"Looks like people finally understand why he was protecting it."
Josephine covered her mouth.
Then began crying.
I moved closer and embraced her.
She held me tightly.
For a long time, we remained together without speaking.
Finally, she whispered.
"I wish he could know."
I looked toward the papers.
"Maybe he does."
She smiled through tears.
Then asked whether I thought Eliza knew we'd found the truth.
For a moment, I looked toward the window.
Sunlight fell across the crowded little office.
Outside, wagons moved slowly through the street.
I remembered my wife's handwriting.
Her last words.
And the young woman she'd helped save twenty years earlier.
"I don't know what people can see after they're gone," I answered.
Josephine nodded.
Then I continued.
"But I reckon she'd be proud of you."
Josephine leaned against me.
For several seconds, she cried quietly.
And I held her until the tears passed.
Before returning to the mountains, I asked Josephine to accompany me somewhere.
We traveled to a small cemetery near the remains of the old settlement south of Red Willow.
Micah had helped locate the burial record.
Eliza hadn't died in the fire, as I'd believed.
She'd been buried eleven days later beside a modest wooden chapel, under the name Eliza Walker.
The chapel had been rebuilt.
The cemetery expanded.
And the original marker had weathered almost beyond recognition.
But the record remained.
When we arrived, I stood beside the grave for a long time.
Josephine waited nearby.
The afternoon was warm.
A gentle breeze moved through the grass.
For several minutes, I couldn't speak.
Then I knelt slowly and placed a small bunch of wildflowers beside the marker.
"Hello, Eliza."
My voice trembled.
I looked toward the worn wood.
"I finally found you."
For a long time, I sat there remembering the woman I'd married.
The sound of her laughter.
The blue dress.
And the way she used to tuck little notes into my coat pocket when I left for work.
I told her I was sorry I hadn't found the truth sooner.
Then I told her something I'd never imagined saying aloud.
"I've met somebody."
The words felt strange.
But not wrong.
I looked toward Josephine.
She was watching quietly, allowing me the space I needed.
I turned back toward the grave.
"She's brave. Stubborn. Cleverer than I am."
I laughed shakily.
"Reckon you'd have liked her."
For a moment, my eyes filled.
Then I whispered.