"You've had twenty-seven years to decide whether your reputation mattered more than the truth."
The old man said nothing.
"That decision belongs to you now."
For a long moment, Edgar stared into his coffee.
Then he whispered, "I'll tell them."
Daniel looked at him.
"Everything?"
The old man nodded.
"Everything."
Clara studied his face.
She did not know whether she believed him.
But belief was no longer the point.
There were documents.
Evidence.
Records that could be examined.
People who could be questioned.
The truth would not depend solely upon the word of a frightened old man.
Samuel took Clara's hand beneath the table.
They sat together as the winter sun rose over the frozen mountains.
And began planning what came next.
The snowstorm lasted another four days.
During that time, the four uneasy companions remained at the cabin.
Daniel slept in the loft.
Edgar occupied the small room beside the kitchen.
Samuel and Clara shared their bedroom.
The arrangement was uncomfortable.
But it also gave them time to examine the documents.
And the more they read, the more complicated the past became.
The mine had not been merely a private business venture.
The original claim covered several hundred acres.
It included mineral rights beneath land later sold to dozens of families.
If Thomas Whitcomb's ownership remained legally valid, the consequences could affect people throughout the valley.
There were mortgages.
Inheritance claims.
Unpaid royalties.
Decades of property transfers built upon false records.
Samuel understood that revealing the truth might cost him the home he loved.
Clara understood it too.
One evening, after Daniel and Edgar retired, she found Samuel sitting alone beside the fire.
The original survey lay open on his knees.
He looked up when she entered.
"Couldn't sleep?"
She shook her head.
"Neither could you."
He gave a tired smile.
She sat beside him.
For several minutes, they watched the flames.
Then Samuel spoke.
"We could lose this place."
Clara nodded.
"I know."
"The house."
"Yes."
"The fields."
"I know."
He looked at her.
"I brought you here promising a home."
Clara took his hand.
"You gave me one."
He shook his head.
"And now I may have to give it away."
She turned toward him.
"Samuel, look at me."
He did.
She smiled gently.
"This cabin is wood and stone."
"It's our home."
"Yes."
She squeezed his fingers.
"But do you know what made it one?"
He looked uncertain.
She continued.
"Not the walls. Not the roof. Not even that dreadful old stove that smokes every time the wind comes from the east."
Samuel smiled faintly.
"It only smokes in bad weather."
"It smokes whenever it pleases."
He laughed softly.
Clara moved closer.
"You made this place a home because you treated me like I belonged."
Samuel looked down.
She lifted his chin.
"If we lose the cabin, we'll build another."