The next afternoon, Celia stood over a pan in the kitchen, washing turnip greens for supper, when she caught a glimpse out the window of Will running across the back yard toward the house. His face was pale, but he was beaming and out of breath, as if he’d run a long way.

Celia hurried out the door, her hands still dripping water. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Will raised his hand in the air, caught his breath, and said, “I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I found the Glory Patch right on our land. We’re rich, Celia.”

It took a while for Will to convince Celia they truly were rich, but once he did, she was so lightheaded she had to lean against the door frame. When she’d recovered both her breath and her wits, Celia and Will each grabbed a bucket and a shovel and trudged off to a sheltered glade on their side of the stream. The other side belonged to someone else, either Truett’s family or a man who lived in Killingsworth Cove. But as they descended the hill, Celia’s eyes were fixed on a thick patch of green leaves carpeting the entire flat area on their side of the creek.

“Is all this ginseng?”

“Most of it.” Will set his bucket down and bent over the leafy plants. “You see those little berries, just starting to show? That’s how I knew this was ginseng.”

Celia caught her breath. “You’re sure, Will? You’re sure this is ginseng?”

Will shoved his shovel into the dirt at the outside of the patch. Soon he dug up a big white root, similar in shape to a sweet potato. He held it up.

“Yep. I’m sure.” Will spoke in a hushed tone. “It may be too small to be a true Glory Patch, but it’s enough to hire someone to help take care of Harley and Tempie so Lizzie and I can go back to school, and to send you back to Nashville, Celia. If you still want to go.”

Of course she still wanted to go. But she had to make sure her family was taken care of first. “We shouldn’t dig it all up, should we? I mean, shouldn’t we leave some for next year?”

Will frowned, then pursed his lips into a grim line. “Once folks hear how much ginseng we brought in to Pettibone’s store, they’ll come looking for our Glory Patch. There won’t be anything left the next morning, much less next year.”

“Oh.” Celia pictured men combing their land at night, searching every inch for their patch of ginseng. She gripped her shovel and started digging.

Truett examined Griff as he sat on the table in his office. He’d gotten a nasty blow to the head when he tripped on a tree root and hit the edge of the back step.

“Does it need stitches?” his mother asked.

“No, he’s fine. The bleeding’s stopped. This bandage is all he needs.”

“I’m fine, Ma!” Griff said with a seven-year-old’s petulance and a thirty-year-old’s deep voice.

Griff stayed with Truett, sitting at the window watching the few people that went by, while his mother went to buy a few things at the general store. Soon, one of the Posey children came in with a broken arm. Griff watched silently from his perch by the window as Truett set the bone and splinted it, wrapping it tight. He’d just sent the boy home when Greenbrier Lee burst through his office door, still wearing his black-stained leather apron.

“Well, the dung heap’s stirred up now,” he said, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?” Truett asked as he put away his splinting materials.

“You know those black folks down t’ other end of Cove Road who opened a store a while back?”

Truett’s stomach sank.

“Sheriff Suggs don’t like them having that store. I bet Pettibone’s been giving him a reason to get shed of that Negro store. I hear he tried to burn it down, but somehow they managed to put out the fire. Now Suggs is planning on lynching those folks as soon as he can get enough men to ride down there with him.”

Truett pointed his finger at the blacksmith. “You agree with what I was saying Sunday at church.”

Greenbrier nodded.

“We need to round up our own group of men and put a stop to this hanging. It’s wrong and you know it.”

“Well, now, you’re right, Tru, you’re right.” The blacksmith rubbed his chin, avoiding his gaze. “But I got a wife and five young’uns. A man’s got to think of his family first, don’t he?”

“Suggs can’t fight the whole community. If we all pull together he’ll be forced to stop this killing of innocent people.”

Greenbrier continued rubbing his jaw, staring at the floor. “You know I’d like to help, but it seems too chancey. Once you get on his bad side, Suggs would just as soon kill you as look at you.”

“I never took you for a coward.”

“It ain’t that and you know it.” The blacksmith pointed a thick finger at Truett. “I got my family to think of. You can take chances. You ain’t got no wife, no young’uns to raise up.”

His words struck Truett with more force than he cared to admit. No, he did not have a wife or children. And if he risked his life again, he might lose Celia forever—if he didn’t get killed.

But how could he live with himself if he let those innocent people be killed for the sake of one man’s greed and another’s pure evil?

Aubrey Pettibone was behind this, but Suggs would enjoy helping the local merchant get rid of his competition.

Truett’s blood pulsed hard through his temples. Even if it meant sacrificing his prospects of marrying Celia, or cost him his life, Truett could not sit by and let Suggs kill Annie’s father and uncle, maybe even their wives and children. No, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave those good people to the devices of Sheriff Suggs. And he had a feeling Celia wouldn’t either. For all her warnings and begging him to be careful, he believed she’d go to their aid herself, if she found out about it.

The blacksmith mumbled something else about being sorry he couldn’t help and then shuffled out the door. Perhaps there was no real threat. Truett wasn’t stupid. The whole thing could be a trap. Suggs could be trying to lure the hooded horseman into the open so he could capture him—or kill him. After all, it wouldn’t be dark for several more hours, and Suggs generally did his lynching at night.

But Truett couldn’t let Suggs kill those men. He would be there, and he would stop him.