"Claraβ"
"There's plenty of room on the floor beside the stove. We'll make you a proper mattress."
He studied her.
"You're giving orders in my house now?"
She smiled sweetly.
"Only sensible ones."
Elias laughed.
A deep, warm laugh that seemed to fill the entire shelter.
Clara felt herself smiling in return.
And for the first time since leaving Chicago, the future seemed like something she might have a hand in shaping.
The following days settled into an unexpected rhythm.
The storm remained fierce, but the stone shelter held firm.
Each morning, Elias rose before daylight to inspect the roof, check Copper, and bring in more wood.
Clara prepared breakfast when her injured feet allowed it.
They shared the work.
He taught her how to bank the stove overnight.
She showed him how to stretch flour with mashed potatoes.
He demonstrated the safest way to split kindling.
She reorganized his pantry so ingredients could be found without searching every shelf.
At first, Elias seemed faintly offended by the changes.
Then he discovered that he could locate the coffee without moving six jars of dried beans.
He said nothing.
Clara noticed.
"You like it."
He looked up from his book.
"Like what?"
"The pantry."
He shrugged.
"It's practical."
She smiled.
"That's mountain-man language for gratitude."
He grunted.
She laughed.
But their days were not filled only with domestic comfort.
Every afternoon, they examined the ledger.
Clara copied entries into a separate notebook.
She divided the transactions by property, date, and financial agent.
Several names appeared repeatedly.
Redstone Development Syndicate.
Northern Inland Trust.
Whitcomb Banking House.
And a company called Western Passage Improvement.
Elias recognized some of the landowners.
Clara recognized the banking structure.
Together, they began revealing a pattern neither could have understood alone.
Small farms were burdened with invented debts.
Timber rights were transferred through shell companies.
Water sources were acquired before anyone outside the syndicate learned of the proposed railroad route.
And the men controlling those companies stood to become enormously wealthy if the railroad eventually crossed Blackcap Pass.
But something else troubled Clara.
Several entries had been signed with initials rather than names.
N.W.
H.W.
A.V.
She recognized the first.
Nathaniel Whitcomb.
The second was his mother, Helena Whitcomb.
But the third belonged to someone she did not immediately remember.
She examined one entry repeatedly.
Elias noticed.
"What is it?"
Clara pointed.
"A.V."
He frowned.
"An investor?"
"Perhaps."
She looked toward the fire.