Chapter 17 - Hattie Miller Makes Her Choice
News of the avalanche spread.
So did news of the rescue.
Within weeks, the Hayes cabin became a stopping point for travelers using the northern pass.
Hattie did not intend it.
It simply happened.
A trapper stayed one night.
Then two miners.
Then a family traveling toward Montana.
Each time Hattie fed them.
Each time Gideon complained they were running a hotel.
Each time he quietly carried extra blankets into the main room.
Hattie began teasing him.
“You like people.”
“No.”
“You rescued a dog last week.”
“Dog isn’t people.”
“You gave Mercer your best coffee.”
“He complained about the other kind.”
“You enjoy company.”
“I tolerate you.”
Hattie smiled.
“Romantic.”
Spring approached slowly.
Snow softened.
Streams returned.
Birdsong replaced wind.
One afternoon a rider arrived.
Marshal Crowe.
Gideon greeted him outside.
Hattie brought coffee.
Crowe removed his hat.
“Lawson’s trial is finished.”
Hattie sat.
“And?”
“Twenty years.”
Gideon exhaled.
“For fraud?”
“Fraud. Armed robbery. Assault. Escape.”
Hattie touched the scar on her arm.
A permanent reminder.
“Mercer?”
“Testified.”
“Horace?”
“Cleared of criminal involvement. Your father too.”
Hattie closed her eyes briefly.
Relief.
Crowe continued.
“There’s also the matter of the claim.”
Gideon frowned.
“What matter?”
“Denver says because the original discovery wasn’t formally registered, the territory considers it open.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
Crowe held up a hand.
“But Mary’s journals establish the discovery date. And Lawson’s fraudulent filings complicate everything.”
Hattie asked, “What does that mean?”
“You and Mary’s estate may have a legal right.”
Gideon laughed without humor.
“I don’t want it.”
Crowe nodded.
“I figured.”
Hattie looked toward the mountain.
“What happens if we refuse?”
“Somebody else files.”
“And turns this valley into a mining camp.”
“Probably.”
Gideon’s expression darkened.
Hattie understood the dilemma.
If they claimed the land, they became owners of something they did not want.
If they refused, others would tear apart the mountain.
“What if we claim it and don’t mine it?” she asked.
Crowe smiled.
“That is exactly what the territorial attorney suggested.”
Gideon looked at her.
Hattie continued.
“We own the mineral rights. Protect the land.”
“It’ll cost money.”
“We have some.”
“Not enough forever.”
Hattie thought.
Then an idea arrived.
“My father’s property money.”
Gideon immediately shook his head.
“That’s yours.”
“Yes.”
“Hattie.”
“Listen.”
She leaned forward.
“We could purchase additional acreage. Timber. Grazing land.”
“To do what?”
“Build.”
“What?”
Hattie smiled.
“A proper lodge.”
Gideon looked horrified.
“For travelers.”
“No.”
“You already feed them.”
“No.”
“You like people.”
“I absolutely do not.”
Crowe coughed to hide laughter.
Hattie continued.
“We charge fairly. Sell preserved meat. Supplies. Maybe rent horses.”
Gideon stared.
“You want to start a business on Dead Man’s Peak?”
“I am a butcher’s daughter.”
“You’ll work yourself to death.”
“You can help.”
“I regret marrying you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No.”
He smiled.
Crowe shook his head.
“I’ll send the paperwork.”
After he left, Hattie walked toward Mary’s grave.
Gideon followed.
Snow had melted around the marker.
Small flowers emerged.
Hattie placed one beside the stone.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Gideon stood beside her.
“For what?”
“For helping me steal your husband.”
Gideon choked.
Hattie laughed.
Then she became serious.
“She saved us.”
“In a way.”
“She gave you permission to live.”
“She gave you permission to bully me.”
“That too.”
Gideon took her hand.
“Hattie.”
“Yes?”
“What do you want?”
She looked toward the cabin.
The valley.
The mountain.
For years people had told Hattie what she should want.
A thinner waist.
A respectable husband.
Approval.
Now the answer came easily.
“This.”
Gideon followed her gaze.
“This?”
“A home that belongs to us.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Work that means something.”
Another pause.
“People we choose.”
Gideon nodded.
“And you.”
He looked at her.
“I choose you.”
Those words meant more than the rushed vows in the little church.
Gideon’s voice became rough.
“I choose you too.”
Hattie smiled.
“Good. Because I already ordered lumber.”
His expression became horrified.
“You what?”
She walked away laughing.
“Hattie!”
By June, construction began.
The old cabin remained.
But beside it rose another building.
A large timber lodge.
A proper kitchen.
Storage rooms.
Six guest rooms.
A porch facing the valley.
People from town came to help.
Mercer sent windows.
Horace shipped butcher equipment from Philadelphia.
Loretta wrote from Denver.
She had found work with a dressmaker.
Her letter contained one sentence Hattie read twice.
For the first time, I am learning what shape I have when no one is telling me what shape I should be.
Hattie folded the letter carefully.
She understood.
By autumn, the sign went up.
HAYES MOUNTAIN HOUSE
FOOD — BEDS — SUPPLIES
Gideon stared at it.
“You put your name second.”
Hattie frowned.
“It’s your name too.”
He smiled.
“So it is.”
That night, twenty people filled the dining room.
Laughter echoed.
Plates moved.
Coffee poured.
Hattie stood in the kitchen.
Gideon approached behind her.
“Happy?”
She looked around.
“Yes.”
Then she noticed his expression.
“What?”
He handed her a small wooden box.
Inside was Mary’s wedding ring.
Hattie stared.
“I don’t understand.”
“I found a note with it.”
He handed her paper.
Mary’s handwriting.
Do not bury this with me. Let something old become something new.
Hattie’s eyes filled.
“I can’t wear her ring.”
“You don’t have to.”
She considered.
Then smiled.
“No.”
She closed the box.
“But I know what we can do with it.”
And the next morning, Hattie carried Mary’s ring to town.
Not to wear.
Not to sell.
May you like
But to turn Mary’s final gift into something that would outlive all of them.
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