THE EIGHTH CHILD BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR

Eleanor stared at the little girl.

“What do you mean?”

The child pressed a finger against her lips.

“Please don’t tell Caleb I came out.”

Before Eleanor could respond, heavy footsteps sounded downstairs.

The girl’s face drained of color.

“He’s awake.”

She disappeared through a narrow passage hidden behind the hallway cupboard.

Seconds later, Caleb appeared.

“Who were you speaking to?”

Eleanor hesitated.

“A little girl.”

Caleb went completely still.

“What girl?”

“The one hiding upstairs.”

His expression revealed something Eleanor hadn’t expected.

Fear.

He rushed past her, unlocked the mysterious room, and stepped inside.

Eleanor followed.

The room contained children’s drawings, a small wooden bed, and dozens of newspaper clippings.

Every clipping described missing families across Wyoming.

On the wall hung a photograph of seven children standing beside a smiling woman.

Eleanor covered her mouth.

The woman looked almost exactly like her.

“Who is she?”

Caleb closed his eyes.

“My sister, Abigail.”

“Where is she now?”

“Buried beneath Black Ridge.”

His voice broke.

“Her seven children disappeared the night she died. I spent six years searching.”

Eleanor looked toward the hidden passage.

“And the little girl?”

“My niece, Lily. The only one I found alive.”

Suddenly, Lily emerged from the cupboard, crying.

“Uncle Caleb, they’re here!”

Outside, horses thundered across the frozen courtyard.

Caleb rushed to the window.

Six armed riders approached the house.

At their front rode Mrs. Cromwell, the woman who had threatened to separate Eleanor’s children at the auction.

Eleanor felt her stomach drop.

“Why is she here?”

Caleb reached for his rifle.

“Because she never intended to find you a husband.”

The front door shook beneath a violent pounding.

Mrs. Cromwell’s voice rang through the house.

“Caleb Roar! We know what you’re hiding!”

Sarah appeared on the staircase with Edward in her arms.

“Mama, what’s happening?”

Caleb turned toward Eleanor.

“Take the children into the cellar. There’s a tunnel behind the barrels.”

“What about you?”

He placed a folded document into her hand.

“Whatever happens, keep this safe.”

Eleanor unfolded the paper.

Her breath caught.

It was a marriage certificate.

But the bride’s name was not Eleanor Hayes.

It was Abigail Roar.

And the groom’s signature belonged to Eleanor’s supposedly dead husband.

“Caleb,” she whispered, “how is this possible?”

Before he could answer, a gunshot shattered the front window.

Then a man’s voice shouted from outside.

“ELEANOR! OPEN THE DOOR!”

She knew that voice.

She had heard it every day for fourteen years.

Her husband was alive.