Chapter 4 - The Road Back to Colorado
The rain found them halfway through northern Colorado.
It began as a gray line over the foothills and reached them within an hour, turning the road slick beneath the horses.
Leah endured the first twenty minutes without complaint.
Then her horse slipped.
Graham caught the bridle before the mare went down.
“That does it.”
Leah pushed wet hair from her face.
“What?”
“We find shelter.”
“I thought we were riding twelve hours.”
“I reserve the right to make better decisions.”
“Do you?”
Silas laughed.
Graham looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sounded like something.”
“Rain.”
They found an abandoned line shack before dark.
The roof leaked in two places but the fireplace worked.
Silas went outside to settle the horses beneath a rough lean-to while Graham managed the fire.
Leah stood near it holding her hands toward the heat.
Her wine-colored dress was soaked almost black.
Graham removed his coat and handed it to her.
“I’m wet already.”
“You’re cold.”
“So are you.”
“I’m bigger.”
“That is not how temperature works.”
“Wear the coat.”
She did.
Graham stared into the flames.
The last several days had shifted something between them.
Leah no longer felt entirely like a stranger.
That was inconvenient.
Strangers were easier.
“You said you were married,” he said.
She looked over.
“Are you always this skilled at conversation?”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
Graham added wood.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Leah sat on an overturned crate.
“His name was Andrew.”
Graham waited.
“He taught school outside Pueblo.”
“What did you do?”
“I kept books for a general store.”
“You liked numbers.”
“They behave better than people.”
“That hasn’t been my experience.”
“You own cattle.”
“Fair.”
She smiled faintly.
“Andrew wanted children.”
Graham looked at her.
“He wanted six.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I told him we could discuss the second after surviving the first.”
Her smile faded.
“We never got that far.”
Graham had learned not to offer easy comfort for hard grief.
So he simply said, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Rain hammered the roof.
Leah watched it.
“When Matilda found me, I was angry at the entire world.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“She noticed.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“She asked if I wanted work.”
“What kind?”
“Her bookkeeping was a disaster.”
Graham frowned.
“My mother kept excellent accounts.”
“Before your father died.”
That silenced him.
Leah continued.
“Afterward, there were years where she recorded every penny and years where she shoved receipts into flour tins and hoped arithmetic would become someone else’s problem.”
Graham could picture it too easily.
“She gave you a room?”
“After three weeks.”
“What happened before that?”
“I slept in the pantry.”
He turned.
“She put you in the pantry?”
“It was larger than my boardinghouse room.”
“That is not a defense.”
“I was grateful.”
Graham shook his head.
“She never changed.”
“Oh, she changed.”
“How?”
Leah took time answering.
“She became quieter.”
Graham stared at the fire.
“That happened before I left.”
“Then quieter still.”
Silas entered shaking rain from his hat.
“Horses are settled.”
He looked between them.
“Did I interrupt emotional honesty?”
“Yes,” Leah said.
“No,” Graham said simultaneously.
Silas grinned.
“Good. Hate missing rare events.”
Graham threw a cloth at him.
The storm worsened overnight.
By morning, the creek below the road had swollen.
They waited until afternoon to continue.
The delay cost them nearly a day.
Graham’s impatience grew with every mile.
The farther south they traveled, the more familiar the country became.
A line of cottonwoods along a river.
A ridge shaped like a sleeping dog.
The red stone cliffs north of Red Bluff.
Memories waited in geography.
Leah noticed his silence.
“We can stop.”
“No.”
“You’re gripping the reins hard enough to punish leather.”
“Leather survives.”
“So will the house.”
“Maybe.”
“You think Pike already has it?”
“I think men like Pike don’t announce a deadline unless they’re confident.”
“Your mother wasn’t confident.”
“That doesn’t comfort me.”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“Because she spent three years preparing.”
Graham looked at her.
“You said she found one freight record.”
“She found more than that.”
“What more?”
“I told you, I don’t know all of it.”
“You helped keep her books.”
“And she hid things from me.”
“Why?”
Leah’s mouth tightened.
“You’d have to ask her.”
The words landed badly.
She immediately regretted them.
“Graham—”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
He rode ahead.
They made camp that evening beneath cottonwoods.
Silas waited until Leah walked toward the stream before speaking.
“You’re being an ass.”
Graham glanced at him.
“You’ve become surprisingly talkative.”
“She didn’t kill Matilda.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t make Matilda hide things.”
“I know.”
“Then stop making her pay for it.”
Graham rubbed his face.
“I said I know.”
Silas softened.
“That road gets uglier from here.”
“I remember.”
“I don’t mean the road.”
Graham looked south.
Silas sat beside him.
“Your mother may have left answers you don’t like.”
“She already did.”
“No. She left questions. Answers are worse.”
