The original papers are not all in this purse. Remember the little silver key your grandfather gave me. It opens the cedar compartment inside the old Ward house at Bellwether Meadow.
Amily stared.
A silver key?
She looked through the sewing case.
Beneath the thimble was a tiny velvet pouch.
She opened it.
Inside rested a narrow silver key.
Her fingers trembled.
Harlon slowly leaned forward.
“May I see it?”
She placed it in his hand.
He examined the old-fashioned teeth.
Then looked toward the map on the table.
“Bellwether Meadow.”
Amily nodded.
“Do you know it?”
His expression became grave.
“Yes.”
He looked toward her.
“It's where Blackstone is building its new diversion works.”
Amily stared.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she looked toward the letter from her cousin.
The invitation that brought her west.
It offered employment at a boardinghouse in Silverpine.
It mentioned a family connection.
It promised room and board.
She had believed it was the beginning of a better life.
Now a terrible possibility occurred to her.
She handed Harlon the letter.
“Do you know this handwriting?”
He examined it.
Then frowned.
“Who's Miriam Ellery?”
“My cousin. She's supposed to run a boardinghouse in Silverpine.”
Harlon studied the envelope.
He turned it toward the light.
The paper bore a faint merchant's watermark.
A black mountain above two crossed hammers.
His expression changed.
Amily noticed.
“What?”
Harlon looked up.
“That's Blackstone's purchasing-office mark.”
She felt cold.
He continued.
“Does your cousin work for the mining company?”
“I don't know.”
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he said something that made the entire room seem to tilt.
“Amily, those men may not have found your stagecoach by accident.”
She looked toward the window.
Snow blew against the glass.
Somewhere beyond the mountains, Silas Vale was waiting for news.
And the letter that had promised her a new beginning might have been written by someone who knew exactly who she was before she ever boarded the coach.
By midnight, the blizzard had buried the cabin porch beneath nearly three feet of snow.
Harlon secured the damaged door with a heavy wooden brace, checked the window shutters, and brought another armload of firewood inside before the storm became too fierce to venture out again.