PART 3 — THE WOMAN WHO REFUSED TO BE QUIET

The next morning, Mara woke before sunrise.

She found Abel outside splitting wood, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The mountain air was cold, and a thin mist hung over the pasture.

He looked up when she opened the door.

“You’re awake early.”

“I’ve never been fond of sleeping through an opportunity to get things done.”

“You don’t have to work.”

Mara glanced at the enormous woodpile.

“Neither do you, apparently. Yet here you are.”

Abel drove the axe into another log.

“Coffee’s inside.”

“Thank you.”

She returned to the kitchen, made coffee, and began preparing breakfast. By the time Abel came in, the table held eggs, biscuits, and a small pot of preserves.

He stopped in the doorway.

“You made all this?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.”

He sat down slowly.

For a few minutes, they ate without speaking.

Then Mara set down her cup.

“Tell me about the spring.”

Abel’s expression grew guarded.

“Why?”

“Because Mercer wants it badly enough to threaten you with a county investigation. I would like to know what we’re dealing with.”

He wiped his hands and leaned back.

“The spring is on the eastern side of my property. It’s the only reliable water source for several miles. My father found it when I was a boy. He built a stone channel that carries water toward the lower pasture.”

“Is that why Mercer wants the land?”

“Partly.”

“What else?”

Abel hesitated.

“There may be silver in the ridge above it.”

Mara stared at him.

“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

“I don’t own a silver mine.”

“Yet.”

He gave her a look.

“I have no interest in digging up the mountain.”

“Then why would Mercer care about the spring?”

“Because water rights and mineral claims are often connected. If he can get control of the eastern pasture, he can make a fortune selling access to the water and searching the ridge.”

Mara folded her arms.

“And you intend to let him?”

“No.”

“Good. We agree on something.”

Abel pushed his chair back.

“Get your coat. The horses are ready.”

They rode down the mountain shortly after sunrise.

Mara chose a chestnut mare from the stable, and Abel watched her тιԍнтen the saddle straps.

“You know how to ride?”

She gave him a sideways look.

“I was raised around horses.”

“I wasn’t questioning you.”

“Then stop looking as though you expect me to fall off.”

Abel mounted his enormous black gelding.

“I don’t expect you to fall.”

“Wonderful. We’re making progress.”

The ride into Mercy Hollow took nearly two hours.

When they arrived, conversations stopped as they pᴀssed the general store. People stared openly at Mara, then at Abel, then at their joined path toward the courthouse.

A woman standing outside the bakery whispered to another.

“That’s the bride?”

Mara turned.

“Yes. And I can hear you.”

The woman flushed.

Abel continued walking, but Mara caught the faintest movement in his beard.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she whispered.

“I didn’t.”

“You’re doing it internally.”

He opened the courthouse door for her.

Inside, a clerk named Mr. Harlan was sorting papers behind a high wooden desk. He looked up and recognized Abel immediately.

“Stone. What brings you here?”

“Mercer filed a complaint about my eastern boundary.”

The clerk sighed.

“I was afraid of that.”

Mara stepped forward.

“What does that mean?”

Harlan looked at her.

“Are you Mrs. Stone?”

“I am.”

“Then perhaps you should know that Mr. Mercer has been asking about the property for months.”

Abel frowned.

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Because he hadn’t filed a formal claim until yesterday.”

Mara placed Mercer’s document on the desk.

“He wants my husband to sign away control of the spring.”

Harlan examined the paper.

His expression changed.

“This is not a standard temporary agreement.”

“I noticed,” Mara said.

The clerk lowered his voice.

“Mr. Mercer has been purchasing land along the creek. Three families have already sold their properties to him. All of them received much less than their land was worth.”

“Why?” Abel asked.

“Because they were told the county would take the properties anyway.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed.

“Did the county actually say that?”

“No.”

“Then someone has been frightening people into selling.”

Harlan nodded.

“That’s what I suspect.”

He disappeared into the records room and returned with a large ledger.

“Your father’s original deed is here, Stone. It clearly marks the eastern pasture as part of your property.”

Abel leaned over the desk.

“Then this should be simple.”

“Not quite.”

Harlan turned several pages.

“Someone filed a second survey last year. It moves the boundary nearly half a mile west.”

“Who signed it?”

The clerk hesitated.

“Your father.”

Abel stared at him.

“My father died twelve years ago.”

“I know.”

Mara looked between them.

“Then the signature is forged.”

“That’s what it appears to be,” Harlan replied.

He pulled the document closer.

“There’s something else. The survey was witnessed by a man named Thomas Voss.”

Abel’s expression darkened.

“Voss owned the land before my father bought it.”

“His son now works with Mercer.”

Mara studied the paper.

The signature was remarkably neat. But something about the date caught her attention.

She leaned closer.

