“Lily,” he said gently. “You haven’t hidden your children from me. I know what those marks are, and they’re not scars.” He let her break free of his loose grip. She didn’t turn away or even turn on her back. She remained on her side facing him and tucked her arms together. “Do you still cut yourself?”

  “Let it be, Roen.”

  “No. I won’t do that. Do you still cut yourself?”

  “No.”

  Roen had another question, but he held on to it a little longer to see if she would say more without prompting. When she did, he knew that waiting her out would always be the right thing to do. She needed time to collect her thoughts. He could give her that.

  “Sometimes I want to,” she whispered. “I don’t, though. I haven’t since shortly after Jeremiah died. The urge to do it hasn’t passed entirely; I simply have more reasons to resist it.”

  “What prompts the urge?”

  Lily didn’t hesitate. “Loathing.”

  “Of him?”

  “Of myself.”

  Roen wished he could make out her features, but she was turned away from the meager light from the stove, and her face was hidden in deep shadows. “Help me understand, Lily.” He found her cheek, brushed it with his fingertips. He was encouraged when she didn’t try to avoid his touch. “I want to understand.”

  “Hmm. I believe you. You would be served better by speaking to Ridley. She helped me to see the truth of what I was doing. She told me that she’d seen women in my situation do similar things. You can’t imagine what it was like to know I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I thought I was going mad or even that I was already there. I would cut on myself and be mesmerized by the tiny beads of blood, and I would know relief. That’s what you need to understand, Roen. Pain, the kind I brought on myself, gave me relief. The bloodletting gave me relief.”

  Roen nodded even though she couldn’t see him, even though he couldn’t grasp the totality of what she’d told him. She seemed to understand the reason for his silence because she unfolded her arms and reached for him. She took his hand in hers and squeezed gently.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I barely comprehend it myself.”

  “Don’t excuse me, Lily.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Tell me this,” he said, interrupting. “You said that sometimes you still feel the urge to harm yourself. Was the day I took you and Lizzie to the soda fountain one of those times?”

  It pained her to say so, but she knew he would see through the darkness to the lie. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it was one of those times.”

  Roen removed his hand from hers and dropped onto his back. He laid his forearm across his eyes. “God. That I forced your hand that day. It was unconscionable.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. You didn’t know, and in the end it was better for me that I went with you. Yes, it was difficult to do something outside my routine, and more difficult because it was with you—a man—someone who was hardly more than a stranger. I despised myself for being ill afterward. That feeling of weakness and inadequacy is paralyzing. Worst of all, Clay and Hannah suspected what had happened and why. So yes, I thought about using my scissors, my pins, my seam ripper, anything sharp, to find relief in the pain, but I didn’t do it, Roen. That is what is important. That is why it’s better that I went with you. I’m stronger for the experience. I’m learning that.”

  Roen uncovered his eyes. “Give me your hand.” She did, and he drew it to his heart and covered it with both his hands. “Do you feel that?”

  “Your heart? Yes.”

  “It’s yours, Lily. Nothing you say will change that. Now, do you feel strong enough to tell me what he did to you?”

  Her laugh was short, humorless, and just a little watery. She sniffed.

  “Are you crying?” Roen didn’t know why he asked. She’d deny it and he wouldn’t believe her. “Never mind. Come here.” She came willingly when he tugged, rolling against his side. He brought her head to rest in the cradle of his shoulder.

  “I don’t know what made me weepy.”

  “It’s all right. It doesn’t matter. You’re safe here.”

  Lily drew up the neckline of her nightgown to dab at her eyes and then pushed it back into place. She took a steadying breath. “I want to tell you. You might be the only person in Frost Falls who doesn’t know at least some version of what went on during my marriage.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Some. Not as much as you might think. There was a time when I would have answered your question differently. I would have told you why Jeremiah did the things he did to me. I was an inadequate, miserable wife. I couldn’t satisfy him in the kitchen, in public, or in the bedroom. He was the hard worker. I was lazy. He didn’t like to see me sitting because he was on his feet all day. He said I coddled his children, that I was turning Clay into a mama’s boy. I couldn’t fix my hair the way he liked it. I didn’t dress his children properly. Dinner was late. Dinner was early. Dinner was cold. I burnt the coffee. The floor wasn’t clean. I used too many lamps. I spent too much at the butcher. There were so many things I did wrong, but when he was drinking, everything could be exactly as he wished and it still wouldn’t be right.

  “Ben wanted me to press charges or take the children and leave. I wouldn’t. Jeremiah loved us, I told him, and I believed it. He provided for us, and we were dependent on him. I was his wife and it was my duty to stay with him. For better or worse. It didn’t matter that it was almost always worse. I never once thought that I could raise the children without him.”

  Roen took in every word, glad for the dark that kept her from seeing him wince. He had asked, so he was duty bound to listen. “And how do you answer my question now?”

