Rosalie brought the lamp closer to the bowl.
That was not an insect.
It was a thin piece of blackened metal covered in dried blood and wax.
But something tiny was wriggling around her, Kara.
A larva.
Rosalie felt nauseous.
Gideon watched her face, trying to understand.
She took the notebook.
You need a doctor.
He immediately denied it.
Doctors have already arrived.
Rosalie pointed at the object.
Then none of them looked closely enough.
The next morning they rode to Coldwater.
Dr. Samuel Mercer examined Gideon for almost an hour.
When he finished, his expression was grave.
—I can't promise that he will regain his hearing.
Rosalie nodded.
—But this didn't happen naturally —he continued.
He placed the metal piece on a cloth.
It looked like part of an ancient instrument.
-What is it?
Mercer swallowed hard.
—Something that probably remained inside his ear after a procedure.
Rosalie looked at Gideon.
Did you have surgery when you were a child?
He frowned.
After
wrote:
I remember men holding me down.
Below he added:
My father was there.
That afternoon they returned to the ranch.
Gideon opened for the first time an old trunk that he kept under his bed.
Inside were letters, documents, and a small account book belonging to his father.
Rosalie began to read.
Twenty-nine years ago, Gideon had suffered a serious infection.
But among the pages appeared a payment made to a doctor in Denver.
Next to the amount was a sentence:
Rook treatment. Guarantee permanent silence.
Rosalie felt cold.
Gideon read the words.
Her face changed.
Then they found another letter.
His father wrote that the boy had overheard a conversation that he should never repeat.
Gideon closed his eyes.
The memories came back slowly.
A stable.
Two men arguing.
Money.
A shot.
And a familiar voice.
Gideon picked up the pencil with trembling fingers.
Ashford.
Rosalie stopped breathing.
—My father?
Gideon nodded.
Before they could write more, they heard horses
approaching.
Rosalie looked out the window.
His father was standing in front of the house.
Merrick was with him.
Gideon still couldn't hear the hooves.
But Rosalie did.
His father got off his horse holding a shotgun.
—Rosalie— she shouted—, pick up your things.
She went out onto the porch.
—This is my house.
He smiled.
—Not for long.
He took out a document.
Fifty dollars had never simply been the price of a girlfriend.
