HORSES POUNDED UP THE LANE as Father and his men returned. Alerted to their arrival, Whitney and I joined Bowden, Knox, and Kipling, who had eventually retired to the chairs on the veranda. The horsemen’s silhouettes bounced up and down in the light of the moon, their bodies casting shadows like moving mountains across the open fields. They arrived in the center of the front yard, exhausted and tight-faced. Father dismounted promptly and dispatched his men around the plantation. “And be on high alert,” he barked.

“What is it, Father?” His strained manner worried me.

“They weren’t there. Barry said no one had seen them all night. They may have caught wind we were coming.”

“They were masked, Father, and they didn’t know I recognized them.”

“Yes, I remember. This means they are still out there somewhere. We start our search again at first light. Not a stone remains unturned. If we can’t round them up by tomorrow eve, then I will go to town and inform the sheriff of their wrongdoing. I will put out a reward for their capture.” He licked his lips as he paced, his eyes fierce.

Who was this man? I’d never seen this side of Father before. Was it because Rufus dared to damage his property? Or did Father care that harm had come to me? Mary Grace was but a slave to Father; it couldn’t be that.

Bowden approached Father. “Sir, we are at your service if you require our help here tonight.”

“No, Bowden, we will manage for the night. But I will need your help in the morning. Get your rest tonight.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll leave Gray here to stay with Mary Grace,” Bowden offered.

Father started to protest the black man sleeping in his house, but I silenced him with, “How dare you! Is her life not as important as mine because she is a slave?” I glared at him.

“No, Willow, I didn’t mean…” Father rubbed a hand over his weary face. “Forgive me, daughter; I’ve been unable to think straight since we found you. I’m trying.”

I capitulated at the look of hopelessness on his face. “Very well, Father. Gray will sleep in the house with his wife.” I turned to my friends. “Thank you all for your love and support. Please make sure Whitney makes it home safely, will you, Knox?”

“Of course I will, Willow,” a somber Knox replied.

We said our final goodbyes and when they’d vanished into the night, I excused myself and went inside.

Washed up and alone in my room, I realized I hadn’t eaten since morning when my stomach started churning and I felt nauseous. I wrapped a dressing gown around myself and took the back stairs down to the warming kitchen in search of a light meal. The house was still and the lanterns were turned low.

A glass of milk in hand and a piece of my birthday cake in the other, I started for the stairs, but voices coming from Father’s study drew my attention. The study door was closed, but there was no denying the heated voice of Father and that of another man. Placing my ear to the door, I listened in on the conversation.

“You had one job and it was to watch her, and you couldn’t even do that.” Father’s angry voice said.

“Charles, I understand you’re angry. Trust me! I’m upset that she could’ve been harmed worse than she was. I’ve watched over her all these years and I failed her. If anything had happened to her…” I heard remorse in the man’s voice.

“At least we share this in common. You need to leave. You’ve been exposed too long. My men and I will take care of the search tomorrow,” Father said firmly.

“But I need to aid in the search, after what happened before, and now,” the stranger replied.

“No!” Father snapped. “You made me a promise. I expect you to abide by your word. You should go back to the shadows where you belong.”

There was shuffling, and the door handle moved. I ran into the darkness under the staircase, but peered out as the men exited the study. My heart jumped into my throat. The stranger from earlier? I tried to widen my eyes, wishing the swelling would ease so I could see more clearly.

No words passed between Father and the stranger as Father saw him to the door and closed the door behind him. He was too far away to see his expression, but his next words chilled me to the core.

“Oh, Olivia…why?” he wailed.

The voice of Father calling my mother’s name drummed in my head like a gong as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. For years I’d speculated about my mother and longed to know more of her. Now—in one day—I had heard her mentioned more than ever before. I needed answers. Who was this woman who was being kept from me? The woman Father seemed to want to forget—but in a time of sorrow, called on? My mind was filled with questions, and I was determined to get answers.