  “He punched me, threw me to the ground, and kicked me. He dislocated my shoulder so often I mostly could put it back on my own. I had black eyes, a swollen jaw. He broke my fingers. He liked to put his hands around my neck until I almost passed out, and when I was as limp as a ragdoll, he’d release me. I fell down the stairs trying to get away from him. I still have a slight limp when I’m tired because of the time I hurt my knee. Jeremiah had fists as big as hams, or it seemed that way. He could drive the breath from my lungs with a single blow. I lost a child that he didn’t know about because he punched me in the belly. For a long time I thought there was a possibility that I somehow encouraged him to hit me there. Perhaps you’ll think it was wrong of me, but I didn’t want the child.

  “The law doesn’t account for a husband raping his wife, and I didn’t either back then, but I know now that’s what it was to be in bed with him. He raped me.”

  “Jesus,” Roen said under his breath. Lily fell quiet for a time and Roen did nothing to coax more from her. If she hadn’t exhausted herself, she was nearing that end.

  “I loved him,” said Lily. “Or I convinced myself I did. You might think that I married young, but I was almost twenty-one. I knew he liked his drink before I married him, but I was naïve enough to believe I could change that. He never struck me while he was courting me, although it was a brief courtship. I am primarily responsible for that. I wanted to leave home. I spent years caring for my mother, who complained of one malady after another and insisted she needed me close. Doc Dunlop saw her regularly back then and he told me that she was a malingerer, and that if I let her, she’d make me her lifelong captive. My father left years earlier. My brother married and moved away. I believed I was doing my daughter’s duty by her. It was Doc who made me wonder if that were true.”

  Roen squeezed her hand. “Frying pan into the fire.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “I left my mother for Jeremiah, traded one cage for another. Mother, by the way, moved to Denver shortly before my wedding. She lives with her sister and is doing very well according to my aunt, so Doc wasn’t wrong in his estimation of her illnesses.”

  Roen nodded. “When did the abuse begin?”

  “The denigration began within weeks of marrying. There were so many things I couldn’t do to meet his expectations. You probably know how I responded to that.”

  “You tried harder.”

  “Yes. I wanted to please him.” She sighed. “I couldn’t. It’s another thing I know now that I didn’t understand then. For years, I truly believed I was at a fault. If he hit me, I thought I must deserve it. If he berated me, it was because it was justified. I can give you dozens of examples of how I disappointed him, and you will shake your head because you’ll see right through to the truth and know no one could have satisfied him. Violence was in his nature. Drinking unleashed it, but so did I, or I believed I did.”

  It was difficult for Roen to reconcile the strength he saw in Lily now with the subjugated woman she had been, but he trusted every word of her account. “Did he hurt the children?”

  “No. Not intentionally. Sometimes Clay would put himself in harm’s way trying to protect me and get swatted or fall, but Jeremiah never turned on them. I’ve often wondered if he had struck them whether I would have left him. I think I would have, and I think he knew it. He never crossed that line.”

  “You would have left,” said Roen. “I know it as well as your husband knew it. Believe it, Lily. You would have gone.”

  Lily slipped her hand out from under his. She lifted one of his hands in hers, bent his fingers, and pressed her mouth to his knuckles. “Thank you for that. Thank you for trusting me to do it.”

  “You said that people knew what was happening inside your marriage. Did anyone try to help you?”

  “Doc did. Doc Dunlop at first, and when he left, it was Ridley who treated me.”

  “I understand, but they took an oath to do that. What about other folks?”

  “Ben. Once he became sheriff, he more or less made it his mission to get me out of my situation.”

  “And when was that?”

  She thought back. “About four months before Jeremiah died.”

  “Lily. You were married at least ten years when he died, and you’re telling me Ben intervened only in the last four months?”

  “I will not tolerate you being critical of him,” she said firmly. “He was a deputy for five years before and he did what he could, mostly at Sheriff Brewer’s direction. You need to understand, Roen, that I didn’t want their interference. I discouraged it. It was worse for me when they’d lock Jeremiah up and then release him a day or so later. I didn’t acknowledge that my husband hurt me, and even if people suspected or knew for a fact it was happening, I was grateful for them pretending it was otherwise. I had my children and I had my pride. Folks obliged me. I was gratified that they spared me the humiliation.”

  “So you were alone.”

  “For a lot of years that was true, and I accept that it was by my choice. What I didn’t know was that people had never stopped being concerned. Behind my back, Ben presented the draft of a law to the town council that would make it a crime for a husband to beat his wife. Before that, if I’d pressed charges, enforcement of the existing law would have been difficult because Jeremiah and I were married.”

  “The law passed?” he asked.

  “It did. Unanimously. They barely had time to record it in the books when Jeremiah was killed.”

  “Then it never helped you.”

  “On the contrary. It helped me to know that there were people who cared deeply. The thinking had turned against men like Jeremiah. I thought because I blamed myself for how he treated me that folks also blamed me. That wasn’t true, at least not in the main. Amanda Springer supported the law. So did Ridley Madison. They were important voices on my behalf because I no longer had one.”

  “And this all took place before Jeremiah died?”

