She asked first.
Gideon said yes.
Later he placed Mary and Thomas's portrait in the main room.
The past came downstairs.
It no longer needed a locked door.
In August, the criminal case against Alton Briggs finally became official.
Charges included embezzlement, falsification of payroll records, and intimidation of workers.
He fled Philadelphia before trial.
For several weeks nobody knew where he had gone.
Then a telegram reached the Idaho settlement.
Briggs believed Lydia possessed original evidence necessary to convict him.
Jonathan Hale warned that Briggs might attempt to recover the notebooks.
Gideon wanted Lydia to stay in the cabin while he rode to town.
She refused.
“I will not become imprisoned by the man I crossed a continent to escape.”
“You're not imprisoned.”
“If I cannot leave because he might appear, yes I am.”
Gideon hated the logic.
He accepted it anyway.
They went together.
Nothing happened.
Again the following week.
Nothing.
Then in September, Briggs arrived.
Not at the cabin.
At the mercantile.
Lydia saw him first.
She was examining fabric.
The scent reached her before the face.
Lavender shaving soap.
Her entire body froze.
“Hello, Lydia.”
She turned.
Alton Briggs looked almost unchanged.
Brown suit.
Polished boots.
Neat mustache.
Soft voice.
Civilized appearance.
Her heart began pounding.
“You shouldn't be here.”
He smiled.
“Neither should you.”
Lydia stepped backward.
Briggs followed.
“You have caused remarkable trouble.”
“I kept records.”
“You misunderstood records.”
“I can add.”
His smile tightened.
“You were always proud of that.”
Lydia looked toward the door.
Gideon was across the street at the blacksmith.
Briggs saw her look.
“Your mountain husband?”
She said nothing.
“He won't help you.”
“He doesn't need to.”
The answer surprised both of them.
Briggs moved closer.
“You don't understand what men like Hale want. They'll use your story, collect fees, then leave you with scandal attached to your name.”
Lydia remembered Gideon:
I believe your answer.
Briggs continued.
“You can fix this.”
“How?”
“Give me the notebooks.”
“No.”
“Tell Hale you made a mistake.”
“No.”
“Lydia.”
His voice softened.
Old tone.
The factory tone.
“Be agreeable.”
Her stomach twisted.
For one second she was back beside the loom.
Then she looked at him.
He seemed smaller.
Not physically.
In authority.
He had power once because she believed refusal meant ruin.
Now he was a fugitive asking for paper.
Lydia smiled.
“No.”
Briggs's face changed.
His hand closed around her arm.
Before she could react, another hand appeared.
Gideon's.
He caught Briggs's wrist.
Not violently.
Completely.
Briggs went pale.
Gideon stood behind him.
“Let go.”
Briggs released Lydia.
Gideon released Briggs.
Lydia rubbed her arm.
Gideon's eyes remained on her.
“Want me to do anything?”
Not:
Should I hit him?
Not:
Move aside.
Want me to do anything?
Choice.
Again.
Lydia looked toward the town marshal's office.
“Yes.”
Gideon nodded.
“What?”
“Bring Marshal Cooper.”
He went.
Briggs laughed.
“You think this ends with law?”
Lydia stepped away.
“No.”
She looked toward the door.
“It ends with records.”
Marshal Cooper arrested Briggs under the outstanding interstate warrant.
No gunfight.
No broken furniture.
No heroic beating.
Just handcuffs.
Paper.
Procedure.
Gideon almost seemed disappointed.
Lydia teased him about it.
“I am a peaceful man.”
“You looked at Briggs like you were measuring a coffin.”
“That proves nothing.”
The trial took place the following year.
Lydia returned east.
Gideon went with her.
Philadelphia overwhelmed him.
Too many buildings.
Too many people.
Too little sky.
He complained constantly.
“How do people breathe?”
“Through their noses.”
“I mean with these walls everywhere.”
“You'll survive.”
“Questionable.”
At court, Lydia testified.
Briggs's attorney tried to portray her as unstable.
Resentful.
A woman who fled employment and entered an impulsive frontier marriage.
Then he asked about the wedding advertisement.
Lydia understood the tactic.
Make her foolish.
Desperate.
Unreliable.
“Did you marry a man you had never met?”
“Yes.”
“After exchanging only letters?”
“Yes.”
“And traveled more than two thousand miles?”
“Yes.”
The lawyer smiled.
“Would you describe that as sound judgment?”
Before Lydia answered, she looked toward Gideon.
He sat in the gallery.
No expression.
No rescue coming.
Her answer belonged to her.
“I would describe it as a decision made because remaining where I was had become unsafe.”
The lawyer frowned.
“So fear influenced your decision?”
“Yes.”
“Yet we should trust your judgment regarding complex financial records?”
Lydia smiled.
“Fear does not make arithmetic inaccurate.”
The courtroom went quiet.
The prosecution later introduced Lydia's production ledgers.
Martha Klein testified.
Other workers followed.
Briggs was convicted.
The factory owners entered civil settlements with dozens of workers.
Money returned slowly.
Never enough to compensate for everything.
But records corrected the public story.
That mattered.
Before leaving Philadelphia, Lydia walked past the factory.
The building still stood.
Smoke above the roof.
Looms rattling behind windows.
She expected triumph.
Instead she felt tired.
Gideon stood beside her.
“Want to go inside?”
“No.”
“Want to burn it down?”
She looked at him.
He was smiling slightly.
“No.”
“Good. Probably illegal.”
She laughed.
Then took his hand.
“Let's go home.”
Home.
The word surprised her.
Not Idaho.
Not cabin.
Home.
They returned before winter.
Their second anniversary came quietly.
Gideon cooked supper.
Badly.
Lydia pretended it was edible.
He knew she was lying.
Afterward they sat beside the hearth.
Snow moved beyond the window.
Lydia looked toward the staircase.
Thomas's room remained open.
Her desk stood beneath the south window.
Two sets of boots near the door.
Two cups beside the stove.
She touched her wedding ring.
Gideon noticed.
“What?”
“Thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
She smiled.
“Do you remember our wedding night?”
Gideon's expression became cautious.
“Yes.”
“I thought you would hurt me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“I didn't understand why you didn't.”
He looked into the fire.
“Because you said it hurt.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
Lydia shook her head.
“It wasn't simple to me.”
Gideon looked at her.
She continued.
“I thought marriage meant enduring whatever the husband wanted.”
“No.”
“I know that now.”
“Good.”
She moved closer.
“Do you know what I think marriage means now?”
Gideon looked suspicious.
“Probably something involving ledgers.”
“Possibly.”