Everyone in the region knew that name.
Merchant.
Land speculator.
Owner of two mills.
Half the freight wagons between the mountains and the river.
He had recently purchased multiple parcels north of the Whitmore cabin.
Clara understood.
“If my original deed exists…”
“His purchases become vulnerable.”
Tobias nodded.
“He hired me to find it.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
Clara stared.
Tobias continued quickly.
“I have not given him anything.”
“You entered our house.”
“Yes.”
“You searched beneath our floor.”
“Yes.”
“You would have stolen my family’s deed.”
He said nothing.
Clara stepped closer.
Samuel watched her.
Not intervening.
Her voice became quiet.
“You knew my name the day I signed the purchase papers.”
Tobias looked down.
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was afraid.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Fear seems very profitable for you.”
Tobias flinched.
Samuel asked:
“Has Voss searched the cabin?”
“No.”
“Men watching?”
“Sometimes.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened.
“You led them here.”
“No.”
“They already knew.”
“That is not better.”
Tobias slowly lowered his hands.
Samuel immediately said:
“Up.”
Tobias raised them again.
“Sorry.”
Clara looked at the satchel.
“Take him upstairs.”
Samuel glanced toward her.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to search this room.”
Samuel took Tobias upstairs.
Bound his hands.
Sat him beside the hearth.
Clara spent the next two hours below.
Every board.
Every shelf.
Every stone.
She found nothing.
Then she remembered the cabbage chute.
At the back of the cellar was a sloped wooden channel designed to allow vegetables from an outside root pit to roll downward.
Clara pushed her arm inside.
Nothing.
Samuel joined her after securing Tobias.
“Move.”
She stared.
“My arm is wider than yours.”
“Your shoulders are.”
Clara considered.
“Fair.”
Samuel reached farther.
His fingers touched something.
“Wait.”
He pulled.
A thin wooden panel shifted.
Behind it sat a tin cylinder.
Sealed with wax.
Clara stopped breathing.
Samuel looked at her.
“You open it.”
Her hands shook as she broke the wax.
Inside:
A folded deed.
Two letters.
One small ledger.
The deed named Jeremiah Whitmore.
Six hundred twenty acres.
The seal remained visible.
Clara sat on the cellar floor.
Samuel crouched beside her.
Neither spoke.
She opened the first letter.
Written by Jeremiah.
Addressed to his daughter.
Elizabeth.
Clara’s mother.
The letter explained everything.
Jeremiah became ill unexpectedly.
He suspected poisoning.
Not enough proof.
He knew his business partner, Silas Voss—Alden’s grandfather—wanted the timber tract.
Jeremiah feared legal papers would be altered after his death.
So he hid the original grant.
He instructed Elizabeth to claim it when she reached adulthood.