She put her arms around her brother, pulling off one glove to stroke his hair as his shoulders shook. Rafe knew he should look away, that he should give them privacy, but he couldn’t make his body move. He knew he was crying and couldn’t care. This whole thing was so fucked up. So many lives ruined.

And he didn’t know how to fix it. So he remained motionless, powerless. And hating Ephraim Burton with every fiber of his existence.

“I looked for you,” Gideon cried. “I searched and searched. But I couldn’t find you. I’d think about what was happening to you and . . . God, Mercy, I’m so sorry. I should have looked harder.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, too. But it’s not your fault. Not mine, either. You couldn’t have found us, because they didn’t want us to be found. Don’t cry. Please.” A sob choked her. “Dammit, Gideon, you’re breaking my heart.”

Gideon drew a shuddering breath. “Sorry.” He straightened, still on his knees, then cupped Mercy’s equally wrecked face. “I’m just making it worse.”

“No,” she said sadly. “You make it better. Now that I know the truth, it’s better.”

They were quiet for a long moment, and then Gideon looked around them. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

“Some things, yes. Some things are the same.” She gestured to the white crosses. “Graveyard’s in the same place.”

Gideon’s gaze dropped to the cross she’d uncovered. “Amos married again.”

“And she died. The thought of him making her cross . . . it hurts. I remember the day he made yours.” New tears streaked down her face. “‘Gideon Terrill, Beloved Son.’” Her voice broke again. “They wouldn’t let him put the cross on your grave. They said you’d sinned, a mortal sin, even. You’d killed. So you couldn’t be buried with everyone else.” She swallowed hard. “So one night he woke me up and we snuck out of the gate to where they’d buried you. Or the body they said was you, anyway. Amos had made a little plaque. ‘Beloved Son.’ He buried it a few inches deep, just enough that it couldn’t be seen. And we both cried. For you and for Mama, because Ephraim had already taken her away.”

Rafe hadn’t understood why Mercy had loved Amos so much, but he was finally beginning to. Yes, the man had allowed terrible things to happen to her. Yes, he’d remained in a cult that was so evil. But he’d cared for her. He’d loved her. He’d loved Gideon, too.

Gideon shuddered out another breath. “Thank you.” He rose, holding out a hand, first to Mercy, then to Rafe.

Rafe eased himself to his feet, grimacing when his leg throbbed. He met Gideon’s gaze with apology. “I’m sorry. I should have tried harder to call you, Gid.”

“Yeah. You should have.” Then Gideon shocked him by pulling him into a hard hug. “But it’s okay,” he whispered. “Thank you for bringing her here. I probably would have nixed the entire idea and she needed this. So did I.” He let Rafe go. “But don’t do it again. Please.”