Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Shed
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Silas stood in the doorway with his rifle lowered.
Constance stood ten feet behind him, unable to breathe.
The woman inside the shed was thin, perhaps thirty-five, wrapped in a torn gray coat with bare feet tucked beneath her.
Her lips were cracked.
Her hair had been hacked short unevenly.
But it was the brass tag hanging around her neck that held Constance’s attention.
CONSTANCE BRADLEY.
Her own name.
Silas stepped aside.
“Come out slowly.”
The woman shook her head.
“They’ll see me.”
“No one’s here.”
“They’re always here.”
Constance moved closer.
The woman saw her.
Her expression became one of pure horror.
“No.”
Constance stopped.
The woman pushed herself backward.
“No, no, no.”
“What is it?” Constance asked.
“You came.”
“Do you know me?”
The woman started crying.
Not loudly.
That frightened Constance more.
“I told them I wouldn’t do it again.”
Silas crouched.
“Who?”
The woman looked at him.
“Town.”
One word.
That was all.
Silas’s face hardened.
He handed Constance the lantern and wrapped his coat around the woman.
Her name was Abigail Moss.
It took nearly an hour to get anything more from her.
Inside the cabin, Constance heated water while Silas brought blankets.
Abigail drank broth with shaking hands.
Every time the wind struck the shutters, she flinched.
Silas finally asked, “Why are you wearing Constance’s name?”
Abigail touched the brass tag.
“They gave it to me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Start with one.”
She whispered, “Mrs. Pike.”
Constance recognized the name.
The town matchmaker Earl had mentioned.
Silas’s eyes narrowed.
“What did Clara Pike do?”
Abigail swallowed.
“Found women.”
“For what?”
“Men.”
Constance went still.
Abigail looked down.
“Men who had land. Men without family. Men who didn’t go into town often.”
Silas sat across from her.
“I’ve known Clara Pike twelve years.”
“That’s why she picked you.”
Silence.
Abigail told them a story so ugly that Constance stopped feeling cold.
Years earlier, a group of townspeople had discovered that lonely homesteaders could be manipulated through matrimonial advertisements.
Sometimes they sent women honestly.
Other times they altered letters.
They matched strangers.
Collected “fees.”
Borrowed against property.
Forged signatures.
When marriages failed, land often changed hands.
The sheriff’s brother purchased abandoned claims.
Mrs. Pike handled correspondence.
Earl transported women and mail.
Abigail had worked at the telegraph office.
She discovered the scheme.
She kept copies.
Then one day she vanished.
“They told everyone I ran away,” she said.
Silas stared into the fire.
“I remember.”
“I didn’t.”
Constance touched her shoulder.
“Why were you in his shed?”
Abigail looked at Silas.
“Because they needed somewhere no one searched.”
Silas looked sick.
“You’ve been there how long?”
“Three days.”
“And I never knew.”
“They brought me at night.”
Silas stood abruptly and walked toward the window.
Constance understood his anger.
They had used his isolation against him.
They had hidden a kidnapped woman yards from his home because they knew he kept to himself.
“And me?” Constance asked.
Abigail looked at her.
“You were supposed to arrive tomorrow.”
“I came early.”
“That’s why everything went wrong.”
“What was supposed to happen?”
Abigail began shaking again.
Silas returned to the table.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Constance said. “She does.”
Silas looked at her.
Constance’s voice cracked.
“I crossed half the country because someone made me believe I was wanted. I need to know why.”
Abigail closed her eyes.
“They thought he would reject you.”
Constance said nothing.
“They chose your advertisement because of the photograph.”
There it was.
Her size.
Again.
Abigail looked ashamed.
“Mrs. Pike said a woman like you would be easy to humiliate.”
Silas’s jaw flexed.
“She said Mercer would put you right back on the wagon.”
“Then what?”
“You’d return to town angry. Embarrassed. Alone.”
Constance understood before Abigail finished.
“They would offer me help.”
“Yes.”
“Money?”
“A place to stay.”
“Then?”
“They’d get you to sign papers.”
Constance whispered, “What papers?”
Abigail looked toward her trunks.
“Your inheritance.”
Silas turned.
“What inheritance?”
Constance frowned.
“My father left me a small amount.”
“How small?”
“Enough to travel. Enough to start a household.”
Abigail shook her head.
“No.”
Constance’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Your father owned timber rights in Granite County.”
Constance stared.
“My father was a bookkeeper.”
“He inherited them from his uncle.”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“They’re worth thousands.”
Silas looked toward the window.
“Timber company’s been buying claims all year.”
Abigail nodded.
“They needed her signature.”
Constance suddenly understood why Mrs. Pike had known so much about her.
Why the letters had arrived so quickly.
Why the train tickets had been partly paid.
Why a woman she had never met had been so eager to arrange everything.
She felt foolish.
Then angry.
Not at herself.
At them.
“They thought I would be desperate enough to sign anything.”
“Yes.”
Silas’s voice was low.
“They were wrong.”
Constance looked at him.
Something had shifted between them.
Not romance.
Alliance.
The storm arrived before nightfall.
Snow buried the porch steps.
Wind screamed against the logs.
