You just want leverage to make Mara give you what you're after. That about right? I have no idea what you're talking about. Sure you don't. Miller spat in the dirt.
Here's what's going to happen. You're going to get back in that fancy carriage. You're going to ride out of this valley, and you're not going to bother this family again. Because if you do, every person here is going to testify in court about your real intentions. And I don't think a judge will look kindly on a man who threatens children to steal their inheritance.
Thomas's jaw worked. His hired men were outnumbered 3 to one, and they knew it. His hand trembled with rage as he pointed at Mara. "This isn't over." "Yes," Mara said, her voice ringing clear across the yard. "It is." For a long moment, Thomas just stared at her.
Then he climbed back into his carriage and gestured sharply to his men. "Drive." They left in a cloud of dust and fury. Mara's legs gave out the moment they disappeared over the ridge. She sat down hard on the porch steps, the rifle clattering beside her. Jonah wrapped his arms around her and she held him tight, shaking so badly her teeth chattered.
John Miller approached slowly, hat in his hands. "Mrs. Hawthorne, you all right?" Mara looked up at him at all these people who'd come to stand between her children and danger, and burst into tears. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you.
I don't I don't know how to No thanks needed. Miller knelt down, his voice gentle. Silas rode through my place this morning, told me what happened, asked if I'd keep an eye out. I put the word out to the other farms, and well, he gestured at the assembled crowd. Folks came running.
But why? You don't even know me. We know Silas, and we know good people when we see them. The gay-haired woman stepped forward, pressed a basket into Mara's hands. I'm Martha Cooper.
This here's got bread and stew and some preserves. You feed those babies here, and if that bastard comes back, you send word. We'll come running again. One by one, the neighbors introduced themselves, pressed food and blankets and promises into Mara's hands, told her stories about Silas, how he'd helped birth calves, fix roofs, sit vigil with the dine, how he'd shown up 2 years ago, quiet and alone, and slowly become the man everyone called when they needed help. "He never talks about himself," John Miller said.
"But he saved half the people in this valley one way or another. We owe him, and now we owe you." By the time they left, the cabin was full of supplies, and Mara's heart was full of something she'd almost forgotten. Hope. Silas returned just after sunset, riding hard and pulled up short when he saw the crowd of people still lingering in the yard. "What happened?" he demanded, swinging down from his horse.
"Is everyone all right?" "We're fine," Mara said, stepping off the porch. "Thanks to your friends." "What?" John Miller clapped Silas on the shoulder. Avery came back, brought hired guns. We sent him packing. Silas's face went white.
He came here when I wasn't. We handled it, Mara said firmly. Because you'd already handled it. You asked for help. And help came.
Silas looked around at the assembled neighbors. Something like wonder in his eyes. You all came. Of course we did. Martha Cooper said.