Samuel stopped.
Clara felt his hand tighten around hers.
For a moment, she feared he would respond angrily.
Instead, Samuel turned.
"My father did things he should have been ashamed of."
The man looked surprised.
Samuel continued.
"That's why I'm here telling the truth."
Then he walked away.
Clara looked up at him.
Pride warmed her chest.
Not because he had defeated the man in an argument.
But because he had refused to defend cruelty merely to protect a family name.
The most astonishing development came in early spring.
Daniel received a letter from a private investigator in Pennsylvania.
The investigator had discovered a record of a man named Thomas Whitcomb arriving in a mining settlement in 1872.
The age matched.
The physical description matched.
The old scar above the eyebrow matched.
And the man had been treated for severe malnutrition and injuries consistent with years of confinement.
Daniel traveled east immediately.
Samuel offered to accompany him.
But Daniel declined.
"This is something I need to do."
Samuel nodded.
"I understand."
Before leaving, Daniel turned toward Clara.
"I owe you both an apology."
She looked at him.
"For what?"
"For frightening you. For entering your house. For assuming you were responsible for something you didn't know about."
Clara studied him.
Then smiled faintly.
"You certainly chose a dramatic way to introduce yourself."
Daniel gave a sheepish smile.
"I suppose I did."
Samuel crossed his arms.
"Next time, knock."
Daniel laughed.
"I will."
Then he grew serious.
"Whatever happens with the land, I want you to know something."
Samuel waited.
Daniel extended his hand.
"I don't hold you responsible for your father."
Samuel looked at the offered hand.
Then shook it.
"Thank you."
Daniel smiled.
"And if I find my grandfather's trail, you'll be the first to know."
Samuel nodded.
"I'd appreciate that."
Three weeks later, a letter arrived at the cabin.
Clara found it in the morning mail when she traveled down to the general store.
She recognized Daniel's handwriting immediately.
She hurried home.
Samuel was repairing a gate near the barn.
"Samuel!"
He looked up.
"What is it?"
She waved the envelope.
"Daniel!"
Samuel dropped his hammer.
They went inside together.
Clara opened the letter at the kitchen table.
The first sentence made her stop.
She looked at Samuel.
Her eyes filled.
"What?"
She swallowed.
Then read aloud.
We found him.
Samuel went still.
Clara continued.
My grandfather survived the mine.
He reached Pennsylvania in 1872 and spent several months recovering under the care of a doctor who took him in without payment.
He had been severely weakened, and for a long time he refused to speak about where he had come from.
Eventually, he found work repairing tools and surveying small parcels of land.
He tried to contact his family.