Not random.
Finger-shaped.
One fading yellow.
Two deeper violet.
A narrow healing abrasion crossed the inside of her forearm.
Rebecca realized what he was looking at.
She yanked the sleeve down.
Too late.
Jonas’s voice changed completely.
“Who did that?”
Rebecca looked away.
“No one.”
He walked toward her.
“Rebecca.”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Who.”
The word was quiet.
But it filled the cabin.
Rebecca stepped back.
Jonas stopped immediately.
He saw fear.
Not of him exactly.
But close enough.
He forced his hands open.
Lowered his voice.
“I’m not going to touch you.”
Rebecca stared.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She did not answer.
Jonas pointed toward her sleeve.
“Someone grabbed you.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“It’s over.”
“People do not leave marks like that when things are over.”
She turned away.
Jonas waited.
Outside, wind moved through the pines.
The stove popped.
Rebecca stood facing the window.
Finally:
“His name is Charles Vale.”
Jonas said nothing.
“He owned the building where my father’s store was.”
“Owned?”
“Father died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
Rebecca nodded.
“After his death, I discovered the store owed more than I knew.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand six hundred dollars.”
Jonas whistled softly.
A fortune.
“Charles held most of the debt.”
Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself.
“He offered to forgive it.”
Jonas already knew where this was going.
“In exchange for marriage.”
“Yes.”
“You refused.”
“Yes.”
“He did that?”
Rebecca looked at her wrist.
“Not at first.”
Jonas’s jaw tightened.
“Tell me.”
She hesitated.
Then opened the traveling bag.
Removed several folded dresses.
A Bible.
Small sewing case.
Then a leather packet tied with string.
She placed it on the table.
“My father did not owe Charles money.”
Jonas frowned.
“What?”
“Not the amount he claimed.”
Rebecca untied the packet.
Inside were ledgers.
Promissory notes.
Receipts.
Copies of correspondence.
“My father kept everything.”
“He taught me bookkeeping.”
“I found duplicate charges.”
“Interest added twice.”
“Payments never credited.”
“Then I found the same pattern in other accounts.”
Jonas opened one ledger.
Names.
Amounts.
Dates.
“What was he doing?”
“Creating debts.”
“Against merchants?”
“Widows.”
“Small property owners.”
“Anyone without enough money to challenge him.”
“Then he offered settlements.”
“What kind?”
“Property.”
“Businesses.”
“Sometimes…”
She stopped.
Jonas looked up.
“Marriage.”
Rebecca nodded.
Jonas stared at the ledger.
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Enough.”
She pointed to several entries.
“He owns half a block in St. Louis because people believed these numbers.”
Jonas looked at her.
“You took evidence.”
“It belonged to my father.”
“Charles knows?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“He came to the store the night before I left.”
There it was.
The bruises.
Jonas’s voice became careful.
“What happened?”
“He searched the office.”
“I tried to stop him.”
“He grabbed me.”
“Did he…”
Jonas could not finish immediately.
Rebecca understood.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Relief mixed with rage.
“He threatened me.”
“What did he say?”
“That if I left with the books, he would find me.”
Jonas looked toward the mountains outside.
“How did you get away?”
“My neighbor heard glass break.”
“Charles left.”
“I took what I could and went directly to the station.”
“The marriage agency?”
“I had already been writing to you.”
Jonas stared.
“So this was planned before he threatened you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Because I wanted to leave St. Louis.”
“Because of Charles?”
“At first partly.”
That hurt more than Jonas expected.
“At first.”
She nodded.
“I answered several advertisements.”
Jonas frowned.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“Five?”
“You sound offended.”
“I wrote one woman.”
“How virtuous.”
Jonas glared.
Rebecca almost smiled.
“Your letters were different.”
“How?”
“You never asked whether I was pretty.”
“Because I didn't care.”
“I know.”
“You asked whether I could keep accounts.”
“Yes.”
“Whether I could preserve meat.”
“Yes.”
“Whether isolation frightened me.”
“Yes.”
“Whether I believed marriage required affection before respect.”
Jonas remembered.
Rebecca continued.
“You were the only man who described what I would own.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You wrote that if we married, half the livestock purchased afterward would be mine.”
“And if the homestead proved up, you would add my name to the deed.”
“That is fair.”
“It was unusual.”
Jonas leaned against the table.
“And that's why you chose me?”
“Partly.”
Again.
That word.
“Rebecca.”
She looked up.
“What is the other part?”
Her cheeks colored.
Jonas waited.
Rebecca looked toward the stove.
“Your third letter.”
“What about it?”
“You wrote that you had become accustomed to silence but were no longer certain you liked it.”
Jonas remembered writing that line at midnight.
He regretted it instantly.
Rebecca continued.
“I understood.”
“You understood silence?”
“I understood loneliness.”
The cabin changed.
Or maybe Jonas did.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Not the soft face.
Not small hands.
Not bruises.
The woman.
A woman who had crossed hundreds of miles carrying evidence that could ruin a powerful man.
Who had walked into a church and challenged Jonas’s honor.
Who had climbed seven miles into mountains while barely able to breathe.
She was not the woman he had asked for.
She might be stronger.
Jonas touched the ledger.
“Why bring this here?”
“I couldn't leave it.”
“Why not send it to authorities?”
“I tried.”
“In St. Louis?”
“Yes.”
“Charles has friends.”
“Of course.”
“A clerk warned me my complaint would disappear before morning.”
Jonas’s mouth hardened.
Rebecca continued.
“My father once mentioned a federal land investigator in Denver.”
“He had written about fraudulent liens.”
“I thought if I could reach Colorado…”
“You could take the evidence there.”
“Yes.”
“So marrying me gets you close enough.”
Rebecca flinched.
Jonas saw it.
“That sounds ugly.”
“It is true.”
“Not entirely.”
“Then tell me the part that isn't.”
Rebecca stepped toward him.
“Do you think I needed to marry you to reach Denver?”