Page 28 of Whispers of Helena
“Go to sleep, Silas,” she whispers, her voice a soft command.
“Yes, little dove,” I murmur, the words slipping past my lips as my eyes fall closed, heavy with fever and exhaustion. As sleep claims me, her calming presence remains, like a gentle whisper.
Questions
Helena
He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.
Psalm 101:7
Silas is stillasleep upstairs when a sharp knock on the front door jolts me from the rhythm of breakfast dishes. The clatter of plates ceases, replaced by a growing unease. Drying my hands on a towel, I move toward the entryway, but the sound of voices halts me. Eli’s distinct tone carries from outside, and I pivot toward the side window.
Peering out, I see him emerging from the barn, his long strides measured. He’s heading toward the front porch, where a figure stands and I instantly recognize the man wearing the broad-brimmed hat. The sheriff from the diner.
My stomach tightens as I slip into the living room, hiding behind the thin curtain, my eyes trained on the two men.
“Eli,” the sheriff greets, tipping his hat.
“Sheriff,” Eli replies evenly, extending his hand. The gesture is smooth and calm. “What brings you by?”
“There were shots fired on the Everly property last night,” the sheriff begins wearily. “Barrett claims he heard unfamiliar voices, something in the line of trees that border the property. Did you notice anything unusual on your land?”
Without missing a beat, Eli shakes his head. “No, sir. Quiet night here.”
The sheriff’s shoulders sag slightly as he rubs his jaw, frustration evident. “Alright. Just keep an eye out. Tell your hands to stay close to the herd. No wandering.”
Eli’s expression hardens. “Barrett or his men see anything more? Any leads?” I study Eli’s face, impressed.
The sheriff continues, “No evidence, no witnesses, just bodies with rope burns. And every damn rancher in the county uses ropes. Short of testing every single one, we’re at a loss.”
Eli nods slowly, a picture of quiet empathy. “It’s a tragedy, losing those boys. I hope something breaks for you soon.”
The sheriff’s lips press into a thin line. “Barrett’s holding on, but it’s eating him up. My men are ready for this nightmare to end.”
“Aren’t we all?” Eli says with a sigh. “Did Barrett see which way the rider went?”
“Into their trees near the main road,” the sheriff replies grimly. “After that, nothing.”
The sheriff claps Eli on the shoulder. “Well, I’ve got more stops to make. Let me know if you hear anything.”
“You’ll be the first,” Eli assures him.
The sheriff tips his hat again, heading toward his patrol car. Eli stands motionless on the porch, watching the vehicle disappear down the driveway. Only when the taillights fade completely does he exhale and let his shoulders drop.
I push the door open, stepping outside, my voice low but biting. “It was Silas, wasn’t it?”
Frustration clouds Eli's face as he turns. “He’s got to be more careful. Barrett won’t let this go.”
“Why, Eli? What is going on?” My voice cracks with desperation, but Eli shakes his head.
“You need to ask Silas,” he says firmly. “It’s not my place to tell you.”
His expression softens as he wipes his face with a handkerchief. “How’s he holding up?”
“Fever,” I reply. “I started antibiotics.”
Eli smirks, a trace of humor slipping through. “Mood?”
