PART 2 — THE NAME SHE WHISPERED IN HER FEVER

“Arthur…”

Cora’s lips moved beneath the blankets.

Harlan leaned closer.

“Who is Arthur?”

Her eyes opened, but she seemed unable to recognize the cabin around her.

“No… please. I gave it back.”

Harlan gently placed the cup on the bedside table.

“Cora, you’re safe. Nobody is taking anything from you.”

She shook her head weakly.

“He said… he’d find me.”

Then her eyes closed again.

Harlan remained beside her, listening to the wind press against the cabin walls.

He had spent three months imagining the arrival of his bride. He had pictured her standing beside the fireplace, asking about the mountains, perhaps laughing at his terrible cooking. He had even rehearsed what he might say when she finally stepped through his door.

Not once had he imagined this.

At sunrise, he went outside to fetch more wood. The storm had buried the path, and the sky remained heavy with snow. He looked toward the trail leading down to the abandoned relay station.

Someone had been there before him.

Fresh tracks crossed the clearing.

Two horses.

One wagon.

And a bootprint beside the place where Cora’s trunk had been destroyed.

Harlan crouched and examined the snow.

Whoever had attacked her had not simply robbed her and disappeared. They had returned.

He followed the tracks a short distance until they vanished beneath the trees.

Then he noticed something caught on a low branch.

A strip of blue fabric.

He recognized it immediately.

It matched the torn lining of Cora’s coat.

Harlan tucked it into his pocket and returned to the cabin.

Cora was awake when he entered.

She had managed to sit up, although her face was pale.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“My cabin. You’re on my mountain.”

She looked around as if expecting someone to appear behind him.

“Did you find my trunk?”

“Some of it.”

“My papers?”

“What papers?”

Her expression changed.

“Nothing.”

Harlan placed a cup of warm water beside her.

“Cora, somebody hurt you. I need to know whether they’re likely to come here.”

She stared at her hands.

“I don’t want trouble.”

“Trouble found you before I did.”

She looked at him then.

For the first time, he saw anger beneath her exhaustion.

“You don’t understand. Men like Arthur always come back.”

Harlan pulled a chair closer.

“Then tell me who he is.”

Cora was silent for a long time.

Finally, she began.

“Arthur Bell was supposed to help me reach Idaho.”

Harlan frowned.

“From Chicago?”

She nodded.

“The agency arranged my pᴀssage. I had very little money, so I was told to travel with another woman who was coming west. Arthur was her brother. He said he knew the roads and could arrange the final journey.”

“Was the woman with him?”

“No. He said she had changed her mind.”

Cora’s fingers тιԍнтened around the blanket.

“He told me he had a message from the marriage agency. He said there had been a delay with the stagecoach and that I needed to wait at the relay station.”

Harlan felt his jaw тιԍнтen.

“That was two weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I tried.”

Her voice broke.

“He took my money. My documents. Everything.”

Harlan sat very still.

Cora looked toward the window.

“He said I owed him for the journey. When I refused to give him the money you had sent, he became angry.”

Harlan’s hands closed around the edge of the chair.

“How did he know about my money?”

“He had seen the agency papers. He knew you had paid for my pᴀssage and that I was supposed to bring the remaining amount to you.”

Harlan stared at her.

The fifty dollars he had sent to the agency had not simply purchased a promise. It had made Cora a target for someone who believed she was carrying more money.

“Did he know where I lived?”

Cora nodded.

“He said he knew the mountain claim. He said no one would hear me if I disappeared up here.”

A long silence followed.

Harlan rose and walked to the fireplace.

He wanted to ride down the mountain immediately. He wanted to find Arthur Bell and demand answers.

But Cora’s voice stopped him.

“He wasn’t alone.”

Harlan turned.

“What?”

“There was another man. I heard them arguing near the station.”

“Do you know his name?”

She shook her head.

“One of them said the money wasn’t enough. The other said the bride had to disappear before you came looking.”

Harlan looked at her.

“Why would they care whether you reached me?”

Cora’s eyes filled.

“Because I wasn’t supposed to marry you.”

Harlan slowly sat down again.

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed.

“Arthur said the marriage agency had made a mistake. He told me your letter had been sent to the wrong woman. He said you had withdrawn your offer.”

“That is a lie.”

“I know that now.”

“How?”

Cora reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a small folded paper.

It was stained and torn.

Harlan recognized the agency’s printed seal.

Cora handed it to him.

It was a letter bearing his name and the agency’s address.

But the handwriting was not his.

Harlan read the first lines.

Dear Miss Cora,

Due to unforeseen circumstances, Mr. Mercer has withdrawn his proposal. You are advised to return to Chicago immediately.

He turned the page.

At the bottom was a signature.

His own name.

Forged.

Harlan looked at Cora.

“Who gave you this?”

“Arthur.”

Harlan folded the letter carefully.

“He wanted you to believe I had rejected you.”

Cora nodded.

“And when I refused to go back, he said he would make sure you never found me.”

Harlan stood and walked to the window.

The snow-covered mountain was silent.

But the silence no longer felt peaceful.

He turned back toward Cora.

“I want you to understand something.”

She watched him anxiously.

“You didn’t do anything wrong by coming here. You didn’t do anything wrong by trusting someone who claimed to be helping you.”

Her eyes lowered.

“I was supposed to be your wife.”

“You still have a choice about what happens next.”

Cora looked startled.

“You mean you don’t want me?”

Harlan’s expression softened.

“I mean you don’t owe me a marriage because I paid an agency fee.”

She stared at him.

He continued quietly.

“I wanted a wife. I didn’t want a frightened woman who believed she had to stay because she had nowhere else to go.”

Cora’s eyes filled with tears.

For the first time since arriving at the mountain, she allowed herself to cry.

Harlan did not touch her without permission. He simply placed a clean handkerchief on the table and returned to the fireplace.

That evening, while preparing supper, he heard a faint sound outside.

A horse.

He reached for his rifle and looked through the window.

A rider stood beyond the woodpile.

The man’s face was hidden beneath a dark hat.

Harlan stepped onto the porch.

“State your business.”

The rider did not answer.

Instead, he lifted one hand.

Something small fell into the snow.

Then he turned his horse and disappeared into the trees.

Harlan approached cautiously.

The object was a leather pouch.

Inside was a silver locket and a folded note.

The note contained only six words.

“Ask your bride what she stole.”

Harlan looked back toward the cabin.

Through the window, Cora was sitting beside the fire.

And for the first time, he wondered whether she had told him everything.