Augustus did not look at him.
Caleb continued.
“The examination documented bruising around Grace’s left wrist, ribs, and throat.
It recorded a shallow knife wound below her right side.
It also estimated that her pregnancy had begun at least seven weeks before the festival.”
The implication moved slowly through the church, then all at once.
Nathaniel was not the baby’s father.
He was something worse.
A woman in the second pew covered her mouth.
One of Augustus Vale’s miners stood, then sat again when Augustus turned his head.
Reverend Whitaker’s hands began to shake.
“Grace, why did you not bring this to me?”
Grace looked at him for a long moment.
“Because you brought me here before you asked whether I was hurt.”
The words stripped him of every defense.
Nathaniel forced a laugh.
“Bruises do not prove a name.”
“No,” Caleb agreed.
“That is why there is more.”
He removed a folded square of cloth from the folder and placed it on the Bible.
Inside rested a silver cuff link shaped like a serpent curled around a black stone.
Augustus Vale looked down at his own cuffs.
One bore the identical design.
Nathaniel’s right wrist was bare.
The congregation noticed.
Nathaniel shoved his hand into his coat pocket.
“She stole it.”
Grace’s eyes hardened.
Caleb said, “From where?”
Nathaniel answered too quickly.
“From the shed, when she tore at my sleeve.”
The room went still.
Nobody had said where the cuff link was found.
Nobody had said Grace tore it from him.
Caleb let Nathaniel’s words remain in the air.
Nathaniel realized what he had done.
His mouth opened, but no explanation came.
Augustus seized his son’s shoulder.
“Say nothing else.”
Caleb turned another page.
“Two witnesses saw Nathaniel follow Grace behind the festival stalls.
One saw him leave the shed with blood across his cheek and one cuff missing.
A third heard Grace crying after he rode away.”
Nathaniel’s hand rose unconsciously to the thin scar near his jaw.
Grace had left it there with a broken piece of lantern glass.
The memory struck her so sharply that the church walls seemed to tilt.
She felt rough boards again.
She smelled spilled cider and lamp smoke.
She heard Nathaniel telling her that men disappeared in Silver Crest shafts every winter.
Then Caleb’s fingers touched the back of her hand.
Not gripping.
Not claiming.
Reminding.
She was in the church.
The doors were open.
Nathaniel no longer had a knife beneath her ribs.
