PART 6 — THE SECRET JULIAN BAIN NEVER TOLD HER

Abigail read the document again.

Then she looked at Eleanor.

“Is this genuine?”

Eleanor smiled.

“I’m afraid so.”

Abigail’s fingers тιԍнтened around the paper.

“Why would Mr. Bain purchase our home?”

“Perhaps he has decided that your little cottage is no longer suitable for someone he intends to keep.”

Abigail looked up sharply.

“Do not speak about him that way.”

Eleanor’s smile widened.

“Then ask him why he has purchased your property.”

She turned and walked out.

Abigail stood in the shop for several minutes.

The golden gown hung in the back room.

The silver thimble rested in her pocket.

Everything that had seemed so hopeful only weeks earlier now felt uncertain.

That evening, Julian arrived at the cottage.

Abigail was waiting on the porch.

She held the document in her hand.

“Did you buy our home?”

Julian looked at the paper.

His expression changed.

“Where did you get this?”

“Eleanor Whitcomb brought it to me.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Abigail, I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

Julian stepped closer.

“The property was part of a larger purchase. The land around your cottage was being acquired by a mining company. They intended to demolish several homes and build a warehouse.”

Abigail stared at him.

“And you bought the property?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To prevent them from taking it.”

She looked at the document again.

“But it says the cottage will be demolished.”

“That was the original agreement. I have not yet changed the terms.”

Abigail’s voice trembled.

“Then you have purchased our home only to destroy it?”

“No.”

“Mr. Bain, I have spent my entire life being grateful for whatever little kindness people offer me. I will not allow you to make decisions about my home without asking me.”

Julian stood very still.

“You are right.”

Abigail’s eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to owe you my life.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t want to owe you my home.”

“You won’t.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

Julian looked at her.

For the first time, he seemed uncertain.

“I wanted to make sure you and your sister would never have to leave that cottage because someone richer decided your lives were inconvenient.”

Abigail looked away.

“Then you should have told me.”

“I should have.”

Silence settled between them.

Julian reached into his coat and removed a second document.

“This is the deed. The property is now yours.”

Abigail stared at it.

“What?”

“I have transferred ownership to you. The cottage and the surrounding land.”

She shook her head.

“I cannot accept this.”

“You can.”

“Mr. Bain—”

“No conditions. No debt. No obligation.”

He placed the document on the porch railing.

“Your father once owned a small cabin in Leadville. A mining company tried to take it from him. He fought them for years. He lost everything before he died.”

Abigail looked at him.

“I never knew that.”

“Neither did I, until I was old enough to understand what had happened.”

Julian’s voice grew quieter.

“I promised myself that if I ever had enough money, I would make certain no one else had to lose their home simply because they were poor.”

Abigail looked at the deed.

Then she looked at Julian.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was buying your affection.”

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Abigail stepped forward.

“Thank you.”

Julian nodded.

But she was not finished.

“I accept the deed. Not because I need a rich man to save me. But because you have finally trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

His expression softened.

“That is all I wanted.”

The following morning, Abigail took the deed to the county office.

She learned that Julian had purchased not only her cottage but also the surrounding properties.

The mining company had already begun preparing for demolition.

And there was something else.

A second document had been filed.

It established a fund to help the families who lived on the land.

The fund was to be administered by a board of local residents.

At the top of the list was Abigail Miller.

She stared at the page.

Julian had not simply saved her home.

He had given her the opportunity to help save the homes of others.

But when she returned to the cottage, Lahi was waiting with a letter.

It had arrived from Virginia.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

The envelope contained a pH๏τograph of their mother, taken many years earlier.

On the back was a message.

Abigail,

Your mother did not come to Denver by accident.

She was once engaged to Julian Bain’s father.

And the gold gown you wore at the ball was originally made for her.

Abigail’s breath caught.

She looked at the pH๏τograph.

Then she looked at the golden gown hanging in her bedroom.

A gown that had been designed for her.

A gown that had belonged to her mother.

A gown that Julian had somehow known to give her.

Abigail turned the pH๏τograph over again.

Beneath the message was a final sentence.

If you want to know why Julian chose you, come to Leadville before the first spring thaw.

She stared at the words.

Then she whispered:

“Lahi… I think our mother knew Julian Bain.”

And for the first time, Abigail wondered whether the golden gown had ever been a gift at all.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 7…