He also remembered the first time he saw Harlan alter an account.
A worker had been promised payment for hauling timber.
Harlan entered a smaller amount in the ledger.
When Caleb asked why, his brother told him that clever men kept the difference.
"I thought he was joking," Caleb said.
Martha watched him.
He continued.
"When I was older, I understood he'd been doing it for years. Father either didn't see it or didn't want to."
Caleb looked toward the fire.
"One winter, a teamster died after an overloaded wagon overturned on an icy grade. Harlan blamed the driver, but I'd seen the loading instructions. He'd ordered the wagon to carry more weight than it should've held."
Martha's expression tightened.
Caleb nodded.
"I confronted him. He told me accidents were the price of business."
For several seconds, Caleb was silent.
Then he said, "I couldn't accept that."
He told Martha how he gathered the relevant freight records, only to discover that several had vanished before anyone outside the company could examine them. Harlan accused him of trying to ruin the family business, and their father sided with the older son.
The argument divided the household.
Caleb left shortly afterward, determined to make a living without relying on his father's company.
He traveled west.
Worked in logging camps.
Learned trapping and homesteading.
And eventually settled in the Wyoming mountains.
"I've kept away from him ever since," Caleb finished.
Martha looked toward the photograph.
"Why did you keep that?"
Caleb stared at it.
For a long moment, he didn't answer.
Then he said, "Because I wanted to remember that he wasn't always a stranger to me."
Martha looked up.
Caleb continued.
"There was a time when I believed he was the finest man I knew. I suppose part of me still wanted to remember that boy, even after I knew what he'd become."
The admission seemed to cost him something.
Martha understood.
She had spent years trying to reconcile the charming employer who offered her work with the man who later treated her so cruelly.
Caleb folded the photograph carefully.
Then he placed it inside a wooden drawer.
"I'm sorry you suffered at his hands."
Martha looked toward him.
He continued.
"And I'm sorry you came here hoping to escape judgment, only to find more of it waiting at the stagecoach."
Her eyes filled.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered, "You didn't know."
Caleb shook his head.
"I didn't know about the scars. But I knew enough to be kind, and I wasn't."
Martha stared.
He continued.
"I'm responsible for that part."
She looked down at her hands.
For years, she'd been told that apologies were merely another way for powerful people to end an argument.
But Caleb wasn't asking her to forgive him.