“Who taught you to make this stew?”

Jedodiah Boon’s voice was quieter now.

I blinked.

For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Who taught you?”

I glanced toward Abigail.

She stood beside the fireplace, her arms folded, looking as confused as everyone else.

“My mother,” I finally answered. “She taught me when I was a little girl.”

Jedodiah slowly pulled out the chair beside him.

“Sit down.”

Abigail immediately interrupted.

“Mr. Boon, Matilda is supposed to be working. She’s not a guest.”

His eyes shifted toward her.

“I wasn’t speaking to you.”

The room fell silent.

Abigail’s cheeks turned red.

I stood awkwardly, unsure what to do.

“Please, sir. I can return to the kitchen.”

Jedodiah shook his head.

“Sit.”

There was something in his voice that made me obey.

I lowered myself into the chair.

He pushed the bowl of stew toward me.

“Tell me what you put in it.”

I looked at the bowl.

“Venison, carrots, wild onions, thyme, a little flour, and dried mushrooms.”

His fingers тιԍнтened around the spoon.

“Dried mushrooms?”

“Yes, sir. I found them in the pantry. They were nearly forgotten, but they still smelled good.”

He stared at me.

“Where did you get the idea to add mushrooms?”

“My mother always said mushrooms made poor meat taste richer.”

For the first time, the giant smiled.

It wasn’t a friendly smile exactly.

It was the expression of a man remembering something he had lost long ago.

“Your mother,” he repeated.

“What was her name?”

“Eleanor Whitmore.”

The spoon slipped from his fingers.

It struck the table with a sharp metallic sound.

He stared at me as though I had just told him something impossible.

“Eleanor Whitmore?”

I nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did she live?”

“Near Silver Creek, before she pᴀssed away.”

“When?”

“Six years ago.”

Jedodiah slowly sat down.

For several seconds, he didn’t speak.

Then he asked a question that made my stomach тιԍнтen.

“Did she ever tell you about a man named Thomas?”

I felt my breath catch.

My father.

I hadn’t heard that name spoken in years.

“My father was named Thomas Whitmore.”

Jedodiah closed his eyes.

The enormous man seemed suddenly exhausted.

“Good Lord.”

Abigail stepped forward.

“Mr. Boon, what is going on?”

He ignored her.

Instead, he looked at me.

“Matilda, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He nodded slowly.

“Then you were only twenty-one when your mother died.”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

I looked down at my hands.

“He disappeared when I was seven. Mother told me he had gone west to find work. He never came back.”

Jedodiah’s expression changed.

“Did he have a brother?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did your mother ever mention a man called Samuel?”

I shook my head.

“No, sir.”

The giant leaned back.

His eyes were fixed on my face.

Then he spoke words that made the entire room go silent.

“Thomas Whitmore was my younger brother.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

Jedodiah nodded.

“I haven’t seen him in twenty years.”

My heart began pounding.

“My father had a brother?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

The giant looked toward the frosted window.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”

The following morning, the blizzard had finally weakened.

I was in the kitchen washing breakfast dishes when Abigail entered.

Her expression was unusually тιԍнт.

“Matilda.”

“Yes, Mrs. Thatcher?”

“Mr. Boon wants to speak with you.”

I dried my hands.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out.”

She turned away.

Then stopped.

“And don’t get any ideas about leaving this place. You still owe me for the winter provisions.”

I frowned.

I had worked there for almost two years.

My wages were three dollars a month, and Abigail deducted money for food, lodging, and clothing.

By her calculations, I somehow always owed her more than I earned.

Before I could respond, the front door opened.

Jedodiah entered.

This time, he wasn’t wearing his bearskin coat.

He carried a leather satchel over one shoulder.

“Come with me, Matilda.”

Abigail immediately stepped between us.

“She has work to do.”

Jedodiah looked at her.

“How much do you pay her?”

Abigail blinked.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Three dollars a month?”

The color drained from her face.

“She receives room and board.”

“And how many hours does she work?”

“That’s how boarding houses operate.”

