They hadn't heard from him since.
It was regrettable, but young people often forgot their family obligations once they tasted independence.
Galloway asked if he could speak to his father.
The sisters informed him that Josiah was seriously ill, bedridden, and unable to receive visitors.
The sheriff asked a few more questions: When exactly had Thomas left? Had he taken any belongings with him? Had anyone seen him on the road toward town?
The answers were vague and unhelpful.
The sisters remained polite but cold, their bodies positioned to block the door, making it clear that he would not be invited in.
Galloway looked past them into the gloomy interior of the house, seeing nothing but shadows and the edge of a simple wooden table.
He had no legal grounds to register the property, nor evidence of a crime, only an instinct honed after years of tracking men who didn't want to be found.
Something wasn't right, but I couldn't explain what it was.
He left the Barrow farm at dusk, riding back towards Forsyth with more questions than answers.
The investigation, as it was planned, had reached an immediate impasse due to the double barrier of isolation and lack of cooperation.
Months passed and the Barrow case gradually faded into a more distant corner of Sheriff Galloway's mind.
He had replied to Martha Hendricks in Illinois, informing her that her nephew seemed to have left the area years ago to look for work elsewhere, and that, while the family had not heard from him, unfortunately this was common among young people starting a new life in growing cities.
It was an unsatisfactory response, but it was all I could offer given the circumstances.
The sheriff resumed his usual duties: mediating land disputes, investigating cattle theft, and maintaining what was considered order in a county where most people preferred to solve their own problems.
However, something about the Barrow sisters continued to unsettle him.
He found himself thinking about the way they had stood on that porch, two identical figures blocking the entrance like sentinels guarding a tomb.
He thought about the oppressive silence of that house, how no sound had come from inside the house during his entire visit.
The first breakthrough in the case came unexpectedly at the end of the summer, when Dr. Edwin Cross visited Galloway's office on a matter unrelated to the case.
Cross was an older man who had practiced medicine in Taney County for more than 30 years, traveling on horseback to remote farms to attend births and treat injuries that would otherwise go unattended.
Once his business was concluded, Cross stood for a while at the door, visibly worried about something.
Finally, he asked if the sheriff was still investigating the Barrow family.
Galloway straightened up in his chair, suddenly alert.
Cross closed the door and sat back down, lowering his voice to barely a whisper, even though they were alone.
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