PART 4 — THE SECRET HIS ᴅᴇᴀᴅ BROTHER LEFT BEHIND

Julian didn’t sleep that night.

He sat beside the cold fireplace long after the children had gone to bed.

The old survey lay across his knees.

Samuel’s handwriting seemed to stare back at him.

For two years, Julian had believed his brother died without leaving anything behind except an unfinished barn, a few tools and a collection of debts.

Now he was beginning to understand that Samuel might have left something far more important.

At sunrise, he found Beatatrice already awake.

She was making breakfast while Clara helped prepare the children’s schoolbooks.

“You’re going to the barn,” she said without looking up.

Julian stopped.

“How did you know?”

“Because you’ve been staring at that survey for six hours.”

He pulled out a chair.

“Samuel never told me about a water trust.”

“Perhaps he couldn’t.”

Julian looked up.

“What do you mean?”

Beatatrice lowered her voice.

“Your brother signed this document shortly before his death. If he discovered irregularities in Galt’s claim, he may have been gathering evidence.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Perhaps he was protecting you.”

Julian looked toward the window.

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling stove.

Then Eric entered.

“Mr. Caldwell?”

“Yes, son?”

“I found something.”

The boy carried an old wooden box.

He had discovered it behind a loose board in the barn, underneath a pile of broken harnesses.

Julian recognized the box immediately.

It had belonged to Samuel.

He opened it.

Inside were several letters, an old pocket watch and a small leather ledger.

Beatatrice carefully lifted the ledger.

The pages were filled with names, dates and figures.

She turned several pages.

Then stopped.

“Julian.”

He leaned over.

“What?”

She pointed to an entry dated two months before Samuel’s death.

A payment had been recorded to a surveyor named Nathaniel Price.

The amount was substantial.

Beneath it was a note.

Eastern spring boundary verified. Original trust filing located. Copy secured.

Julian looked confused.

“What does that mean?”

Beatatrice read the next entry.

Galt knows. He has approached me twice. Refused both offers.

The room fell silent.

Samuel hadn’t simply discovered a questionable mortgage.

He had discovered that Josiah Galt was attempting to acquire land that belonged to a separate water trust.

And he had refused to help him.

Julian turned another page.

There was a final entry, written in a hurried hand.

If anything happens to me, the original papers are not in the cabin.

Beatatrice looked at him.

“Where would your brother have hidden them?”

Julian thought for a moment.

Then his expression changed.

“The old windmill.”

Samuel had built a small wooden windmill near the eastern fence years earlier.

It hadn’t worked in ages.

But he had always insisted that nobody dismantle it.

Julian pulled on his coat.

“I’m going there.”

Beatatrice stood.

“Not alone.”

“You’re staying here.”

“Julian—”

“I won’t have you walking through that snow.”

Beatatrice looked at him sharply.

“Do you think I came all this way to be locked inside every time something important happens?”

He hesitated.

She continued.

“I can read the documents. I can recognize what we’re looking for. And I know when someone is trying to hide something in plain sight.”

Julian glanced toward the children.

Eric immediately stepped forward.

“I’ll stay with Clara and the twins.”

Beatatrice nodded.

“Good.”

They left together.

The windmill stood at the far end of the eastern field.

Its wooden blades were frozen in place, and the small structure leaned slightly toward the creek.

Julian climbed the ladder and began examining the beams.

Beatatrice remained below, studying the foundation.

“Julian!”

He looked down.

“What?”

“There’s a loose stone beneath the western support.”

He climbed down.

Together, they moved the stone.

Behind it was a narrow opening.

Inside sat a metal cylinder wrapped in oilcloth.

Julian pulled it free.

His hands trembled as he opened the covering.

There were three documents.

The first was an original water-trust certificate.

The second was a surveyor’s report.

The third was a letter addressed to Julian.

He recognized Samuel’s handwriting.

Brother,

If you’re reading this, then I have failed to finish what I started.

Galt has been trying to take the eastern spring because he knows what the railroad surveyors will eventually discover.

The spring feeds more than our land. It feeds the entire valley.

The water trust was created by the first settlers to protect access for every homestead along Clearwater Creek.

Galt wants to own it privately.

I found proof that he has been buying old claims, changing survey records and pressuring families into signing away their rights.

I have sent copies to a lawyer in Bismarck.

But there is one thing I could never establish.

The original trust was signed by seven families. One of those signatures is missing from the county records.

Find the seventh family, Julian.

Without their original document, Galt may still be able to challenge the trust.

Julian lowered the letter.

Beatatrice read it over his shoulder.

“Seven families,” she whispered.

“Do you know who they were?”

“Not yet.”

She examined the certificate.

Then she noticed a faint impression beneath the last signature.

A name had been partially erased.

She tilted the paper toward the winter light.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“There’s another name beneath this one.”

She carefully traced the faded letters.

Then she looked at Julian.

“Caleb Whitmore.”

Julian shook his head.

“Never heard of him.”

Beatatrice’s expression grew serious.

“I have.”

She folded the document.

“Caleb Whitmore was a clerk for the original territorial land commission. He was involved in several water-rights cases before moving east.”

“Where?”

“Chicago.”

Julian stared at her.

“Chicago?”

She nodded.

“And I remember the name because he was connected to the office where I worked.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Beatatrice said something that made Julian’s heart sink.

“Julian, I believe your brother was trying to tell us that the seventh document is not missing.”

“Then where is it?”

She looked toward the distant mountains.

“Someone took it.”

And whoever had taken it had apparently known about the water trust long before Samuel died.

Meanwhile, back at the cabin, Eric was helping Clara prepare lunch when someone knocked.

Three times.

He opened the door only a few inches.

A stranger stood outside.

He wore a dark coat and carried a leather valise.

“Good afternoon, young man. Is Mrs. Caldwell home?”

“She’s out.”

The stranger smiled.

“That’s unfortunate.”

He held out a sealed envelope.

“Would you give her this?”

Eric hesitated.

The stranger placed the envelope on the porch.

Then he leaned closer.

“And tell her that Mr. Galt knows about the papers.”

Eric’s face went pale.

The man mounted his horse and disappeared.

When Beatatrice and Julian returned, the envelope was waiting on the kitchen table.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

It contained only seven words.

SURRENDER THE WATER TRUST OR LOSE YOUR CHILDREN.

Beatatrice read it twice.

Then she folded the letter and placed it beside Samuel’s ledger.

Julian’s expression hardened.

“They’ve threatened my family.”

Beatatrice looked at him.

“No, Julian.”

Her voice was quiet.

“They’ve made a mistake.”

She opened her leather case.

“And now we’re going to find out exactly who gave them the right to make it.”