“Heroin, most likely,” Gideon said.

“You took Mercy’s punishment for going to the poppy field,” Amos whispered. “They put you in the box for days.”

Gideon nodded. “But you offered to take my place.”

Mercy stared. “He did? But you took my place, Gideon.”

Gideon made a pained face at the memory. “When Amos heard what had happened, he ran in and said he’d go in the box for us. But I think Edward McPhearson wanted me to be weak. Then I couldn’t fight him when he . . . you know.”

Amos slowly raised his hand to his mouth. “Oh dear God. You’re right. I didn’t know it then. I didn’t have a concept of that. I was raised in the church. Nobody spoke of boys being hurt like that. But you did fight back,” he said, his jaw rigid. “You fought back and you saved yourself. You killed McPhearson and I’m glad you did.”

He startled when Gideon laid his hand on Amos’s arm. Gideon looked kind of surprised too, Mercy thought. “You took me out to Waylon’s truck, didn’t you?” he asked. “Mama begged you to help and you did.”

Amos looked away, ashamed. “Yeah.”

Mercy’s mouth fell open. “You did? You told me that he’d run away.”

“Because I thought he had. On the truck.”

Mercy shook her head. “No. You said he was lazy and that’s why he ran away.”

Amos looked up suddenly, his eyes glassy with tears. “Because once Waylon brought back his body, I was afraid of what they’d do to you,” he whispered. “Ephraim took your mother away. I tried to get her out. I offered to leave with her, but she was afraid of what they’d do to you if we got caught. And then when you were twelve, he took you, too. For what it’s worth, I truly thought Gideon had died. When Waylon brought his body back, I thought it was him. I didn’t lie to you about that.”

“You offered to get Mama out?” She whispered it because her throat suddenly hurt too much to speak.

Amos nodded miserably. “She said no. She was so afraid of Ephraim.”

“But you helped her get me out,” Gideon said quietly. “I thought I’d dreamed that.”

“I should have tried harder,” Amos hissed. “I should have dragged your mother away. I should have tried harder.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Gideon agreed wearily. “But you did try. You tried to keep Mercy away from Ephraim. You tried to help Eileen. And you took a lot of risk to warn Mercy. You could have done more, but you did do something.”

“I can’t ask you to forgive me,” Amos said, so quietly that even sitting next to him, Mercy could barely hear his words. “I don’t deserve it. I was weak and I believed blindly. And you both suffered.”

“I’m not going to argue whether you were weak or strong,” Gideon said. “But, for whatever it’s worth, I do forgive you.”

Mercy had to clear her throat before she could trust her voice not to break. “Same here.”