Chapter 2 - The Secret Inside Her Suitcase
Jonas descended the stairs with his rifle in both hands.
Clara followed despite his order to stay upstairs.
"Go back."
"No."
"Clara."
"If whoever is outside came because of me, I'm not hiding."
Jonas looked at her.
She meant it.
Three more knocks sounded.
"Hargrave!"
Jonas approached the door.
"Name yourself."
"Marshal Nathan Cole."
Jonas frowned.
He knew Cole.
Not well, but enough.
Cole served Georgetown and occasionally traveled through Silver Plume.
Jonas opened the door six inches.
Cole stood outside covered in snow.
He was alone.
Jonas lowered the rifle slightly.
"What happened?"
Cole looked past him.
"Is Clara Whitmore here?"
Clara stepped into view.
Cole's expression tightened.
"Then we've got trouble."
Jonas opened the door.
Cole entered.
Clara remained near the stairs.
"Tell me."
Cole removed his hat.
"A man was found dead behind the Silver Plume depot tonight."
Clara's fingers curled around the banister.
"Who?"
"Silas Pike."
The room went silent.
Jonas remembered Pike recognizing the initials.
"How?"
"Shot."
Clara whispered, "I barely knew him."
"That's why I'm here."
Cole reached inside his coat and produced a folded paper.
"This was in his pocket."
He placed it on the table.
Jonas opened it.
It was a railway receipt.
Passenger: Clara Whitmore.
Destination: Silver Plume.
Someone had written two words beneath her name.
FIND HARCOURT.
Jonas looked at Clara.
"Start talking."
Clara stared at the paper.
"I told you. Harcourt was my mother's name."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Her face tightened.
"My mother died when I was twelve."
"How?"
"Officially?"
Jonas heard the word.
"Officially?"
Clara sat down.
Cole remained standing.
"My mother came from a wealthy family in St. Louis. Her father owned warehouses, land, and interests in several railroad companies. She married my father against her family's wishes."
"What was your father's name?"
"Thomas Whitmore."
"And Harcourt?"
"Evelyn Harcourt was my mother."
Jonas glanced at the suitcase.
"E.W.H."
Clara nodded.
"She died after falling from an upstairs balcony."
Cole asked, "You think she was murdered?"
Clara's eyes lowered.
"I don't know."
But Jonas saw the same thing he had seen at the depot.
Not ignorance.
Fear.
"What was in the letter?" Clara asked.
Jonas had nearly forgotten it.
He unfolded the sheet.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Hargrave—
If Clara reaches you alive, keep her away from anyone named Harcourt. Her mother's death was not an accident. The suitcase contains what they have been searching for.
There was no signature.
Clara stood.
"The suitcase?"
They carried it downstairs.
Jonas placed it on the table.
The hidden compartment had already yielded the letter.
They examined the leather lining.
Nothing.
Then Clara noticed one brass corner was loose.
Jonas pried it free.
Inside was a tiny rolled strip of paper.
Not money.
Not a confession.
Numbers.
Rows of them.
Dates.
Payments.
Railroad companies.
Land parcels.
Cole leaned closer.
"These look like account records."
Clara whispered, "My grandfather kept ledgers."
"Why hide this?"
Jonas pointed to several repeated initials.
H.R.C.
Cole's expression changed.
"You know them?"
"Hiram R. Caldwell."
Clara went pale.
"My uncle's business partner."
Caldwell was one of the wealthiest investors in central Colorado.
Railroad contracts.
Mines.
Timber.
Land.
A man with influence far beyond Silver Plume.
Jonas rolled the paper again.
"If this belongs to Caldwell, why was it in your mother's suitcase?"
Clara shook her head.
"I don't know."
Cole looked toward the window.
"You've got somewhere else you can stay?"
Jonas answered immediately.
"She's staying here."
Cole nodded.
"Keep your rifle close."
He left before sunrise.
Jonas barred the door.
Clara stood beside the fireplace.
"You regret this already."
"What?"
"Sending for me."
"I didn't send for you."
She gave him a tired look.
"That's worse."
Jonas almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead he said, "I don't regret things until they're finished."
"And when will this be finished?"
"When I know who's following you."
Over the next three days, snow sealed the mountain.
No visitors.
No mysterious riders.
No gunshots.
Clara learned the cabin.
Jonas learned Clara.
She could cook.
Poorly at first.
Her first biscuits could have stopped bullets.
Jonas ate two anyway.
