Chapter 5 - Nine Days Until the Bank Came
By the sixth day, Hannah had twenty-eight dollars.
Twelve came from Caleb.
Four from selling eggs, preserves, and the last two winter quilts.
Seven came from Mr. Bell, who claimed he had accidentally underpaid Thomas for lumber the previous summer.
Hannah knew he was lying.
She accepted the money anyway.
Five came from selling Thomas’s saddle.
That hurt most.
She carried it into town herself.
The leather still bore the shallow cut where Thomas had dropped an ax against it three years earlier.
Hannah touched that mark before handing the saddle to the buyer.
Then she walked away without looking back.
Twenty-eight dollars.
She needed twelve more.
Tomorrow.
Gideon Vane knew it.
That evening a wagon stopped at the farm.
Hannah reached the porch before Caleb.
A woman stepped down.
She was near sixty, silver-haired, straight-backed, wearing the black dress of a widow.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Abigail Quinn.”
Hannah knew the name.
Everyone in Red Willow did.
Abigail’s husband had owned one of the largest cattle operations in the northern valley.
Until the bank took it.
“I heard you were asking questions about old loans.”
Caleb appeared behind Hannah.
Abigail noticed him.
Her eyebrows rose.
“So the stories are true.”
“Most stories in Red Willow are exaggerated,” Hannah said.
Abigail looked Caleb up and down.
“Not that one.”
Caleb sighed.
Hannah invited her inside.
Abigail carried a folder.
Inside were loan papers.
Original contract: ninety dollars.
Bank ledger demand six months later: five hundred and ninety dollars.
“My husband could read,” Abigail said. “He knew something was wrong. But the courthouse copy matched Vane’s ledger.”
“Changed later?” Hannah asked.
Abigail nodded.
“He tried to fight. Deputy Rusk arrested him for threatening the bank.”
“What happened?”
“He died the following winter.”
Hannah touched her hand.
Abigail continued.
“Thomas Mercer came to see me.”
Hannah’s pulse shifted.
“When?”
“Two weeks before his death.”
“What did he want?”
“My original contract.”
Hannah looked at Caleb.
“He took it?”
“No. He copied it.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he was building a case.”
Abigail opened her purse.
“And he gave me this.”
A small scrap of paper.
CABINET 17.
Caleb immediately removed the brass key from around his neck.
Abigail stared.
“That’s it.”
“You recognize this key?”
“Thomas had it.”
Silence filled the room.
The courthouse.
Cabinet seventeen.
Original deeds.
Tomorrow the bank would come.
There was no more time.
They went that night.
Not Hannah.
Caleb refused.
For once she agreed.
Her back had been aching all afternoon, and Lucy had developed a fever.
Abigail remained at the farm while Caleb rode toward town.
Hours passed.
Lucy’s fever worsened.
Hannah rocked her near the stove.
“You stubborn little thing,” she whispered.
“Don’t you dare stop fighting after everything it cost to get you here.”
Near midnight the baby finally drank.
Her fever began easing.
Abigail smiled.
“She needed someone to order her around.”
“I have experience.”
They both laughed.
Then a horse entered the yard.
Hannah stood.
Caleb came through the door.
Empty-handed.
“What happened?”
“Cabinet seventeen is empty.”
Hannah felt the floor disappear.
“What?”
“Completely.”
“Thomas said—”
“I know.”
“Someone got there first.”
“No.”
Caleb placed the brass key on the table.
“The lock had dust inside.”
Hannah frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Nobody has opened it in years.”
Abigail stared.
“Then why would Thomas write cabinet seventeen?”
Caleb sat.
“Maybe seventeen isn’t a cabinet.”
Hannah thought.
Thomas liked numbers.
Measurements.
Survey markers.
Property descriptions.
Then she remembered the ledger.
The original deeds.
“The county record books.”
“What?”
“Volume seventeen.”
At sunrise Hannah walked into the courthouse.
Alone.
Deputy Rusk watched from his desk.
“Morning, Mrs. Mercer.”
“Deputy.”
“What brings you here?”
“Property records.”
His expression did not change.
“What sort?”
“My deed.”
“You already have a copy.”
“I want to see the original.”
Rusk stood.
“Why?”
“Because I own it.”
A clerk led her downstairs.
County records filled shelves from floor to ceiling.
Hannah’s heart pounded.
Volume seventeen sat near the rear.
She pulled it free.
Nothing unusual.
She flipped pages.
Mercer property.
Recorded seven years earlier.
Thomas Mercer and Hannah Mercer.
Legal.
Valid.
Then Hannah noticed the binding.
Too thick.
She pressed the spine.
Something moved inside.
Her fingers found a tiny slit.
She pulled out folded papers.
Original contracts.
Dozens.
Signed by families whose farms Gideon Vane had taken.
And beneath them—
A letter addressed in Thomas’s handwriting.
HANNAH.
Her hands began shaking.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Deputy Rusk.
Hannah shoved the documents inside her dress.
The letter slipped.
Fell beneath the table.
Rusk appeared.
“Find what you needed?”
Hannah forced a smile.
“Yes.”
His eyes moved toward the record book.
Then down.
Toward the corner of Thomas’s letter visible beneath the table.
Hannah saw him see it.
Neither moved.
Rusk smiled.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
He closed the basement door behind him.
May you like
And locked it.
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