“Oh.” She put on the gloves, shaking her head. “Stupid of me.”

“Hush,” he admonished, then pulled out his phone to shine his flashlight on the cross. “‘Damaris Terrill, Beloved Wife of Amos and Mother of Abigail.’”

Mercy looked a little shell-shocked. “He got married again. Had another child. A daughter.”

Rafe touched her shoulder lightly. “You okay, baby?”

She met his eyes, hers swimming with tears. “He lost the chance at another wife after my mother got taken from him,” she whispered hoarsely. “He tried to keep them from marrying me to Ephraim. They told him that he would be punished. That he’d never get another wife, but he kept shouting at them that it wasn’t right, that I was too young.” She swallowed hard and blinked, quickly swiping her cheeks with her hands, still covered with his warm gloves. “I thought I’d ruined his life. But he got another chance. And then she died. And he had to make her cross.” Her voice broke. “He always had to make the crosses.”

Rafe’s throat grew thick. That she’d worry about Amos, even after all she’d endured . . . “You are a good person, Mercy Callahan. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. Especially not yourself.”

She gave a watery chuckle. “You’re a little biased.”

“I’m right.” He looked back to the cross. “She was so young. Not quite nineteen.”

“Already a mother.” She sighed. “A lot of women died in childbirth. I was so afraid that I’d—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

She started to rise, but he stayed her with a light touch to her knee. “Tell me. Please.”

She drew a breath and carefully exhaled, her gaze traveling to the other little crosses, their tops barely visible in the snow. “I was afraid I’d get pregnant. I saw so many of the women constantly pregnant. Infant mortality was very high.”

“You were afraid you’d die, too?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I was afraid I’d survive. With a baby. I was scared to bring another child into his home. Part of me wished that he’d kill me and get it over with. Those were the times that I really hated Gideon,” she finished with a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I understand now. I do. But when I thought he’d run away and left me—us, me and Mama—to suffer for his actions . . .”

A strangled sound made them both turn. Rafe muttered a curse when pain burned up his leg. Mercy went pale.

Gideon stood there, just as pale as Mercy. Nearly the color of the snow.

Behind him were Daisy, Sasha, and Erin, wearing matching looks of devastation.

That Rafe hadn’t heard any of them was testament to how completely Mercy had pulled him into her memories. Into her suffering.

“I don’t think that anymore, Gideon,” she said. “I swear it.”

His mouth opened and closed, no words emerging. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees in front of her. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”