  “Mm-hmm. He felt as if the entire town had him in its sights. He knew the law targeted him.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They called it Lily’s Law.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Martin Cabot did not acknowledge Victorine’s presence when she joined him in the dining room. He stared morosely at the meal he had only picked at. The roast was still hot. The aroma teased him but he had no appetite for it or the potatoes. He pushed the carrots around before he finally stabbed one and carried it to his mouth.

  “For God’s sake,” said Victorine. “What is wrong with you?” She swept her skirt aside, sat opposite him, and spread a napkin across what passed for her lap. She might have glowered at her swollen belly if other diners weren’t glancing in her direction. Raising a hand, she gestured to the waitress who was setting down beer at another table. When the young woman finally attended her, Victorine ordered the special and curtly waved her away. “Well?” she asked. Her pointed, impatient expression was lost on Martin because he still didn’t look up. She picked up her fork and tapped the tines against the edge of his plate.

  Martin looked up, annoyed and not pretending that he wasn’t. “I didn’t invite you to sit here.”

  “As I’m ultimately paying for your meal, I’ll sit here if I like, and I like knowing that sitting here is an aggravation to you. There is so little in Frost Falls that gives me pleasure, I take it where I can.” She withdrew her fork. “Now, what is it? Something to do with Roen Shepard?”

  Rather than answering, Martin posed a question of his own. “Why are you still here, Miss Headley? It’s been every bit of ten days since I told you all there is to know about Shepard and his wife, and you’ve not spoken to him since. You’ve made no overture to Mrs. Shepard either. What is your purpose for staying here?”

  “That’s my business, isn’t it? Do you have somewhere to be? Another job waiting for you back in New York?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m paying you well enough, am I not?” She didn’t wait for him to respond this time. “Your questions are of no account. Mine, however, are.”

  Martin was saved from answering by the delivery of Victorine’s dinner.

  Victorine watched the departure of the plump brunette and then turned her attention to her meal. “Mrs. Butterworth has finally seen fit to respond to my concerns about that little China girl. She hasn’t served me once all week, and I can say I am most appreciative. My digestive system is similarly grateful.”

  “She’s gone,” Martin said flatly.

  Victorine found her roast beef was fork tender. She lifted a piece to her mouth. “Who’s gone?”

  Martin watched her take a bite and chew with a clear expression of enjoyment. She was oblivious to anything save her own needs and pleasures. He didn’t have the liberty of scowling at her so he relied on his perfectly dull features to keep her at a distance. It had been a mistake to allow her to see that he didn’t want her company.

  “The China girl,” he said. “She’s been gone a week.”

  “Hmm.” Victorine speared a trio of carrot medallions. “I hadn’t realized that was the case. Let go, I presume.”

  “No. She left for another position.”

  Victorine raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why do you know so much about it?”

  “I was curious. I asked.” He’d actually followed Fedora the day after she didn’t show up at the hotel, but that was not something Victorine needed to know.

  “Good riddance, I say. The hotel is much improved by her absence. She’s gone from Frost Falls, then?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Not that I care in the least, but I can see that you want to tell me. I’ll bite. Where is she now?”

  Martin didn’t believe for a moment that his countenance was communicating a desire to tell Victorine anything. She wanted to know what had become of Fedora to indulge her penchant for prying. “A family here in town hired her as their housekeeper.”

  Victorine’s features were distorted by her revulsion. “Someone wants her in their home? That is beyond my understanding.”

  “You’re making that abundantly clear.”

  Victorine replaced repugnance with a bland smile and continued eating. When Martin offered no other information, she had little choice but to ask for it. “So? You seem to know so much, where is she now?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  Martin shrugged. “Do you anticipate remaining here long enough to give birth? What is that? Three months from now?”

  “I thought I was clear that your probing is unwelcome.”

  “It occurred to me that you will want to see the doctor, and I wondered if you knew who she is.”

  “I could hardly not be aware. Mrs. Butterworth has recommended her daughter-in-law to me on more than one occasion.”

  “Ah. Of course. I should have guessed that. I confess that I’m surprised that Mr. Shepard hasn’t approached you since your first meeting. He must be very certain the child isn’t his.”

  “He’s not certain at all. He can’t be. Roen is simply waiting. He’s very good at that.”

  “Have you considered that he doesn’t know you’re still here?”

  “No.” Taken aback by this possibility, Victorine’s fork hovered halfway between her plate and her mouth as she gave it real thought. “No,” she said again after a few moments. “He knows. You told me yourself that he stops here to pick up food when he’s going out on survey. I am sure he asks after me.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? From my vantage point, Mr. Shepard seems supremely uninterested in your whereabouts.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You could always rise early and be here when he arrives. That would assure that he knows you’re present.”

  “Perhaps I will,” she said airily. “But it begs the question why are you so eager to provoke a confrontation?”

  “I am not eager to provoke anything. I am merely being thorough.”

  Victorine regarded him skeptically. “I am unconvinced, Mr. Cabot.”