Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Green Dress
“Winnie Mercer.”
The name seemed to change the temperature inside the cabin.
Judson looked at Winifred.
She didn't deny it.
Sheriff Bell held the telegram.
“Is that you?”
Winifred's lips parted.
“Yes.”
Judson stepped away from her.
The movement was small.
She felt it anyway.
The older man in the black coat introduced himself as Silas Creed, attorney and representative for a mining company headquartered in Denver.
Judson immediately disliked him.
Creed's clothing was too clean for the mountains.
His smile was too practiced.
His eyes lingered too long on everything he might someday want to own.
“The matter is simple,” Creed said.
“Then make it quick,” Judson replied.
Creed looked at Winifred.
“Mrs. McIntyre is the daughter of Nathaniel Mercer.”
Judson waited.
Nothing.
He looked at Winifred.
“Should that mean something?”
Creed smiled.
“It does to several men.”
Winifred folded her hands.
“My father was a surveyor.”
“He was considerably more than that.”
“He surveyed mining claims.”
“And retained certain records.”
Winifred's expression hardened.
Judson noticed.
“What records?”
Creed reached into his coat.
Winifred stiffened.
He produced a document rather than a weapon.
“A ledger.”
Winifred said nothing.
Creed continued.
“Your father died eight months ago.”
“I know when my father died.”
“He left behind information belonging to my employers.”
“My father owned everything in his possession.”
“That's disputable.”
“Then dispute it in court.”
Creed's smile vanished.
Judson almost smiled himself.
This was the woman he had thought too soft.
Sheriff Bell cleared his throat.
“Creed claims there's a legal matter concerning property records.”
“Then why are you here?” Judson asked.
“Because someone reported Miss Mercer had fled east under a false name.”
Winifred looked at him.
“I didn't flee.”
“You changed your name.”
“I used my mother's maiden name.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Judson asked the same question.
“Why?”
Winifred looked toward the fireplace.
“My father made enemies.”
“What kind?”
“The kind who smile while asking polite questions.”
Creed's expression cooled.
Judson stepped between them.
“You've asked your questions.”
Creed buttoned his coat.
“I haven't asked the important one.”
Winifred's eyes met his.
Creed said, “Where is the Mercer ledger?”
Judson looked at her.
Again she said nothing.
Sheriff Bell shifted uncomfortably.
Creed smiled.
“I thought so.”
Judson walked to the door.
“Get out.”
Creed raised an eyebrow.
“You don't understand what you're involved in.”
“No. But I understand you're standing in my house.”
“Our business concerns your wife.”
“Which makes it my business.”
Winifred looked at him.
Creed did too.
Then Creed stepped outside.
Before leaving, he turned.
“Mrs. McIntyre, men have already died over those records.”
Sheriff Bell frowned.
“Creed.”
But Creed continued.
“Your father included.”
Winifred's composure cracked.
Only for an instant.
Judson saw it.
Creed walked away.
The sheriff remained.
“Is that true?” Judson asked.
Bell looked uncomfortable.
“Nathaniel Mercer died when his cabin burned.”
“I was told it was an accident,” Winifred whispered.
Bell looked at her.
“There were questions.”
“What questions?”
“Things disappeared.”
“The ledger?”
“Among others.”
Winifred sat down.
Judson had never seen her collapse into a chair before.
He crouched beside her.
“You knew none of this?”
She shook her head.
“My father's last letter said he had discovered something. He told me not to return to Colorado.”
Judson stared.
“You came anyway.”
“I came because of you.”
The answer silenced him.
She looked almost embarrassed by its honesty.
“The marriage notice offered distance from Denver,” she continued. “A new surname. A place no one would think to look.”
Judson stood.
“So I was hiding place.”
“At first.”
The words hurt more than he expected.
Winifred saw it.
“Judson—”
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“What am I now?”
She couldn't answer.
Sheriff Bell looked toward the door.
“I should go.”
Judson barely acknowledged him.
After the sheriff left, husband and wife remained on opposite sides of the room.
“You lied,” Judson said.
“I withheld my family name.”
“You married me under another name.”
“Hayes was legally mine to use.”
“That's not the point.”
“No. The point is you decided who I was before asking.”
Judson's jaw tightened.
“That doesn't excuse this.”
“I know.”
“Does Creed think the ledger is here?”
“Probably.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
Judson studied her.
“Do you know where it is?”
Winifred hesitated.
That was enough.
“Damn it.”
“I don't know exactly.”
“But you know something.”
“My father sent me a letter before he died.”
“The one telling you not to return?”
“Another.”
She went to her trunk.
Judson watched as she removed dresses, sewing materials, a small Bible, and finally the green wool dress she had worn from the stagecoach.
She turned the hem inside out.
A section had been stitched differently.
Judson stared.
Winifred cut several threads.
From inside the hem, she removed a narrow piece of paper.
Judson laughed once without humor.
“You've been carrying that since you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
“Yes.”
“With men looking for it?”
“I didn't know they had found me.”
He rubbed his face.
“What does it say?”
She unfolded the paper.
Most of the message was meaningless.
Numbers.
Initials.
Survey coordinates.
