Lady Mae rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. What was she going to do? She hadn’t thought beyond finding Arbuckle’s shack. She hadn’t thought of anything beyond being close to him once again, his spirit next to her. And now that she was there, how would she leave? Where would she go? Even if she went over the ridge and past the valley beyond—what then? Settlement Six was out there, but she did not know the way. And even if she made it—would there not also be Deputies waiting for her on the edges, their torches raised high in the sky? Lady Mae suddenly realized that the only reason Arbuckle’s shack was still standing was because the Deputies wanted it that way. They wanted to trap her, draw her to the one place they knew she’d go. And she had done just that. A fear rippled in her chest; it was only a matter of time. She could have days, hours, maybe just minutes, but the Deputies would make their way through the forest and find her. If she wanted to live, she had to leave.

She pushed herself up, and as she did felt something hard through the mattress. She thought it was a book, but when she pulled the mattress back, she saw nothing. She felt again. Yes, it was there, something, inside of the mattress. She stood, took the scissors from her kit and cut into the mattress. It was filled with hay and cotton and feathers, but as she reached in she felt something else. Paper. The rough ends of twine. She put her hand around it and pulled it out.

Letters. It was a stack of letters, maybe three inches thick, held together by string. She flipped through them; they were from her. Arbuckle had kept them all and had, for some reason, hidden them deep inside his mattress. As Lady Mae looked around the room, she saw other things—clothes hanging from pegs on the wall, reading glasses on the desk. He had left many belongings there in his shack, and suddenly it was clear: he had not intended on staying in the settlement. What he had wanted, what he had said, had been true; he had come for Lady Mae.

Why couldn’t you have tried before, Arbuckle?

You weren’t ready yet, my love.

She unwrapped the twine and took an envelope from the stack. Opening it carefully, gently, as if the paper itself were her own skin, she unfolded the letter to reveal words written by her own hand. It was dated three years before, and she read it, the only sound the beating of her own heart.

Arbuckle,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. Your last letter had me worried. And when I didn’t get a book—well, I about went up in the hills myself to find you. I came home Saturday though and it was there. Set right at my door. I saw it and thought now that Upheavals in Moral Development is going to take a long spell to read. But would you know that I finished it in under a week. Things been slow here. Guess everyone’s too hot to do much other than what they have to. I reckon it’s cooler up where you are. I like to think about you up there. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I picture you watching me, keeping lookout like you gone and done so many times. Makes me feel better, I guess. Safe. This shack ain’t never been the same since.