PART 3 — THE DOCUMENT HER FATHER WANTED HIDDEN

Josephine stared at the paper in Harlan’s hand.

“My signature?” she whispered.

Harlan didn’t answer immediately. He examined the document again, then held it toward her.

“Look at the bottom.”

She stepped closer.

There, beneath the names of her father and Harlan Creek, was a signature that supposedly belonged to her.

Josephine recognized the first letter.

But the rest was wrong.

“I never signed this.”

Her father shifted his weight.

“You signed what I told you to sign.”

“No, Father. I didn’t.”

“You were present when the agreement was made.”

“I was standing in the kitchen while you discussed my marriage with that preacher. You never asked me to sign anything.”

Her father gave an impatient wave.

“Don’t make a scene.”

Josephine felt something unfamiliar rising inside her.

Anger.

Not the quiet sadness she had carried for years. Not the embarrᴀssment that made her apologize whenever someone criticized her.

Real anger.

“You sold me without asking,” she said. “And now you’re pretending I agreed to something I never even saw?”

Her father stepped toward her.

“Watch your tongue, girl.”

Harlan moved between them.

“She has every right to speak.”

The older man glared at him.

“You bought her. Don’t forget that.”

Harlan’s expression became frighteningly still.

“I bought the horses. I gave you money because I wanted to get Josephine away from your house. I never bought her.”

Her father laughed bitterly.

“Then you made a foolish bargain.”

“Perhaps. But it’s the last bargain you’ll ever make concerning her.”

Josephine watched Harlan return the document.

“Take your paper and leave.”

Her father snatched it.

“You’ll regret this, Creek.”

“Not nearly as much as you’ll regret coming back here.”

The man climbed onto his horse and rode away, leaving a trail of disturbed snow behind him.

Josephine remained on the porch long after he disappeared.

She was shaking.

Harlan noticed but didn’t touch her.

“Come inside,” he said gently.

She followed him.

Once the door closed, she sank into a chair beside the stove.

“What did he mean about the full terms?”

Harlan removed his hat.

“I don’t know yet.”

“But you saw something.”

He hesitated.

“The document mentioned a timber claim.”

Josephine looked up.

“What timber claim?”

“Your father apparently promised the buyer rights to a piece of land in exchange for the horses and money.”

She frowned.

“My father doesn’t own any mountain land.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Harlan placed the paper on the table.

“There’s a property number written here. It doesn’t match anything I know.”

Josephine leaned forward.

Then she noticed the name beneath the number.

Margaret Creek.

She looked at Harlan.

“Is that your sister’s name?”

He went completely still.

“Yes.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Harlan searched through an old wooden chest in his bedroom.

Josephine sat at the kitchen table, trying to understand why her father’s forged document contained the name of a woman who had died years earlier.

Eventually, Harlan returned carrying a leather-bound journal.

“My sister left this behind.”

He placed it on the table.

“Margaret owned a small parcel of land near the northern ridge. It wasn’t worth much when she first bought it, but she discovered a valuable stand of timber.”

“Was that why her husband married her?”

Harlan nodded.

“He wanted the property. After she died, he claimed the land belonged to him.”

“What happened to him?”

“He disappeared before I could prove anything.”

Harlan opened the journal.

“Margaret wrote about a man who visited her shortly before her death. She believed he wanted her to sign something transferring ownership of the timber claim.”

Josephine turned a page.

There were several entries written in a delicate hand.

One pᴀssage caught her attention.

The man came again today. He says the land will be worth a fortune once the railroad reaches the valley. I told him I would never sell it without my brother’s permission.

Josephine read it aloud.

Harlan’s jaw тιԍнтened.

“That’s the property my father was trying to put into the agreement.”

“But how could he claim land belonging to your sister?”

“I don’t know.”

He turned another page.

There, written in darker ink, was a name.

Edwin Mercer.

Josephine frowned.

“That’s not my father’s name.”

“No,” Harlan said. “It’s the name of the man Margaret accused of threatening her.”

He looked toward the window.

“And it’s the name of the lawyer who handled her husband’s estate.”

A chill moved through Josephine.

“Do you think my father knows him?”

“I think your father knows more about this than he’s telling us.”

That evening, Harlan made supper while Josephine sorted through the old journal.

She was beginning to understand that the marriage arrangement had been more complicated than anyone had admitted.

Her father had not simply wanted to get rid of her.

He had needed Harlan to accept the agreement.

And perhaps he had chosen Josephine because he believed Harlan would never question the papers.

But why?

She was still thinking about it when a knock sounded at the door.

Harlan reached for his rifle.

“Stay back.”

He approached the entrance and looked through the small window.

Then he lowered the rifle slightly.

“It’s Reverend Collins.”

The preacher who had performed their wedding stood outside, looking pale and exhausted.

Harlan opened the door.

The reverend stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Mr. Creek, I need to speak with you.”

Harlan’s expression hardened.

“You’ve got something to explain.”

The preacher glanced at Josephine.

“Miss Josephine, I’m sorry.”

She stood.

“For what?”

He removed his hat and held it against his chest.

“Your father paid me to perform the ceremony. He told me the arrangement was legal and that you had agreed to it.”

Josephine stared at him.

“You knew I hadn’t signed anything?”

The reverend lowered his eyes.

“I suspected something wasn’t right.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He had no answer.

Harlan stepped forward.

“Tell us about the land.”

The preacher looked startled.

“What land?”

“The timber claim listed in the agreement.”

The reverend’s face changed.

