Samuel's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Edgar swallowed.
"Your father gave me a letter before he died."
Samuel felt a wave of anger.
"And you waited until now to mention it?"
"I didn't understand it."
"Where is it?"
Edgar reached slowly into his coat.
Daniel stiffened.
Samuel raised one hand.
"Easy."
The old man withdrew a sealed envelope.
Its edges had yellowed.
The wax had cracked.
He held it out.
Samuel took it.
Across the front, in his father's handwriting, were four words.
For my son Samuel.
Samuel stared.
His father had been dead seventeen years.
And all that time, this letter had remained in Edgar Vale's possession.
He looked up.
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
Edgar's voice shook.
"Because I was afraid of what it might say."
Samuel looked at Clara.
She nodded gently.
He broke the seal.
The letter was brief.
But every word seemed to carry the weight of a lifetime.
Samuel,
If you are reading this, the mountain has finally given up what I tried to bury.
I have lived with the knowledge that I was a cruel and cowardly man. I stole what did not belong to me. I imprisoned a man who deserved freedom. I allowed greed to become more important than another person's life.
There is no excuse for what I did.
But there is one thing you must know.
Thomas Whitcomb did not die in the mine.
In the autumn of 1871, your mother discovered what we had done. She threatened to go to the sheriff. I tried to stop her. She told me that if I had any goodness left, I would open the door myself.
So I did.
I showed Thomas the passage beneath the spring. I gave him food, a coat, and enough money to reach the next town.
He left before dawn.
I do not know where he went.
He told me he would never forgive me. I told him he should not.
But before he left, he said something I have never forgotten.
"Your boy deserves to know that a man can choose not to become his father."
I was not brave enough to tell you the truth while I lived.
Perhaps you will be braver than I was.
The original survey is hidden where your mother kept her favorite things.
Do what is right, Samuel.
Even if it costs you everything.
Samuel lowered the letter.
The chamber was silent.
Clara reached for his hand.
Daniel stared at the page.
Then he whispered, "He escaped."
Samuel nodded slowly.
"According to this, yes."
Daniel pressed both hands against his face.
For years, his family had believed Thomas Whitcomb died beneath the mountain.
Now there was hope.
Painful.
Uncertain.
But real.
He looked at Samuel.
"Where would he have gone?"
Samuel shook his head.
"I don't know."