The mountain man leaned closer.
"What date?"
She told him.
His expression changed.
"That was after your twenty-fifth birthday."
She looked at him.
"Why does that matter?"
He hesitated.
Then asked, "Do you know who owns the northern meadow?"
She blinked.
"Father."
The mountain man shook his head slowly.
"I don't think so."
Her stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He looked toward the wooden box containing her mother's letters.
Then back at her.
"Your mother owned land in that valley before she married."
The young woman stared.
"Land?"
He nodded.
"The northern meadow and the spring above it."
She looked down at the notebook.
"But Father always said everything belonged to him."
The mountain man remained thoughtful.
"Your mother was careful about property."
He gestured toward the letters.
"She once mentioned making arrangements for you."
The young woman's pulse quickened.
"What arrangements?"
"I don't know the details."
He looked toward the window.
"But we should find out."
When the road finally reopened, they traveled to Briar Hollow together.
The town looked different to the young woman.
She had lived near it for most of her life, yet now every familiar building seemed to carry a new meaning.
The general store where she'd been forced to stand quietly while men laughed at her.
The church where neighbors whispered about her unmarried status.
The trading post where her father accepted twenty dollars for her.
She felt uneasy as their wagon rolled down the main street.
The mountain man noticed.
"Want to turn back?"
She looked toward the buildings.
Then shook her head.
"No."
He nodded.
"All right."
She sat a little straighter.
"I think I'd like to visit the boardinghouse."
He smiled.
"The widow?"
"Yes."
"Then let's start there."
The boardinghouse stood near the edge of town, a two-story wooden building with white curtains and a broad front porch.
Its owner was a sturdy woman in her late fifties who had known the young woman's mother.
When the mountain man introduced them, the widow stared.
Then she lifted both hands.
"Good heavens."
The young woman looked nervous.
The widow stepped forward.
"You've got your mother's eyes."
The young woman's throat tightened.
The widow embraced her.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered, "You knew her?"
The widow stepped back.
"Knew her? We used to bake together every harvest season."
The young woman smiled through sudden tears.
The older woman studied her face.
"You're the little girl who used to steal bits of pie crust from the kitchen."
She laughed.
"I remember that."
The widow looked delighted.
"Come inside. You both look frozen."
They entered the boardinghouse.
A fire burned in the parlor.