But at the bottom Nathaniel Mercer had written:
Winnie, if I fail to reach you, remember where your mother first taught you to read. Trust no company seal. Trust the marks I made myself.
Judson read it twice.
“Where did your mother teach you to read?”
Winifred looked confused.
“Our kitchen.”
“Where?”
“Denver.”
“Is the house still there?”
“No. It was sold after she died.”
Judson pointed at the paper.
“Then what does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
He walked toward the window.
Outside, Creed and the sheriff were disappearing down the trail.
Winifred watched him.
“You regret marrying me.”
Judson didn't answer immediately.
“That isn't what I'm thinking.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That the woman who arrived here isn't anything like the woman I thought she was.”
“That sounds suspiciously similar.”
He turned.
“No.”
Something in his voice made her look at him.
“I thought you were soft.”
“And now?”
“I think you're dangerous.”
Winifred blinked.
Judson's mouth moved slightly.
She realized he was teasing her.
It was the first time.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Judson stared.
He had never heard her laugh like that.
Neither had expected the strange tenderness that followed.
Then the moment broke.
Judson walked toward the bullet hole.
“The man who came here today.”
“What about him?”
“He knew you were my bride.”
“Everyone in town knows.”
“He also came when I was away.”
Winifred's smile disappeared.
“You think Creed sent him?”
“I think coincidences are for people who don't live long in mountains.”
Judson searched near the fallen chair.
He found nothing.
Then Winifred noticed a scrap of paper beneath the cabinet.
She picked it up.
A symbol had been drawn on it.
Three peaks.
A line beneath them.
Her hands began trembling.
Judson saw.
“What?”
She showed him.
“My father used this mark.”
Judson took the paper.
“You're certain?”
“He put it on every private survey he made.”
“So our visitor had something belonging to your father.”
“Or someone wanted me to think he did.”
That evening Judson barred the door.
For the first time, he placed a loaded rifle beside their bed.
They still slept separately.
The marriage had been formalized by a traveling minister shortly after Winifred's arrival, but Judson had insisted she use the bedroom while he slept in the loft.
He had told himself it was courtesy.
Winifred suspected it was because he still believed she would leave.
That night, neither slept much.
Near midnight, Winifred heard footsteps below.
She descended.
Judson stood beside the table, examining her father's note beneath lamplight.
“You could ask permission.”
“You were asleep.”
“I wasn't.”
He handed it back.
“I'm sorry.”
She sat.
Judson remained standing.
“Tell me about your father.”
So she did.
Nathaniel Mercer had raised her after her mother's death.
He taught Winifred numbers, maps, bookkeeping, and how to recognize dishonest measurements.
He believed land disputes were rarely about dirt.
They were about what lay beneath it.
Copper.
Silver.
Gold.
“Did he teach you to use a gun?”
Judson asked.
“No.”
“The skillet?”
“My mother.”
Judson laughed.
Winifred smiled.
Then her expression faded.
“My father became frightened during his final year.”
“Of Creed?”
“I never heard that name.”
“What frightened him?”
“He said people were changing survey boundaries.”
Judson stopped.
“Changing claims?”
“Yes.”
“That could steal entire mines.”
“I know.”
“And if he had proof—”
“He'd be dangerous.”
Judson looked at the note.
The mystery was becoming clearer.
And worse.
He sat opposite her.
“You should have told me.”
“You barely wanted me here.”
The words landed quietly.
Judson looked down.
“I wanted a wife.”
“No. You wanted an answer to a problem.”
He didn't argue.
“You needed someone to cook, preserve food, tend injuries, help with livestock, and survive winter.”
“Yes.”
“You could have hired someone.”
“I couldn't afford one.”
Winifred stared.
Judson realized what he had said.
She began laughing.
“You married me because hired help cost too much?”
“That sounded worse aloud.”
“Considerably.”
Judson smiled.
Then became serious.
“I was lonely.”
Winifred stopped laughing.
Judson looked uncomfortable admitting it.
“I didn't know that until after I sent the letter.”
She waited.
“My brother died two winters ago. After that, the cabin got... quiet.”
It was the first personal thing he had told her.
Winifred reached across the table.
Her hand stopped short of his.
Judson noticed.
He covered the remaining distance.
Their fingers touched.
Neither moved.
Then something struck the window.
Judson pulled away and reached for the rifle.
Another impact.
Glass cracked.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
Judson opened the door carefully.
No one stood outside.
He stepped onto the porch.
An arrow had struck the window frame.
A folded paper was tied to it.
Judson removed it.
Winifred came behind him.
He opened the note.
Only six words were written.
BRING MERCER'S LEDGER TO BLACK RIDGE.
Below that was a time.
Tomorrow.
Sunset.
Judson looked toward the dark tree line.
Winifred whispered, “They think I have it.”
A horse suddenly screamed from the barn.
Judson ran.
Winifred followed.
The barn door was open.
Judson knew he had closed it.
Inside, his horse trembled against the stall.
Something had been nailed to the wooden post.
A photograph.
Old.
Burned around the edges.
Winifred stepped closer.
Her breath stopped.
It showed Nathaniel Mercer.
And beside him stood a much younger man.
Judson lifted the lantern.
He recognized the man's face.
May you like
He had seen it every day of his childhood.
It was his father.