Jedodiah placed his satchel on the counter.

“I asked you a question.”

Abigail folded her arms.

“Fourteen hours, sometimes sixteen. She’s slow, so I have to supervise her.”

He looked at me.

“Is that true?”

I lowered my eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

He turned back to Abigail.

“Then you’re paying her less than a dollar a week for work that would exhaust two men.”

“She should be grateful she has a roof over her head!”

Jedodiah’s expression hardened.

“Being hungry doesn’t make a person less valuable, Mrs. Thatcher.”

Nobody spoke.

He reached into his coat and placed several silver dollars on the counter.

“These cover whatever legitimate debt she owes you.”

Abigail stared at the money.

Then greedily reached for it.

Jedodiah withdrew his hand.

“After she has collected her belongings.”

Her mouth fell open.

“You can’t take my cook!”

“I didn’t say I was taking your cook.”

He turned toward me.

“I said I’m offering her a choice.”

Outside, the snow-covered street glittered beneath the morning sun.

Jedodiah waited beside a mᴀssive dark horse.

I stood in the doorway holding a small cloth bag containing everything I owned.

Two dresses.

A shawl.

My mother’s old recipe book.

And a pH๏τograph of her taken when I was twelve.

“Where are we going, Mr. Boon?”

“Black Ridge.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

“The mountains?”

He nodded.

“I have a cabin there.”

I looked at the enormous horse.

Then at my worn boots.

“Why would you take me there?”

“Because I have something to show you.”

I hesitated.

“Are you certain I’m the person you’re looking for?”

He looked down at me.

“Your mother’s name was Eleanor. Your father’s name was Thomas. And you make venison stew with mushrooms and thyme.”

He paused.

“That’s enough for me to start asking questions.”

I climbed into the wagon.

The journey took nearly three hours.

The road wound through pine forests and frozen valleys.

Jedodiah drove without speaking much.

But occasionally, I caught him looking at me.

Not with disgust.

Not with curiosity about my size.

With something resembling grief.

Finally, I couldn’t stand the silence.

“Mr. Boon?”

“Call me Jed.”

“All right. Jed. What happened between you and my father?”

He тιԍнтened his grip on the reins.

“We were young men. Stubborn. Proud. We both wanted the same woman.”

I turned toward him.

“My mother?”

He nodded.

“Your mother and I grew up together. Before Thomas returned from the war, I had planned to ask her to marry me.”

My heart began beating faster.

“But she chose my brother.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Jedodiah continued.

“I was angry. Said things I shouldn’t have said. Thomas left Colorado with her, and I never forgave either of them.”

He paused.

“By the time I learned what had happened, they were gone.”

“What happened?”

He looked at the mountains.

“Your father disappeared during a winter expedition. His horse returned without him. I searched for months.”

My throat тιԍнтened.

“And you never found him?”

“No.”

I looked down at my mother’s recipe book.

“Mother never told me any of this.”

“Perhaps she wanted you to remember your father without the bitterness.”

We traveled another mile before the cabin appeared.

It was enormous.

Built from thick pine logs, with a stone chimney and a wide porch overlooking a frozen creek.

Smoke rose from the chimney.

A second building stood nearby, along with a woodshed and a small stable.

“This is where you live?”

“Most of the year.”

He helped me down from the wagon.

Then opened the cabin door.

Warm air greeted us.

There was a large fireplace, a long dining table, shelves filled with books, and a kitchen that was better equipped than the boarding house kitchen.

I stood in the doorway, astonished.

“It’s beautiful.”

Jedodiah set down my bag.

“There’s a bedroom upstairs. You can use it.”

I turned toward him.

“Why are you doing all this?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he walked to an old wooden chest near the fireplace.

He opened it and removed a small leather-bound journal.

Then he handed it to me.

“Your mother left this with me.”

I stared at the book.

The leather was worn.

A faded ribbon was tied around it.

My mother’s handwriting appeared on the first page.

My fingers trembled.

“How did you get this?”

