"For both of us," Mary said.

"I don't believe for a moment that Mama wants it to be this way. She just doesn't know how to change it." Mary raised her cup and sipped.

The tea was flavored with honey and it soothed her throat.

"I thought we were making some progress when we were at Maggie's.

Mama's mood was lighter. She was tolerant of Maggie and me discussing my decision to leave the order." Mary's smile was wry.

"Or at least she didn't run from the room when the subject came up."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Mary said.

"At least it was nothing that Mama did. I suppose it was my attitude that was altered then." Seeing Rennie's puzzled expression, Mary sighed.

"It was while we were preparing to leave the Double H. Mama and Maggie were having a last-minute chat in the kitchen while I was finishing the packing. I found one of Mama's gowns still in the wardrobe so I opened her trunk to put it away." Mary was caught off guard by the sudden welling of tears in her eyes. Trying to compose herself, she ducked her head. The teacup and saucer rattled slightly, and she set them aside. She gave Rennie a watery smile as a handkerchief was pressed into her hands.

"Thank you." She swiped at her eyes, then crushed the handkerchief in her fist. Rennie knelt in front of the chair where Mary sat and placed her hands over her sister's.

"What was in the trunk?" she asked quietly.

"Mary? What did you find in Mama's trunk?" Mary had to draw a breath before she could answer.

"A habit," she said, her voice low.

"I found a habit. Mama's been carrying it across the country in her trunk." Rennie's shoulders sagged. She didn't know for whom she felt sorrier, Mary or her mother.

"Did she expect that you'd change your mind somewhere along the route?"

she asked.

"It's worse than that."

"Worse?"

"It isn't my habit." Rennie's eyes widened.

"Not yours?"

"Not mine. I think it was made for Mama." Mary noticed that Rennie looked as if she needed to sit down. At a loss to understand herself, Mary shrugged helplessly.

"It's hard to say how her life might have been different if she hadn't come to America or met Jay Mac. I don't know what went through her mind when she packed it, but I know what went through mine when I saw it. It was a message meant for me." The tightening of her jaw was imperceptible at first; then, as memory and emotion swept through her, it became so clenched that a muscle worked in her cheek. She had been nearly blind with rage. Even now she could feel her heart accelerating with the fierceness of her anger. Afraid of what she might say, Mary wouldn't give words to it now. Rennie understood the reason for Mary's silence. She squeezed her sister's hands gently and remained at her side for a few more minutes. When she got to her feet she said softly, "She hasn't stopped loving you, you know."

The knot in Mary's stomach was only slightly larger than the one in her throat. She looked away from Rennie's searching, knowing eyes.

It only feels that way, she thought. Then again, as if to convince herself, it only feels that way. Harry Bishop set a chair in the corridor just a foot from the iron bars of Ryder's cell. Florence thanked him curtly and sat down. She used her cane as an extension of her hand to shoo him away. She didn't speak until the door to the guardroom was firmly closed.

"Don't you have anything to say?" she demanded when Ryder merely sat on his cot facing the opposite wall. He turned in her direction slowly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, that's a fine greeting." Florence attempted to keep her voice crisp, but anxiety threaded her voice. It had been nearly nine hours since the sentencing had been handed down at noon. Ryder McKay had less than forty-eight hours to live.

"I.

mean it, Florence, you shouldn't be here. If General Gardner finds out-"

"Let me worry about my son."

"And there's Harry Bishop," Ryder said.

"He can't rely on the general's good graces." Ryder knew Florence had resorted to paying off the guard in order to continue her visits to the stockade. The arrangement had worked satisfactorily for months, but there was always the risk of discovery. Over time his protests had become halfhearted but he made them because it was expected. Florence Gardner, he suspected, enjoyed the intrigue and secretly liked pooh-poohing the danger.

"I didn't expect you'd come this evening," he said.

"I didn't see you after the sentencing." Florence had stayed in her room while sentence was being passed. She couldn't join the officers'

wives who waited in the courtyard, eager for the final judgment. Her opinion that Ryder McKay was innocent of the charges was an unpopular one, especially since there was no evidence to support it. For Florence, the fact that her son was handing down the sentence made the proceedings intolerable.

"I didn't want to be there," she explained. Now she came to the point of her visit.

"Your uncle was present, though."

"I saw him."

"Oh? He said you didn't glance in his direction." Ryder's features settled in a remote mask that shuttered his thoughts. He continued to look at Florence, but didn't respond.

"He wanted to see you this evening," she said.

"Joshua permitted it, but the senator told me you didn't want him here."

"He came, but he left after a few minutes."

"And you never spoke to him."

"That's right."

Florence's lined face was grave, her eyes sad.

"Wilson Stillwell believes in you," she said.

"He came here because he wanted to help." Ryder decided not to disabuse her of the notion.

"Is that why you came tonight?" he asked.

"To persuade me to see him again?" She had enough good sense not to lie.

"That was part of it."

"And the other part?" Her throat began to close, but she continued to look at Ryder steadily. His cleanly defined features were calm, but the light gray eyes were penetrating.