When Byrn's grim work was completed, he turned to the contents of the cabin. The less evidence that remained, the better. Of personal belongings, there were clothes too shabby to give to anyone, a crumbling cake of soap, a broken pocket watch, a pocket Bible printed in another language and missing half of the pages, and a ruffled shirt that someone had tried to color red. A bad dye job had left it streaked in pink and unwearable.
Byrn tossed the items in the wooden box. As he readied them to burn, he discovered a worn velvet pouch tucked away in the corner. Silk cords untied to reveal the contents: a pearl necklace and a faded silk flower, still scented with the hint of perfume. Byrn turned them over in his hand and wondered who they had belonged to. A former lover? A mother? A sister? Wh
