She read slowly.
The handwriting was elegant, though several words had been corrected.
The letter explained that the first wife survived the depot fire with serious injuries and long periods of confusion.
She had been taken away by men working for the superintendent.
Those men told her that her husband had died.
They claimed he started the fire and killed the records custodian.
When she began recovering, they warned that discussing the old surveys would place her in danger.
She spent years living under another surname, moving between boardinghouses and remote properties connected to the railroad's commercial network.
At first, she believed the account she had been given.
Later, she began noticing contradictions.
Documents that did not match.
Dates that changed.
Men who became angry when she asked about the past.
She eventually recovered enough memories to understand that the fire had not happened the way she was told.
Three months before writing the letter, she discovered a packet of old correspondence.
It contained references to the surveyor's escape from the depot.
And a note suggesting he might have survived.
She began searching.
The letter ended with a request.
If this reaches you, I am not writing to reclaim the life we lost. I am writing because we were both deceived, and the men responsible are preparing to do it again.
The mountain man's wife stared at the words.
Then read the final line.
Please come before the eastern watershed is sold under the false maps.
She lowered the letter.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then she looked toward her husband.
"You knew there might be a chance she was alive."
He closed his eyes.
"Four days ago."
She swallowed.
"And you didn't tell me."
His expression tightened.
"No."
The woman looked down at her wedding ring.
The simple gold band suddenly felt unfamiliar.
She had married a man who believed his first wife was dead.
Now that woman appeared to be alive.
And her husband had been carrying this knowledge for four days while continuing to tell her nothing.
She was not prepared to ignore that.
"Why?"
He looked up.
She held his gaze.
"Why didn't you tell me when the first letter arrived?"
The mountain man seemed to shrink beneath the question.
"I didn't know whether it was true."
"That wasn't what I asked."
He swallowed.
She continued.
"Did you think I couldn't understand?"
"No."