“Mr. Harlan, may I see that?”

The clerk handed it to her.

Mara examined the ink, then the written date.

“Is this the original document?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does the date appear beneath the signature instead of above it?”

Harlan frowned.

“What?”

“Look here. The signature crosses the line where the date should be. It looks as though the date was added afterward.”

Abel looked down.

Harlan took the paper back and examined it carefully.

Mara pointed to another detail.

“And the number seven in the year is written differently from the seven in the property description.”

The clerk stared at her.

“You have experience with documents?”

“My father was a bookkeeper. He taught me to notice when numbers don’t agree.”

Abel looked at her with new interest.

Harlan placed the document beneath a small magnifying glᴀss.

After a moment, he nodded.

“You may be right.”

He stood abruptly.

“I need to speak with the county recorder.”

Before he could leave, the courthouse door opened.

Elias Mercer walked in.

He was accompanied by a younger man wearing a polished black coat.

Mercer smiled when he saw Abel.

“I’m glad you’re here. Saves me a trip up the mountain.”

Abel’s voice was cold.

“We’ve already discussed your offer.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be interested in meeting my ᴀssociate. This is Thomas Voss.”

The younger man stepped forward.

Mara noticed his eyes immediately. They moved from Abel to the papers on the desk, then settled on her.

“Mrs. Stone,” he said. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“I’m surprised. We haven’t met.”

“Small town.”

Mercer placed a document on the desk.

“Mr. Voss has agreed to purchase the disputed section of land. We only need your husband’s signature to settle the matter.”

Abel didn’t touch the paper.

“It’s not for sale.”

Mercer sighed.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to let the courts decide.”

Mara picked up the new document.

She read the first page, then the second.

Her expression changed.

“Mr. Voss, may I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“Why does this agreement refer to the eastern spring as a privately owned water source when the original deed lists it as a shared family right?”

Thomas Voss’s smile disappeared.

Mercer stepped forward.

“That’s not relevant.”

“Then you won’t mind answering.”

Thomas looked at her.

“Mrs. Stone, I suggest you leave legal matters to men who understand them.”

Mara set the paper down.

“I suggest you stop ᴀssuming a woman cannot read.”

The courthouse became silent.

Abel stood beside her, his enormous frame still and watchful.

Thomas Voss turned toward Mercer.

“Let’s go.”

But Mara had noticed something.

As Voss gathered the documents, a small envelope slipped from his coat and landed near the desk.

He didn’t see it.

Mara did.

She waited until the two men had left before picking it up.

The envelope was addressed to Elias Mercer.

There was no stamp and no return address.

Inside was a short handwritten note.

The Stone woman must not see the original survey. If she discovers what happened to the first deed, the entire agreement will collapse.

Mara read the sentence again.

Then she turned the paper over.

At the bottom was a signature.

THOMAS VOSS.

Abel read it over her shoulder.

“What does that mean?”

Mara looked toward the courthouse door.

“It means they aren’t simply trying to steal your land.”

She handed him the note.

“They’re hiding something about how your father acquired it in the first place.”

Abel’s face тιԍнтened.

“My father never stole anything.”

“I didn’t say he did.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Mara pointed to the final line of the note.

There, beneath Thomas Voss’s signature, was a date.

It was dated twelve years earlier.

The same month Abel’s father had died.

Abel stared at it.

For the first time since Mara had met him, the giant looked uncertain.

“My father told me he died peacefully in his sleep,” he said.

Mara folded the note carefully.

“Then perhaps someone has been lying to you for twelve years.”

Outside, a horse suddenly galloped past the courthouse.

The rider pulled up near the steps and shouted for the sheriff.

“There’s been trouble at Wolfjaw Mountain!”

Abel rushed to the door.

“What happened?”

The rider was breathless.

“Someone broke into your cabin. The place has been searched, and the eastern pasture gate is open.”

Abel turned toward Mara.

“Did you leave anything valuable inside?”

Mara thought of the hidden documents she had found beneath the courthouse desk.

Then she remembered something.

The original deed.

It was still in the cabin, tucked inside the small wooden box Abel kept beneath his bed.

She looked at him.

“Your father’s deed is there.”

The rider shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

Abel went completely still.

The rider swallowed.

“They took the deed, Stone. But they left something behind.”

“What?”

“A letter.”

He reached into his coat and handed Abel a folded sheet.

Abel opened it.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

But the message was unmistakable.

If you want to know what really happened to your father, come alone to the old silver ridge before midnight.

Beneath the message was one final sentence.

Bring the woman you married. She knows more than she realizes.

Mara looked at Abel.

The mountain wind rattled the courthouse windows.

And suddenly, she understood why Mercer had been so eager to separate them.

The secret wasn’t hidden in the land.

It was hidden in the woman who had just arrived in Mercy Hollow.

End of Part 3.