“No proper wagon would use a crate for that.”
“No proper carpenter would argue with the man giving orders.”
Silas slid a folded slip across the bench.
The figures were precise, though he had omitted the reason for the order.
Daniel read them and memorized the unusual width.
He would be expected to finish by Thursday.
The crates were meant for a wagon he had seen at the mill.
Silas leaned closer.
“You’ve always been clever, Carter.”
“Clever enough to know the work isn’t mine to refuse.”
“That’s right.”
The overseer glanced at the doorway.
“There’s another thing.”
Daniel waited.
“Somebody says you saw a woman near the western house last winter.”
“I did work there.”
“A woman with a scar on her chin.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
His mother had carried a small white scar beneath her left ear.
It had come from a childhood fall.
Silas watched his face with open interest.
“Does that sound familiar?”
“I’ve seen many people with scars.”
The answer cost Daniel more than he allowed himself to show.
Silas tapped the paper.
“Make the crates, and maybe we can speak about family.”
He turned away before Daniel could answer.
Daniel waited until the overseer disappeared behind the stable.
Then he folded the slip and tucked it into his boot.
He had a clear threat and a possible lead.
He could not tell whether Silas truly knew Ruth’s whereabouts or had simply learned enough to use her name as bait.
When Isaiah arrived, Daniel explained the order.
Isaiah’s face hardened.
“We shouldn’t build those.”
“If I refuse, he’ll have another carpenter do it.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll learn where they’re going.”
Isaiah stared at the dimensions.
“This isn’t a plan to save anybody.”
“Not yet.”
“Daniel, we’ve been saying not yet for years.”
Daniel put down the ruler.
“I know.”
They were silent until the first workers crossed the yard.
Daniel wanted to promise his friend he would not endanger Hannah or Samuel.
He could make no honest promise of that kind.
Instead he told Isaiah where he had hidden the pages from his father.
“If something happens to me, the names must get out.”
Isaiah looked at him with exhausted anger.
“I would rather have you alive to carry them.”
“So would I.”
They began cutting wood while the yard filled with the sounds of another ordinary day.
No one watching would have known that every measurement on their bench was part of an approaching crisis.
