He had possessed a fine suit, polished manners, and a reputation for being a respectable businessman.
Behind closed doors, his character changed.
He drank.
He shouted.
He controlled every dollar Lydia spent.
He criticized her body, her voice, her clothing, and the amount of food she ate.
Sometimes he stood outside the bedroom door at night, waiting until she became frightened enough to open it.
Lydia learned to recognize his footsteps.
She learned to read his moods from the way he set down a glass.
She learned that a quiet evening could turn dangerous because a letter arrived late or his dinner was not sufficiently warm.
After his death, she continued waking whenever someone walked along the boardinghouse corridor.
Now, staring at the seal on Gideon's letter, she felt those old fears returning.
"Gideon," she whispered, "please tell me what that says."
He looked at the folded paper.
"I haven't opened it."
She stared at him.
"Why?"
"It came with my brother's belongings. The postmaster's widow found a packet in an old storage chest and sent it to me this morning."
"This morning?"
"Before I met your wagon at Calder's Crossing."
He glanced toward the bed.
"I put it in my pocket and forgot about it after the storm turned bad."
Lydia looked at the letter again.
"Who is it addressed to?"
Gideon turned it toward the lantern.
"Elias Hayes."
"Your brother?"
He nodded.
Lydia rubbed her palms against her nightgown.
"Open it."
Gideon hesitated.
"It's his letter."
"He's dead."
"I know."
Her eyes filled.
"Please."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he broke the wax.
Lydia flinched at the small cracking sound.
Gideon noticed.
He paused.
"Would you rather read it yourself?"
She shook her head.
"I don't think my hands will hold steady."
He carefully unfolded the paper.
The ink had faded slightly.
The handwriting was narrow and elegant.
Lydia recognized that too.
Everett had practiced his signature until it looked as though it belonged to a man who had never made a mistake.
Gideon began reading.
"Mr. Hayes. Your continued interest in the North Fork survey is both unnecessary and unwise."
He paused.
Lydia nodded for him to continue.
"The measurements you obtained are private property. Return the tracing and the freight accounts to Mr. Rusk at Calder's Crossing, and this misunderstanding may end without further inconvenience."
Gideon's jaw tightened.
He continued.
"You are also instructed to avoid discussing the matter with Mrs. Lydia Bowman. She copied certain figures during her husband's business operations without understanding their significance. Her involvement would serve no useful purpose."
Lydia's hand flew to her mouth.
Gideon looked at her.
She gestured for him to finish.
He read the last paragraph.
"If the documents are not surrendered before the first of June, you will bear responsibility for the consequences. E. Bowman."
The cabin fell silent.
Gideon lowered the letter.
Lydia stared at the fire.
Her former husband had written those words months after his supposed death.
He had known where she was.
He had known she copied figures for his business.
And he had warned a Wyoming surveyor not to speak to her.
Gideon looked toward the folded paper.
"Elias disappeared near North Fork in late May."
Lydia turned toward him.
"After receiving this?"
"I don't know exactly when it reached him."
"How did he die?"
Gideon's expression tightened.
"They found him below a collapsed footbridge. The sheriff believed he fell during a storm."
Lydia looked at the threatening letter.
"And you believed that?"
Gideon rubbed a hand over his beard.
"I wanted to."
He sounded ashamed.