For two days, the three of them stayed inside.
Constance cooked.
Silas chopped wood.
Abigail slept.
On the third morning, she woke screaming.
Someone had nailed a dead crow to the cabin door.
A note was tied to its leg.
SEND THE WOMEN DOWN.
Silas burned the note.
Constance saw him loading his rifle afterward.
“They’re trying to scare us.”
“They’re succeeding.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Me?”
He looked at her.
“I’m concerned you don’t scare easily enough.”
Despite everything, Constance almost smiled.
That evening, she found Silas repairing the leg of the kitchen table.
He used a hand axe to shave a piece of wood.
It was the first quiet moment they had shared.
“You built this cabin?” she asked.
“Most of it.”
“It’s sturdy.”
“That’s generous.”
“I’m from Missouri. We have buildings with worse opinions.”
He looked at her.
Then laughed.
It surprised them both.
Constance liked the sound.
So did he, judging from how quickly he stopped.
She watched him work.
“Why didn’t you marry?”
Silas’s hand paused.
“Why did you answer the advertisement?”
She smiled faintly.
“That is not an answer.”
“Neither is yours.”
She sat at the table.
“My father died. My aunt married again. Her new husband made it clear he did not want another adult in the house.”
Silas looked up.
“And there were no men in Missouri?”
“There were plenty.”
“None good enough?”
“Most wanted a wife who could fit into their idea of one.”
He understood.
Constance looked toward the fire.
“I wanted somewhere my usefulness mattered more than whether I took up too much room.”
Silas’s gaze stayed on her longer than she expected.
Then he said quietly, “This cabin has plenty of room.”
Her heart did something foolish.
She ignored it.
On the fourth day, the storm broke.
Silas planned to ride into town at first light.
Constance insisted on going.
“No.”
“They forged letters in my name.”
“Exactly.”
“They’re after my property.”
“Exactly.”
“I should be there.”
“Exactly why you’re staying.”
Constance planted both hands on the table.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Miss Bradley.”
“If you say ‘it’s dangerous,’ I will hit you with your own skillet.”
Abigail laughed for the first time.
Silas stared at Constance.
Then he sighed.
“You ride?”
“Well.”
“You shoot?”
“Well enough.”
“You follow instructions?”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
They left Abigail hidden with supplies and rode down the mountain.
Town looked different to Constance now.
Not charming.
Predatory.
People stopped talking when she passed.
Mrs. Pike stood outside the mercantile.
She was a narrow woman in her fifties with a velvet hat and sharp eyes.
Her smile disappeared when she saw Constance riding beside Silas.
“My goodness.”
Silas dismounted.
“Clara.”
She looked at Constance.
“I thought the storm might have sent you back east.”
Constance smiled.
“It tried.”
Mrs. Pike’s eyes hardened.
Silas held up one of the forged letters.
“Recognize this?”
“No.”
“Abigail Moss does.”
For one second, Clara Pike lost all color.
Then she laughed.
“Abigail Moss is dead.”
“No,” Constance said.
“She isn’t.”
People nearby turned.
Clara’s gaze shot toward Constance.
A mistake.
A small one.
But enough.
Silas saw it too.
He leaned closer.
“You knew.”
Clara stepped back.
“You should be careful accusing respectable people.”
Silas said, “You should be careful kidnapping women.”
The street went silent.
Then the sheriff emerged from his office.
Sheriff Dalton Reed.
A large man with silver at his temples.
His hand rested near his revolver.
“What’s going on?”
Clara looked relieved.
Too relieved.
Constance saw it.
Silas did too.
Constance reached into her coat and removed the letter Earl had abandoned.
Sheriff Reed read it.
Then looked at Clara.
Then at Constance.
“You say you found this where?”
“Earl’s mail pouch.”
“Earl Dobbins?”
“Yes.”
Reed folded it carefully.
“I’ll handle it.”
Silas did not release the page.
“No.”
Reed’s smile vanished.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re named in Abigail’s story.”
Several townspeople gasped.
Sheriff Reed’s hand moved.
Silas’s did too.
Constance stepped between them before either man could draw.
“Enough.”
Reed looked at her.
“You’re making a mistake, Miss Bradley.”
“So far, coming to your town has been a collection of them.”
A few people almost smiled.
Reed leaned close.
“You should go back where you came from.”
Constance held his gaze.
“I intend to stay until I know why you wanted my signature.”
Reed’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But again, enough.
That night, Silas and Constance rented one room above the blacksmith’s shop because the mountain road had iced over.
Silas slept on the floor.
Constance pretended she did not notice him checking the window every hour.
Near midnight, glass shattered downstairs.
Silas rose instantly.
Constance grabbed the small pistol he had given her.
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
One.
Two.
Then stopped outside their door.
A folded sheet slid underneath.
Silas picked it up.
Constance read over his shoulder.
MERCER IS NOT WHO YOU THINK.
ASK HIM ABOUT ELIZABETH.
Constance looked at Silas.
His face had gone completely still.
“Who is Elizabeth?”
He did not answer.
Someone knocked once from the other side of the door.
May you like
Then a woman whispered:
“Silas, I know you’re in there.”
