It started to make sense to him, why he hadn’t felt a part of his family for so long. Why Mac seemed to favor Cal. Why Cal was the one named after Mac, not Will—Cal was Mac’s true son, not Will.

Will was that odious Jacob Johnson’s son. Or his brother. Or Mama’s brother—and Will’s mind stopped working again. What had Mama done?

He thought he’d never sleep, but finally, when the narrow sliver of moon shone through cracks in the roof, he dozed.

Mac arrived home from Portland around supper time that evening, drained after his discussions with Ladd about establishing a bank. Mac wanted to open a banking office in Oregon City, but Ladd insisted Portland was the better location. Since Ladd possessed greater funds to invest than Mac, Ladd’s opinion prevailed. He would continue his work to incorporate the bank, but he still wanted Mac as an investor.

Mac brought connections with banks in the East to their enterprise, and he agreed to write his brother Owen to establish a link between his family’s Boston bank and the new operation in Oregon. With an established partnership in Oregon and New England, they could better attract shipping clients. The law required the banks to remain separate corporations, but good relationships between the two banks could get around the lack of a formal legal relationship.

Mac let himself into the house. Jenny came into the foyer, and their children—all but Will—rushed past her to greet him.

Jenny hung back, her face pale. He worried about her and the baby, and after brief hugs, he sent the children into the parlor. “What’s wrong?” he asked his wife.

“It’s happened,” she whispered. “The worst.”

“What?” He frowned, immediately concerned. Had she lost the baby?

“Come. We need to talk.” She turned and started up the stairs.

Mac called to Maria to watch the younger children, then followed Jenny to their bedroom.

She sat on the bed and pulled him down beside her. “Jacob Johnson—it was him. He was here this morning. Will and Maria saw him.”

Mac’s stomach clenched, but he kept his fingers gentle as he brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. “Did he hurt you again? Or the children?”

“He grabbed me. And choked Will.”

Mac made a guttural sound and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Jenny.”

“I’m all right,” she said, though Mac didn’t believe her. “It’s Will.”

“Is he hurt?” Mac asked. The boy was not used to physical violence.

“He ran away.” Jenny stood and paced the rug. “He heard me say Johnson might be his father. Or one of the other two.”

She didn’t have to say anything more—Mac had been there. Not the day Jenny was raped, but the day the three men had come after her again. Jacob Johnson and his father Isaac. And Bart Peterson, Jenny’s stepfather. Mac killed Isaac that day, and Jenny shot Jacob. The craven Peterson stood there, doing nothing. Then Mac fled, taking Jenny with him.

“Where’s the boy now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “He left. He didn’t let me explain. I’m so afraid for him.”

“And Maria? You said she was there?”

“She had your rifle. She chased Jacob away.” Even now, Mac noticed, Jenny called the villain “Jacob.” They’d known each other as children in Missouri. But he’d proved to be an enemy, not a friend. “You should have seen her,” Jenny continued.

Mac smiled. Consuela had been fearless. He wasn’t surprised her daughter took after her.

“But she’s been crying all afternoon. You need to talk to her,” Jenny said. “And you have to go after Will. Find him.”

“What about you?” Mac asked. “And the baby?”

Jenny hugged her stomach. “I almost forgot the baby. This is about William. We must tell him the truth. He can’t live knowing only part of it. You need to find him.”

Mac sighed, his head pounding—he had no idea where Will might have gone. “Let’s give it until morning. Maybe he’ll come home.”

Chapter 14: Finding Will

Jenny couldn’t sleep that night. Visions of Johnson, then and now, raced through her mind. She laid awake, listening for Will to return, but only heard Mac snoring softly beside her.

At dawn, she nudged him. “Mac,” she whispered, “William still isn’t home. You have to go after him.”

Mac grunted and slowly awoke. “Where do you think he went?”

“I don’t know.” Her stomach tightened.

“Then where do you suggest I search?” He sounded testy, but he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. “Did you talk to the sheriff about Johnson yesterday?”

“No. Do you think we should?”

Mac swore. “The man attacked you, Jenny. You and Will both. And scared the living daylights out of Maria. He’s a violent criminal.” He began to dress. “I’ll go see Sheriff Thomas right after breakfast.”

“What will you tell him? You can’t let rumors spread around town about us.”

Mac turned to her. “You did nothing wrong. Not then, and not now.”

“But Mac, we never wanted Will to find out—”

“I won’t tell the sheriff any more than necessary to convince him to go after Johnson.”

And Jenny had to accept Mac’s assurances.

As soon as Mac ate, he headed to the sheriff’s office. “A man attacked my wife and son yesterday,” he told Sheriff Thomas. “Jacob Johnson is his name. My wife and I knew him back in Missouri.”

“What happened, McDougall?” the sheriff asked. His deputy, a man named Albee, looked up from cleaning his rifle.

Mac and Sheriff Calvin Thomas had known each other for years. Mac had joined several posses at the lawman’s request. Still, he weighed how much to tell the sheriff about their past with Johnson. “He and his father Isaac assaulted Jenny in Missouri, shortly before we headed to Oregon in forty-seven. I defended Jenny, and Isaac Johnson died in the fight. It seems Jacob has not forgiven us. I don’t know why he’s in Oregon City now, but he came to our house yesterday. That’s when he hurt Jenny and our son.”

“Why didn’t you report it immediately?” the sheriff said.

“I wasn’t home. My wife was afraid of leaving the house.”

“And your son?” Albee asked. “Which one was it?”

“Will.” This was the part Mac had difficulty explaining. “He ran away afterward. We haven’t seen him all night.”