He slowly reached inside his coat and removed a folded envelope.

“Your father gave me this after the ceremony. He told me to keep it until I received instructions.”

Harlan took it.

Inside was a letter addressed to him.

The handwriting belonged to Edwin Mercer.

Harlan read it silently.

Then he pᴀssed it to Josephine.

She began reading.

Mr. Creek,

The marriage arrangement is complete. Your sister’s property will now pᴀss into the hands of the rightful family representative. You will receive further instructions once the transfer is finalized.

Do not attempt to contact the county office.

Your sister’s death was unfortunate, but the matter should remain closed.

Josephine looked up.

“Your sister’s death?”

Harlan’s face had gone pale.

The letter continued.

The woman you have married was selected because of her connection to the Mercer family. Her father believes she will cooperate once she understands the consequences of refusing.

Josephine felt the room spin.

“My family?”

Harlan took the letter back.

“Josephine, what was your mother’s maiden name?”

She struggled to remember.

“Mercer.”

The cabin became silent.

Her father had always told her that her mother’s family was poor and had no property worth discussing.

But Margaret’s journal suggested something entirely different.

The reverend cleared his throat.

“There is more.”

He removed another paper from his coat.

“This was given to me in case you refused to cooperate.”

Josephine unfolded it.

It was a copy of an old birth record.

Her mother’s name appeared at the top.

Beneath it was the name of her maternal grandmother.

Margaret Creek.

Josephine looked at Harlan.

He stared at the paper as though the words had struck him.

“Margaret was your grandmother?” he whispered.

Josephine nodded slowly.

“I never knew her.”

Harlan sank into the chair.

For years, he had believed his sister had died without children.

And now the woman sitting across from him was apparently her granddaughter.

The marriage arranged by Josephine’s father had brought two branches of the same family together.

But there was something even more disturbing.

The old birth record showed that Josephine’s mother had inherited a portion of Margaret’s land.

And after her mother’s death, that inheritance had pᴀssed directly to Josephine.

The timber claim had never belonged to Edwin Mercer.

It belonged to her.

The reverend left shortly afterward, promising to provide a statement about the forged agreement.

Harlan sat beside the fire, reading Margaret’s journal again.

Josephine watched him.

“Does this mean we’re related?”

“By marriage through your mother’s family, yes. But not by blood to me. Margaret was my sister, not my mother.”

He looked up.

“I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“That someone had been searching for her property. I thought it was gone forever.”

Josephine touched the old birth record.

“Why would my father keep this from me?”

“Because he wanted the land.”

“But why marry me to you?”

Harlan considered the question.

Then he looked toward the fireplace, where the remains of her wedding corset had long since turned to ash.

“Because he believed I was a fool.”

Josephine almost smiled.

“He wasn’t entirely wrong. You did agree to marry a woman you’d never met.”

Harlan gave a quiet chuckle.

“Fair enough.”

Then his expression grew serious.

“There’s one thing we need to do tomorrow. We have to find the original deed.”

“Where?”

“Margaret’s old property. She mentioned a stone marker in her journal. If the deed is still there, we may be able to prove the land belongs to you.”

Josephine nodded.

For the first time, she felt she had a reason to fight for something beyond simply surviving.

Her mother had left her something.

And her father had spent years trying to take it away.

The following morning, Harlan saddled his horse while Josephine packed food and warm clothing.

They had barely reached the edge of the clearing when a rider appeared on the trail.

It was Levi Jenkins, the mercantile owner from the nearest settlement.

He looked frightened.

“Harlan! You need to come back!”

Harlan dismounted.

“What happened?”

Levi glanced at Josephine.

“Your cabin was searched last night.”

Josephine felt her stomach drop.

“Who searched it?”

“Three men. They were asking about Margaret Creek’s journal and the timber deed.”

Harlan’s expression darkened.

“Did they find anything?”

Levi shook his head.

“Not what they wanted.”

He reached into his coat and handed Harlan a small folded note.

“Your sister left something else. Something I was supposed to give you if the wrong people came looking.”

Harlan opened it.

The message was short.

The deed is not buried beneath the stone marker.

Look beneath the floor of the house where I first lived.

At the bottom was one final sentence.

Harlan, if you have found Josephine, then the man who destroyed our family has found her too.

Josephine looked toward the distant mountains.

“Who destroyed your family?”

Harlan folded the note.

“I thought he was ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

“Who?”

Harlan turned toward her.

His face had gone completely still.

“Your grandfather’s lawyer.”

He paused.

“Edwin Mercer.”

Then Levi spoke again.

“There is one more thing.”

He looked directly at Josephine.

“Your father arrived in town before sunrise. He wasn’t alone.”

“Who was with him?”

Levi swallowed.

“A man claiming to be your mother’s brother.”

Josephine’s heart began pounding.

“My mother had a brother?”

“He says he’s come to collect the inheritance.”

Harlan тιԍнтened his grip on the reins.

“Then we’d better find that deed before he does.”

But as they turned toward the mountain trail, Josephine noticed something tied beneath the saddle.

A small white envelope.

Her name was written across it.

Inside was a pH๏τograph of her mother as a young woman, standing beside a man Josephine had never seen.

On the back, in faded handwriting, were six words:

YOUR MOTHER DID NOT DIE NATURALLY.

Josephine looked up at Harlan.

And for the first time since their wedding, she understood that the greatest danger waiting in the mountains might not be the winter.

It might be the family she had spent her entire life trying to please.

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 4: THE INHERITANCE OF A FORGOTTEN DAUGHTER