As she wondered what to say, what to do, what to believe, words pressed to be spoken. The truth. She needed to speak the truth. She’d be honest, then she’d leave here, Molly and Wyatt with her. She had to challenge his stories, and she felt God goading her to speak right here, right now.

She opened her mouth to do it.

Molly walked in, and Win’s mouth snapped shut. Had God been goading her? Or had God sent Molly just in time?

“I thought coffee might be welcome. Kevin will join you soon, but I didn’t wait for him.” Molly got very busy setting the tray up, pouring the coffee. She didn’t sit down.

Molly was as good as a sister now. And yet, Pa didn’t invite her to join them. And Molly hadn’t brought a third cup. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome. She hadn’t brought a cup for Kevin, either. Win wasn’t sure what that meant.

“M-Molly.” Win ransacked her mind for some topic of conversation beyond the only one Win could think of: Have you proved my father is a killer yet? “Look at these pictures Pa gave me.”

Molly came and looked. Win felt her father stiffen at the invitation. He’d been able to accept the intrusion when it was nothing but a servant bringing coffee. But to join the conversation annoyed him.

What’s more, Molly knew. Win saw a slight tremble to Molly’s hand as she reached for the pictures of Win’s grandparents. They were small, and Win knew two prominent, wealthy Chicagoans would have had full-sized portraits painted. Large, well-done portraits. And there should be paintings of her mother, too. Possibly even one of Win as a small child. Where were all those pictures? Had Pa burned them? He’d dug deep for these in a book in a forgotten corner of his study. Possibly he’d meant to burn them and neglected these small portraits and had only remembered them when Win asked.

A poor family setting off across the continent hoping to homestead eighty or one hundred sixty acres might be forced to leave valuable family heirlooms like portraits behind. But a wealthy man like her father? Who had moved luxuries across four states?

If those portraits were gone, it was an act of spite. Win couldn’t help but wonder if he’d forced Ma to watch him burn them. It seemed like the kind of thing her pa might do. Maybe she couldn’t speak truth to her father today, but she could demonstrate right and wrong, at least as Win saw it.

“Molly, go get another coffee cup. Get two, one for Kevin and one for you, and join us.”

“Now, Win . . .” her pa began.

“Molly is my sister.” Win cut him off before he could say whatever unkind thing he was preparing to say.