Liora lowered herself into the root cellar with one hand beneath her belly.
Sera handed down the blanket.
Before closing the hatch, she gripped Liora’s wrist.
‘Whatever happens,’ Sera said, ‘do not answer him.’
The trapdoor closed.
The rug slid over it.
Boots crossed the porch.
Three knocks struck the door, slow and hard.
Sera opened it.
A man’s voice entered with the rain.
‘Evening, Mrs.
Pike.’
Liora knew him.
Sheriff Ansel Creed.
He shook Boyd’s hand every Sunday.
He had once told Liora in the church parking lot that she was blessed to have family willing to take her in.
Sera said, ‘You are far from pavement.’
‘Got a report of a runaway.
Pregnant minor.
Hurt, confused, maybe dangerous to herself.
Family is worried sick.’
Liora pressed both hands over her mouth.
Worried sick.
She could see Maren’s face arranged into grief.
Boyd standing solemn beside her.
The story already polished for public use.
Sera answered, ‘I have seen no one.’
Creed stepped inside without invitation.
His boots crossed directly above Liora’s face.
Dust sifted through the seams of the boards.
‘Mind if I look around?’
‘Yes.’
A drawer opened anyway.
Sera’s voice hardened.
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘Do I need one?’
Silence stretched.
Then Creed said, almost gently, ‘Come on, Sera.
We both know what happened the last time you hid a girl up here.’
The cabin seemed to shrink around Liora.
Sera did not answer immediately.
When she did, her voice had lost every trace of age.
‘Get out of my house.’
Creed laughed under his breath.
‘Still carrying that old guilt around? It will bury you before the cancer does.’
Liora closed her eyes.
Cancer.
The word landed heavily in the dark.
Creed walked toward the stove.
‘Boyd just wants his niece back.
Maren is hysterical.’
Sera said, ‘I know what Boyd wants.’
Another pause.
‘Careful,’ Creed said.
‘People already think you are strange.
Living alone out here.
Refusing help.
Spreading old stories.’
‘Not old enough, apparently.’
His boots stopped above the trapdoor.
Liora’s lungs locked.
The baby moved.
A tiny pressure against her palm.
Creed shifted his weight.
One boot scraped the rug.
Then a radio crackled from his belt.
A voice called about a fallen tree blocking the south access road.
Creed cursed softly.
‘We will come back in daylight,’ he told Sera.
‘Bring a warrant.’
‘Bring sense,’ he replied.
The door opened.
Rain roared in.
The door closed.
Neither woman moved until the truck engine faded completely.
When Sera lifted the trapdoor, Liora could not climb out at first.
Her legs had cramped beneath her.
Sera reached down, and Liora grabbed her forearm.
The old woman was stronger than she looked, but when Liora stood, Sera staggered and caught the table.
‘You are sick,’ Liora said.
Sera gave a humorless smile.
‘That appears to be the county’s favorite secret tonight.’
‘What did he mean about the last girl?’
Sera turned away.
Liora had spent too many years watching adults hide truth behind their backs.
She recognized the movement.
‘He knows my uncle,’ she said.
‘He will bring me back.’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Why? You do not even know me.’
Sera rested both hands on the table.
The firelight made the lines in her face look carved.
‘Thirty-one years ago,