She caught him feeding the third to his dog, Amos.
"You said they were good."
"I said they were filling."
"You gave one to the dog."
"He works hard."
She threw a dish towel at him.
Jonas laughed.
It surprised both of them.
Clara became quiet.
Jonas did too.
Something had changed.
That evening, she found him repairing a chair.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You usually do."
"Why didn't you marry before?"
His hands stopped.
"Didn't find anyone."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one I've got."
Clara waited.
Jonas sighed.
"There was someone."
Her expression changed slightly.
"What happened?"
"Her name was Rebecca."
He looked toward the fire.
"She wanted Denver. Music. Restaurants. People. I wanted this."
"So she left."
"Yes."
"Did you love her?"
Jonas took too long to answer.
"Thought I did."
Clara nodded.
Then she said softly, "Maybe you loved what you hoped she'd become."
Jonas looked at her.
"That's a dangerous amount of wisdom from someone who nearly murdered me with biscuits."
She smiled.
"Maybe."
Their eyes remained together.
Too long.
Jonas felt the room change.
He stood.
Clara didn't move.
For one dangerous second, he wanted to touch her face.
Then Amos barked.
Both turned.
The dog stared at the door.
Jonas grabbed his rifle.
A horse approached.
One rider.
He stepped outside.
Ezra Bell appeared through the snow.
Jonas relaxed.
Ezra was sixty-two, broad as an ox, with a beard that seemed to contain half the forest.
He dismounted.
"So that's her?"
Clara appeared in the doorway.
Ezra grinned.
"Lord Almighty, Jonas. You told me you ordered practical."
"I didn't order anybody."
Clara folded her arms.
"Are you the neighbor who submitted his name?"
Ezra's grin widened.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I dislike you."
"Told you," Jonas said.
She looked at him.
"You also said I'd like him."
"Give it time."
Ezra came inside.
He brought mail.
Supplies.
And news.
"Pike's murder has people talking."
Jonas poured coffee.
"About what?"
"About her."
Clara stiffened.
Ezra continued.
"Someone arrived in Georgetown yesterday asking questions about Clara Whitmore."
"Who?"
"Man named Edwin Harcourt."
Clara dropped her cup.
It shattered.
Jonas stood.
"Your relative?"
She stared at the broken porcelain.
"My uncle."
"The one connected to Caldwell?"
She nodded.
Jonas asked, "Why would your uncle follow you to Colorado?"
Clara didn't answer.
"Clara."
Her eyes filled with something Jonas hadn't seen before.
Shame.
"I stole something from him."
Ezra went silent.
Jonas stared at her.
"What?"
"I didn't know what it was."
"The paper?"
"Maybe."
She pressed both hands against the table.
"After my father died, Uncle Edwin became my guardian. Everything my mother owned passed under his control until I married."
Jonas understood immediately.
"Your inheritance."
"Yes."
"How much?"
Clara looked at him.
"Enough to make men dangerous."
The cabin seemed suddenly smaller.
Jonas remembered the letter.
Her mother's death was not an accident.
"Why marry me?" he asked.
Clara's eyes met his.
"Because marriage transferred control of my property away from Edwin."
There it was.
Jonas felt something inside him harden.
He had known their arrangement wasn't romantic.
Still, hearing that he had been selected as an escape route hurt more than it should have.
"So I was convenient."
"No."
"Wasn't I?"
"You were safe."
"You didn't know me."
"I read your letters."
"Letters aren't a man."
"No," Clara said. "But yours never lied."
Jonas turned away.
Ezra quietly stood.
"I think I'll check the horses."
He disappeared.
Clara approached Jonas.
"I didn't come here to deceive you."
"You neglected some useful information."
"I was afraid."
"Of me?"
"Of everyone."
Jonas looked at her.
That stopped him.
Clara's voice trembled.
"Edwin controlled my money. My home. My correspondence. He dismissed servants who became close to me. He chose which men could visit. When I learned my mother's property would become mine immediately upon marriage, I contacted the agency secretly."
"And chose a mountain stranger."
"I chose the farthest honest man I could find."
Jonas didn't know whether to be insulted or moved.
Possibly both.
A knock sounded.
Everyone froze.
Ezra reentered from the back.
"I didn't see anyone ride up."
Jonas took his rifle.
Another knock.
Then a voice.
"Clara?"
Her face lost all color.
Jonas looked at her.
She whispered one word.
May you like
"Edwin."
The door handle slowly began to turn.