“Thomas gave it to me before he disappeared. He said if anything happened to him, I was to find you.”

I opened the journal.

Several pages contained recipes.

Others held little notes about my childhood.

Then I found a letter tucked between two pages.

It was addressed to Jedodiah.

I unfolded it carefully.

Jed,

If you’re reading this, then something has happened to Thomas. I need you to promise me one thing.

Find our daughter.

She is stronger than people believe. But the world has never been kind to her. Please don’t let anyone convince her that her worth is measured by the size of her body.

She has your brother’s heart, Jed. And she has my hands.

Teach her that she deserves a life bigger than the one people have chosen for her.

Eleanor.

I couldn’t stop crying.

Jedodiah stood quietly beside the fireplace.

“I promised her,” he said.

I looked up.

“You knew my mother?”

He nodded.

“I knew her better than almost anyone.”

He turned toward the window.

“And there’s something else you need to know.”

I wiped my cheeks.

“What?”

He walked to another cabinet and removed a folded document.

It was old, yellowed, and stamped with an official seal.

He placed it on the table.

“Your father owned land near Black Ridge.”

I stared at him.

“What land?”

“Four hundred acres. A mountain property with a spring, timber rights, and a small silver deposit.”

My mouth fell open.

“That’s impossible. We were poor.”

“Your father bought it before he married your mother. He intended to build a home there.”

He tapped the document.

“According to this deed, the property was never sold.”

I looked at the name.

Thomas Whitmore.

Then at the date.

The land had been purchased more than twenty years earlier.

“But why didn’t my mother know?”

Jedodiah’s expression darkened.

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

He pulled another paper from the chest.

This one was newer.

It bore the signature of a man named Silas Granger.

Jedodiah’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“Someone has been trying to claim your father’s property.”

I stared at the signature.

“Who is Silas Granger?”

“The richest landowner in this county. He’s been trying to buy my trapping territory for years.”

He looked directly at me.

“And last month, he sent a lawyer to my cabin asking whether I knew anything about Thomas Whitmore’s daughter.”

My blood ran cold.

“Why would he be looking for me?”

Jedodiah folded the document.

“Because he believes you’re the only person who can legally challenge his claim.”

Before I could ask another question, three violent knocks sounded against the cabin door.

Jedodiah immediately reached for his rifle.

His expression changed.

“Stay behind me.”

He moved toward the entrance.

A man’s voice came from outside.

“Boon! Open this door!”

Jedodiah didn’t move.

“Who is it?”

“Silas Granger.”

I felt my heart drop.

The door shook beneath another blow.

Then the voice continued.

“I know the Whitmore girl is inside. Send her out, and I’ll make this worth your while.”

Jedodiah looked back at me.

For the first time, I saw genuine fury in his pale-blue eyes.

He placed one enormous hand against the door.

Then he spoke quietly.

“Matilda, whatever happens next, don’t let that man convince you that you have nothing.”

He opened the door just enough to reveal the snow-covered porch.

Silas Granger stood outside in a fine black coat, surrounded by four armed men.

His eyes moved past Jedodiah and settled on me.

He smiled.

“So,” he said, “the little heiress has finally been found.”

I gripped my mother’s recipe book.

Heiress?

I had spent twenty-seven years being told I was worthless.

I had worked fourteen hours a day for three dollars a month.

And now a wealthy stranger was standing outside a mountain cabin, calling me an heiress.

But Silas wasn’t finished.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded paper.

“There’s something you should know, Miss Whitmore.”

His smile disappeared.

“Your father didn’t disappear in that blizzard.”

I felt the room spin.

“What?”

Silas looked directly at Jedodiah.

“He was murdered.”

The cabin went completely silent.

And then Silas delivered the words that would change everything.

“The man who killed him is standing right in front of you.”

I turned slowly toward Jedodiah.

The giant’s face had gone pale.

His rifle remained pointed toward the doorway.

But he didn’t deny it.

Not immediately.

And that silence frightened me more than Silas’s armed men.

To be continued…