The locket winks at me, bright against the black wool. She’d want me to have it. But removing it will be so final.

A twig snaps, and I shoot to my feet. The sound came from the woods behind the barn. It could have been a raccoon, or even a deer. Still, I imagine murderous eyes on me as I reach behind Mama’s neck for the clasp. My hands struggle to make sense of it. I’m too afire with listening, ready to dart away at the slightest noise.

My fingertips tingle from gold as I work the clasp. It comes free, and I barely catch the charm before it slips off the chain. I shove both chain and locket into the pocket of my skirt.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” I whisper. “I have to go.”

But go where? Everything is foggy and strange. All I know for sure is that Mama told me to run.

I can’t just leave her here. It wouldn’t be right. I need help. I need—

Jefferson! He’ll know what to do. I could be at the McCauley claim and back in twenty minutes.

I shouldn’t go unarmed.

I dash to the house and bang open the back door. Daddy has a special rack above the mantel for hanging our guns. We own three—an old long rifle with a bayonet, the newer Hawken rifle I always hunt with, and a cap-and-ball revolver. The long rifle and the Hawken give me distance and accuracy, but they can be awkward to load while bareback, especially with my fingers trembling like they are. That leaves the revolver.

I grab it from the rack and palm the ivory grip. Something niggles at me while I stare down at it, like mosquitos in the back of my head. I think about Daddy, lying in a pool of his own blood. Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down.

That hole in his forehead. So tiny and perfect. The back of his skull is probably in tatters, but except for that hole, the front is as white and pristine as Mrs. Smith’s alabaster vase.

No rifle would make such a tidy hole. My daddy was shot with a revolver, like the one I hold in my hand. No, maybe even a smaller gun, like one of those fancy new Colts. Do I know anyone who owns a new Colt revolver?

I sift through memories of everyone I know, but my mind fogs up again, and I can’t do it for all the gold in the world.

Jefferson. I need Jeff.

I run out the front door, leaving it swinging in the wind, and I leap over the steps and over Daddy’s body. I unhitch Peony, hike up my skirts, and use the wagon wheel to vault onto her back.