Page 99 of Veil of Silence

The sound was so unexpected that Nora changed direction.

She followed the voices across the damp grass. A thin ribbon of smoke rose beside the barn, carrying the scent of wet wood and something sweeter.

Was Christian burning something again? Her pulse kicked faster.

She rounded the side of the barn and paused.

A fire burned inside the old stone pit near the tree line. Dad sat in a lawn chair with a paper cup balanced on one knee, and Mom stood beside a folding table. Christian, meanwhile, crouched near the fire, adding a branch to the flames.

The sight stopped Nora.

For one suspended moment, they looked like a family enjoying an ordinary Sunday afternoon.

Dad said something she couldn’t hear, and Mom rolled her eyes. Christian smiled. It wasn’t the guarded half smile he usually gave when he realized someone was watching. It was a real one. The expression made him look younger and more like the boy Nora remembered.

But instead of feeling comforted, her chest tightened.

Everything about the scene in front of her represented what she loved about living in this area. Autumn in the mountains was her favorite season. The changing leaves. The sharp scent of woodsmoke in the air. Apples. Pumpkins. Festivals. Hayrides. Bonfires.

Yet she felt none of that joy right now.

Mom spotted Nora first. “There you are.”

Christian’s smile disappeared as he turned.

It was almost as if he knew about the hymn she’d just received. But there was no way that was possible.

Should she tell him? His name had been on that envelope.

Nora wasn’t sure. And she hated not knowing what to do.

“How was the search?” Dad’s voice broke Nora from her thoughts.

She swallowed hard and tried to keep her composure before answering. “There’s nothing yet. The last teams should be back soon.”

Mom’s shoulders sank. “Poor Shelby.”

Nora crossed toward the fire. A bag of marshmallows and a package of hot dogs sat on the folding table beside a thermos of cider.

“What’s all this?” she asked, trying to keep her voice normal.

“Your father thought Christian should experience one of our old Sunday night bonfires,” Mom said.

Dad lifted his cup. “It was cold enough for a fire. So I picked up some cider and gathered firewood.”

“You also bought marshmallows.” Mom sent him a warm, almost playful look.

Dad chuckled. “What can I say? I can be practical and thoughtful at the same time.”

Christian poked at the burning wood with a long stick. Sparks lifted into the damp air, and the flames lit his face in dancing shadows.

The sight took Nora back to earlier that morning when she found Christian beside the burn barrel. A matchbox in one hand and folded papers in the other.

Papers he hadn’t wanted her to see.

Mom’s gaze settled on Nora. “Would you like something? A hot dog or a drink?”

“No, I’m good. But thank you.”