For a long time, he did not touch anything.
Then he picked up the photograph.
It showed a beautiful young white woman standing beside a river.
She had dark hair.
Pale eyes.
And a little girl sitting in her arms.
Annie.
Much younger.
Perhaps an infant.
William handed me the photograph.
"My first wife."
I studied her face.
She was beautiful.
Elegant.
Smiling.
But something about the image unsettled me.
She didn't look like the woman I imagined William marrying.
Not because of her appearance.
Because her smile seemed strangely deliberate.
As though she were performing happiness for the camera.
I looked toward him.
"What was she like?"
He considered.
"At first?"
I nodded.
"Kind."
He swallowed.
"Or I thought she was."
I waited.
He looked down.
"She came to Harlan Creek with her father. They were looking for investment opportunities in the timber trade."
I listened.
"She was educated. Beautiful. Confident."
He smiled sadly.
"She seemed interested in everything I did."
"What happened?"
His expression darkened.
"Money."
I frowned.
He reached for the folded document.
Opened it.
Then pushed it toward me.
It was a land agreement.
The language was dense.
The boundaries described a parcel of mountain property extending beneath the ridge behind our cabin.
I recognized some of the landmarks.
The eastern creek.
The old mining trail.
The limestone bluff.
And the narrow valley where William had once shown me a collapsed tunnel.
I looked up.
"This is your land."
He nodded.
"Most of it."
"What about the rest?"
His expression tightened.
"My father purchased mineral rights decades ago."
I stared.
"Mineral rights?"
He nodded.
"Before I was born."
I looked back at the paper.
"There was a mining operation?"
"A small one."
"What happened?"
"The entrance collapsed."
He looked toward the fireplace.
"My father sealed the remaining access."
I frowned.
"Why?"
William hesitated.
Then spoke quietly.
"Because the men who worked there started fighting over what they found."
My stomach tightened.
"Gold?"
He shook his head.
"Some gold."
Then he looked at me.
"But mostly something else."
I waited.
He leaned forward.
"Silver."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I looked toward the floorboards.
The old stove.
The chimney.
The hidden passage.
The child.
The intruder.
The missing chicken.
Everything seemed connected to a secret buried beneath our home.
I looked back at William.
"How much silver?"
He shook his head.
"I don't know."
"William."
"I'm telling you the truth."
He looked directly at me.
"My father never gave me a complete account."
I studied him.
He continued.