Then gold.
The air was cool.
For once, silence felt like silence.
Not a threat.
Footsteps approached behind her.
Tess turned.
The young farmer stood several yards away.
Older now.
More guarded.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Tess had rehearsed apologies.
Hundreds of them.
None felt sufficient.
Finally she said:
“I’m sorry.”
He looked toward the canyon.
“You didn’t arrest me.”
“No.”
“You didn’t write those stories.”
“No.”
“But my mistake started all of it.”
He turned toward her.
“Your mistake was going somewhere you were told not to go.”
Tess swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What happened after that was other people’s choices.”
