“Good grief, child, what were you thinking? Going down to Durango like you were a spy.” Mammaw hugged her tight, her hands like knots against Cameryn’s back. Her grandmother smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “You could have been killed. And you cut school. You cut school and took off. That’ll land you in trouble.”

“I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”

“Your father’ll be here any minute. Oh, don’t look so worried, girl. We’re both so relieved you’re all right that nothing else matters. Have you seen Hannah?”

“I tried to call but she hasn’t picked up. I thought maybe later I could go over to the Wingate and check on her.”

“Let’s see what your father has to say.”

Cameryn heard the tires crunch in their driveway, followed by the bang of the kitchen door. She could feel the coolness of the Silverton air waft through the room, although that wasn’t what made her shiver with goose bumps.

She saw him then, filling the doorway, but he didn’t pause. Engulfing her in a bear hug, he yanked her to her feet and up into his arms, so that her toes barely touched the floor. As he kissed the side of her head roughly, he said, “Cammie, Cammie, Cammie, thank God you’re safe.”

“I’m okay, Dad,” she murmured into his sweater. She could smell wet wool and the faint scent of his new after-shave, could hear the beating of his heart and feel the coarseness of his chin against her forehead.

“You’re my only child,” he told her, swaying her in his arms. “What would I do if something happened to you? What would I do then?”

Quietly, she answered, “I caught the killers.”

He pulled away and stared. “You could have been shot. Come here. Sit down.”

With his arm still around her, Patrick sank into the sofa, pulling her next to him. “I heard from Jacobs. He told me there’s a graveyard for Fundamentalist girls who try to run. So far, they’ve found three others buried in the sand. Esther would have been the fourth.”

Cameryn thought about this. She could hear a Christmas carol playing in the kitchen, soft and sweet. It was almost impossible to picture a life so different from her own. And yet, somewhere in Arizona there was a graveyard with young girls who had attempted to leave a life of forced marriage. Young, blonde slaves from the twenty-first century. She felt herself shiver again. “Why were they so angry with Ruth?”

“Because for a while she opened her home to the runaways. It was a safe house. That is, until Seth and Nephi found out and threatened her family. This time, when Esther showed up, Ruth gave her new clothes and a backpack, but she wouldn’t let her stay.”

“Oh, the poor woman,” said Mammaw. “That’s a lot of guilt she’ll be feeling.”

“If she hid the truth before, she’s not hiding it now. She’s in the hospital, recovering from a broken nose and shattered cheek. Remind me to send her flowers first thing in the morning.” Touching Cameryn’s cheek with his finger, her father said, “You should never have done what you did, and I could ground you forever-but you saved lives today.”

“Hannah’s life,” Cameryn added quietly. “I think I saved her life, too.”

“You very well could have. The case against her was circumstantial, but people have gone to prison on circumstantial evidence before.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Cammie, you ultimately got to the truth. But… because of your mother, you withheld evidence in a murder case. Last summer you sat in that kitchen and begged me to hire you as assistant to the coroner. Your grandmother hated the idea.”

"She still does.”

“I’m beginning to accept it,” her mammaw interjected. “Beginning,” she added when Cameryn shot her a look. Mammaw had dropped into the easy chair and picked up a large cloth Madame Alexander doll that needed a leg. With a hooked needle, she began to reattach a new limb, her hand moving as fluidly, Cameryn thought, as a surgeon’s.

“When I put you on the payroll, you agreed to work for me. Not just father and daughter,” he reminded her, “but employee and boss. Remember?”

She nodded.

“I want to talk to you now as your boss. You knew things about Esther’s death that could have been crucial, yet you withheld the facts. Cammie, that’s obstruction of justice. That’s a very, very serious mistake.”

“But it didn’t matter-it doesn’t matter. I was right, wasn’t I? Hannah didn’t do it. She didn’t have anything to do with Esther’s death.”

Her father rubbed his hand over his eyes. “That’s not the point. As a coroner, as medical examiners, our job is to reveal the facts. Reveal, Cammie, not conceal. There could have been legal ramifications for what you did.”

“You mean legal ramifications for finding the truth?”

“You are not listening. If you were anyone else, you’d be fired. Do you understand?” He shook his head as she pleaded justification. “There is none,” he said. “But we’ll put this behind us and move forward. Because now I want to talk about your mother.”

She knew where this was going, what he was about to say, but he surprised her. In a tender voice, he began, “Your mammaw and I talked, and we-I-Cammie, neither one of us has been fair to you. Or to Hannah.”

She looked at him, disbelieving. Mammaw nodded her head while keeping her eyes on her needle and murmuring agreement. Ever since Hannah had reentered her life, Cameryn had felt as though they’d been locked in battle. Her grandmother’s cantankerousness had equaled her father’s firmness, and she, Cameryn, had matched both in her own quiet, stubborn way. But now the rules seemed to be changing. They were lining up together again, on the same side, the same team.

Patrick’s heavy brows came together, creating a pleat between his eyes. “When your mother got… sick… I couldn’t take it. But you’ve stuck by her. I’m proud of you for that.”

“You have Amy Green now,” she told him. “And you have Mammaw. Hannah’s got no one but me.”

“That was a mistake. My mistake. Our mistake. So I called her.” His face contorted and his voice wavered as he said, “It’s the first time I’ve talked to Hannah in almost fourteen years.”

“It was the right thing to do,” agreed Mammaw. “I see it now. It will be hard for us, but your father and I will try. We’re going to try to make room for us all.”

Cameryn sat, too stunned to speak. The flames of the fireplace danced as she tried to comprehend.

“I asked her to come to the house and she said yes,” Patrick continued.

“Hannah? Here? When?”

“Any minute now. In fact, I think she’s here.”

Through the window Cameryn saw a figure make its way up the steps, heard the timid rap on the door. Leaping to her feet, she opened the door to see Hannah’s pale face.

“Is this okay?” Hannah asked, her voice cautious.

Cameryn’s eyes filled with tears as she threw the door wider. Light from the house brightened her mother’s curly hair. In Hannah’s outstretched hand she held a painting of an iris. “A gift,” she said, “for your house.”

And Cameryn, her throat so tight she could barely get out the words, answered, “Welcome to our home.”