Her father had never seemed capable of tenderness toward her mother.
But perhaps that was not always true.
“What happened?”
“The syndicate kept pressing.”
“Your mother discovered Charles had signed documents using her name.”
“She confronted him.”
“He threatened to have her declared mentally unstable.”
Clara stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“In 1870?”
Silas’s expression was bitter.
“Not very.”
Clara knew enough about women’s legal vulnerability to understand.
Her mother’s money had always been “managed” by Charles.
Even Clara’s inheritance after Eleanor died was controlled by trustees appointed by him.
Silas continued.
“She escaped west.”
“Back here.”
“She hid the original deed and water survey.”
“My father helped.”
“Who was your father?”
“Jonathan Boone.”
Clara looked at photograph again.
The bearded man beside Eleanor.
“That’s him?”
“Yes.”
“He loved her?”
Silas took longer answering.
“Maybe.”
Clara watched.
“You don't know?”
“He never said.”
“Did she love him?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer relieved Clara in a strange way.
Her mother’s secrets were already too large.
Silas continued.
“Your father found her.”
“Eleanor agreed to return east under one condition.”
“What?”
“That this land would never pass to him.”
“She transferred it into a separate trust.”
“For whom?”
Silas looked directly at Clara.
“You.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Silas said:
“She was pregnant.”
The fire cracked.
Snow struck the roof.
Clara stared at him as if language had ceased functioning.
“No.”
“You were not born yet.”
“She placed ownership in trust to vest on your thirtieth birthday.”
Clara’s hand moved to her chest.
She had turned thirty three weeks earlier.
Silas nodded.
“That’s why those men came after your stagecoach.”
Clara whispered:
“They knew.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know all of them.”
“Two work for Gideon Price.”
The name struck.
“Price Mercantile?”
“His father was one of Charles Whitfield’s original partners.”
Clara remembered.
Gideon Price had visited her father often in Baltimore when she was young.
A polite man with silver hair.
He brought sweets.
Called her “little Clara.”
Later, when her father died, Price became one of her financial trustees.
Her stomach twisted.
“He manages my accounts.”
“He managed what he could see.”
“This land wasn't in them.”
“Why now?”
“Because trust vested.”
“How would he know?”
“Somebody filed notice.”
“Who?”
Silas looked ashamed.
“I did.”
Clara stood.
“You?”
“I was required.”
“You told them.”
“I filed with county recorder.”
“You brought those men after me!”
“I believed secrecy was more dangerous once ownership transferred.”
“You believed?”
Clara’s voice rose.
“You decided?”
Silas stood too.
Clara was physically enormous, but Silas still seemed like mountain itself.
He did not approach.
“Yes.”