A gentle touch against her forehead.
Those letters had given her back pieces of a life she thought she'd lost forever.
Now they were gone.
She turned toward the mountain man.
"Can we get them back?"
He looked toward the ridge.
"I can follow the tracks."
She glanced at the gray sky.
Snow clouds were gathering again.
"You'd go tonight?"
He looked at her.
"If you wanted me to."
She studied his face.
Then shook her head.
"No."
He seemed surprised.
She continued.
"That's what Father wants."
"What?"
"He wants us frightened and chasing after whatever he's stolen."
She swallowed.
"Then he'll have time to do something else."
The mountain man considered that.
She stepped toward the workbench.
"We have the notebook. The widow has a letter. Somewhere, there must be official records."
He nodded slowly.
"You're thinking clearly."
The young woman looked toward him.
"I'm trying."
He smiled faintly.
"You're doing better than trying."
She drew a breath.
"Then we go back to town when the weather allows."
"And the letters?"
Her expression hardened.
"We'll get them back properly."
He studied her.
Then nodded.
"All right."
For the first time, she understood that courage didn't always mean confronting the person who frightened her.
Sometimes courage meant refusing to be dragged into another person's chaos.
She looked toward the damaged workshop.
Then said quietly, "He can steal the box."
The mountain man turned.
She lifted her chin.
"But he can't take away what Mother wrote to me."
He smiled.
"No, sweetheart."
He took her hand.
"He can't."
The following morning, they discovered trouble on the lower mountain road.
A freight wagon carrying supplies toward Briar Hollow had overturned near a narrow bridge.
Two horses stood trembling beside the damaged harness.
A wheel had broken.
Several crates were scattered across the snow.
And a family of three had taken shelter beneath the wagon's canvas cover.
The father had injured his ankle.
His wife was trying to keep their twelve-year-old son warm.
The mountain man stopped the wagon immediately.
He jumped down and approached.
"Everybody all right?"
The mother shook her head.
"We've been here since before dawn."
The young woman climbed down behind him.
She looked toward the boy.
His lips were pale.
His hands trembled badly.
She crouched beside him.
"How long have you been sitting here?"
The mother answered.
"Hours."
The young woman touched the boy's gloved hand.
It was cold.
She looked toward the mountain man.
"We need to get them somewhere sheltered."
He nodded.
"I'll prepare the wagon."
She turned toward the mother.
"Can he walk?"
"A little."
"Then we'll help him."
The mountain man worked quickly.