Graham laughed quietly.
“Comforting.”
“I’m old. Comforting is not required.”
Leah returned carrying water.
She stopped several feet away.
“Should I come back?”
“No,” Graham said.
Silas rose.
“I should.”
He walked toward the horses.
Leah sat carefully.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Graham said, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“That’s all?”
“Would you prefer a speech?”
“No.”
“Then apology accepted.”
He nodded.
“I keep expecting her to explain herself.”
“She tried.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
Again that lack of defense.
Graham studied Leah.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think she was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people make excuses for people they love.”
Leah looked at the water.
“I used to.”
“With Andrew?”
“With myself.”
Graham waited.
“When Andrew became sick, he asked me to stay beside him. I left for three hours to find another doctor.”
Her hands tightened.
“He died while I was gone.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that now.”
“But?”
“For two years I told myself that if I had stayed, he wouldn’t have died alone.”
Graham said nothing.
“Matilda was the person who finally told me grief can turn a moment into a trial where you’re both judge and accused.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She said guilt becomes comfortable if you wear it long enough.”
Graham looked at her.
“And did you stop?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“I’m human.”
For the first time, Graham understood why Matilda might have trusted Leah.
They were very different women.
But both possessed a talent for saying painful things calmly enough that a person had no excuse to walk away.
Two days later, they crossed into the valley above Red Bluff.
Graham recognized the first Alder boundary marker before he saw the house.
A weathered post leaned near the road.
His father had carved an A into it.
The mark remained.
His chest tightened.
Silas removed his hat.
Leah said nothing.
The road turned.
And there it was.
The Alder house.
Gray clapboards.
Stone chimney.
Wide porch.
An enormous cottonwood his father had planted the year Graham was born.
The north fence still leaned.
Exactly as Matilda had written.
Graham stopped his horse.
For six years, he had imagined the place shrinking.
Instead it looked almost exactly as memory had preserved it.
Only quieter.
Leah rode beside him.
“You don’t have to go in immediately.”
“Yes, I do.”
He dismounted.
Each step toward the porch felt strangely deliberate.
The front door opened before he reached it.
An elderly woman stepped out carrying a shotgun.
Graham stopped.
She squinted.
Then lowered the weapon.
“Graham Alder.”
He recognized her.
“Mrs. Harlow?”
Edith Harlow had lived on the neighboring property his entire childhood.
She marched down the steps and slapped him.
Leah gasped.
Silas coughed into his fist.
Graham touched his cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Six years.”
She hugged him.
Hard.
Then stepped back.
“And that is for coming home.”
Graham did not know what to do with either gesture.
Mrs. Harlow looked at Silas.
“You too.”
Silas backed away.
“I’ll take the slap from here.”
She hugged him anyway.
Leah smiled.
Edith’s face changed when she saw her.
“Oh, honey.”
Leah hugged her.
The simple familiarity between them made Graham feel like a visitor.
He looked at the house.
“Why are you here?”
Edith’s expression sobered.
“Watching things.”
“For who?”
“For Matilda.”
“She’s gone.”
“Her instructions were very clear.”
“About what?”
Edith looked toward the road.
“Keeping people out.”
Graham followed her gaze.
Fresh horse tracks cut through the mud beside the barn.
His expression hardened.
“How long ago?”
“Yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Two men.”
“Pike?”
“One works for him.”
“Caleb Doss?”
Edith nodded.
“They searched the barn.”
Graham moved immediately.
The barn door stood partly open.
Inside, several crates had been overturned.
A cabinet hung open.
Old papers covered the floor.
Leah entered behind him.
“They came here after I left.”
Graham crouched beside a broken drawer.
“What were they looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
Silas entered.
He looked at the mess.
Then toward the rear wall.
“Graham.”
“What?”
Silas pointed.
A section of boards behind Thomas Alder’s old workbench had been pried loose.
Graham walked closer.
Behind them was a narrow cavity.
Empty.
Leah whispered, “Was that always there?”
Graham shook his head.
“No.”
Silas touched the exposed wood.
“Built recently.”
Graham looked around.
“What did Matilda hide here?”
Nobody answered.
Then Edith appeared in the doorway.
“She told me something before she died.”
Graham turned.
“What?”
Edith held his gaze.
“She said if you came home and found the barn disturbed, you were to stop looking where Gideon Pike expected you to look.”
Graham frowned.
“Where should I look?”
Edith’s mouth tightened.
“In the kitchen.”
Leah slowly turned toward the house.
Graham remembered Matilda’s chaotic later bookkeeping.
Receipts shoved into flour tins.
His childhood kitchen.
The bent tin cup.
May you like
And suddenly the house did not feel quiet at all.
It felt like his mother was still moving pieces on a board from beyond the grave.
