open it. “We don’t have a lot of need for trade supplies in Rockton, but there’s always an interest in craftsmanship. We’d love work like this.”
I pull out the piece I’d cut from the dead woman’s jacket. I’m not eager to open trade with this family, but if I were to hazard a guess on the artisan, I’d point at Missy. If she can create items that Rockton considers valuable, it might help her position here.
But when I show the piece, I get only blank expressions. Then Cherise says, “I don’t have time for pretty sewing, but Missy might be able to do something like that.”
Missy nods. “They say I do fine work, with my tanning and my crafting.” She takes off her coat and passes it to me. It is indeed excellent, and I say so, but when I ask if she does anything decorative, she considers and then says, “Those we trade with are looking for practical pieces. Long lasting and warm and pleasant to wear—soft furs and smooth leathers. They aren’t interested in work such as that, so I haven’t tried it, but I could, if you left that with me.”
I say I will, though I assure her that Rockton is interested in general craftsmanship, too, and while a little decoration would be appreciated, what she’s already doing would also be valuable. Far more so than the meat or hides her family would otherwise provide.
“As for this work…” I lift the piece, and I’m ready to ask if they recognize the workmanship, but Cypher catches my eye and I stop before linking it to the baby. We’ll deal with this family if that’s our only way of finding Abby’s mother, but I shouldn’t provide clues to set them on her trail.
I cut the piece in two and leave half with Missy, and we say our goodbyes. Storm and I walk in front, the guys behind, all of us quiet. Once we’re far enough from the encampment, Cypher says, “That piece you were showing. You didn’t just happen to be carrying that in your pack, did you?”
“It’s from the dead woman. Edwin identified it as that family’s work, and he said one of the girls was pregnant, so it all lined up.”
“He lied,” Dalton mutters. “Lied and sent us on a wild-goose chase.”
“I think he was hoping to send us into a dead end,” I say. “Tell us what we needed to conclude it was the baby of a family who shouldn’t be raising one. We’d decide to keep Abby. Everyone’s happy. Well, you know, except the actual mother.” I shake my head. “Sure, I get that he thinks we’d make good parents, but what about her?”
“He lied because he knows where that comes from,” Cypher says. “And he doesn’t want you and Eric going there.” He glances at Dalton. “It’s from the Second Settlement.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
There are two major settlements out here, both originating from Rockton. The first and, yes, the second. No reason to get fancy with names. The first is an actual settlement. It’s been in the same place since Edwin led a group from Rockton. The second is more nomadic. They build semipermanent residences, which they abandon when the food supply shifts. They’ll also move if they feel at all threatened by trappers, miners, settlers, or hostiles. The Second Settlement does minimal outside trading, and that’s a two-way street of paranoia. They don’t like mingling with others, and others don’t like mingling with them. Secretive and eccentric. That’s what I’d call them. As for Cypher’s opinion:
“Batshit fucking crazy,” he says as we walk. “You were telling me you think the hostiles are some kind of cult. If they are, they might have come from the Second Settlement, ’cause those fuckers are a cult. Except they aren’t the kind that recruits in shopping malls. Their doors are closed.”
“But you know them?” I say.
“Once upon a time, I was an exception to the rule. And the rule itself wasn’t so much a rule as a general guideline.
While they didn’t throw open their doors to traders, they did business with a very select number of settlers. They picked me because I was sheriff when a group of them left Rockton. I let them go and sold the council a line of bullshit about how hard I looked for them. So, when I left Rockton, they invited me to trade. But then, about five years back, they had a change in leadership, and the doors swung shut.”
“Why did Edwin lie?” I say. “If they don’t trade, he can’t be worried about us opening a line of exchange with them.”
“You know Edwin,” Cypher says. “He’s a crafty old bastard. He’s hedging his bets here, protecting what’s his. The Second Settlement doesn’t hold a grudge against Rockton. If you go sniffing around…?”
He shrugs. “You and Eric make a good team. That’s why Edwin’s reopened that connection. He might talk shit about Eric, but he trusts him. Eric’s a strong leader. Tough and fair. He can be a pain in the ass to deal with, but you’re not. You’re the diplomat. If Edwin’s opened that door for you two, the Second Settlement might, too. Edwin doesn’t want that. Also, the old man’s got a nasty streak. Giving you their baby would warm the cockles of his heart all winter.”
I’m not sure that last part’s true. Edwin might really have presumed the winter-born baby had been abandoned. It’s still a shitty thing to do.
“So where do we find them?” I ask.
Dalton jerks his chin east. “That way, almost a full day’s walk. Yeah, I keep tabs on them. Never talked to them. I was raised not to. They made my birth parents nervous, so we steered clear. Gene Dalton wanted nothing to do with either settlement and advised me to do the same. But I always know where to find them. They’ve been over there for the last few years.”
“So back to town for the snowmobiles?” I ask.
Dalton shakes his head. “There aren’t any trails out there. We gotta walk. Which means going back to town and gearing up for a full-on camping trip.”
“Why don’t I head on back to Rockton and you kids overnight at my place,” Cypher says. “It’s a helluva lot closer than Rockton. If you strike out from there in the morning, you’ll reach the Second Settlement by afternoon. You’ll need to grab a tent to overnight on the way back, but I’ve got one and plenty of blankets. Take what you need from my supplies.” He smiles. “That gives me permission to take what I need from yours.”
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