Then she asked:
“Why help me?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Because you were dying.”
“That is not answer.”
He considered that.
“My wife would have helped you.”
Anya studied him.
“Where is wife?”
“Dead.”
Her expression changed.
“I am sorry.”
Thomas looked down at his bowl.
“So am I.”
Silence filled the cabin.
Then Anya said:
“Her name?”
“Clara.”
Anya repeated it softly.
“Clara.”
Outside, a horse screamed.
Thomas was on his feet instantly.
He grabbed the rifle.
Anya reached for her knife.
“Stay here.”
She ignored him.
Thomas moved toward the window.
Three riders stood on the far ridge.
Too far to see their faces.
But Thomas knew they were watching.
One lifted an arm.
Then the riders turned away.
Anya whispered:
“They know.”
Thomas turned.
“Know what?”
“That I am here.”
Thomas looked toward the ridge again.
A cold sensation settled in his chest.
“What do they want?”
Anya hesitated.
Then she said:
“They think I stole something.”
“Did you?”
She looked at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“Truth.”
Thomas frowned.
Anya pulled a small leather pouch from beneath her torn dress.
She opened it.
Inside was a folded paper.
Thomas took it.
He could barely read the handwriting.
It was a military document.
There were names.
Dates.
Supply numbers.
And signatures.
Thomas looked at Anya.
“What is this?”
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
She whispered:
“They killed my people.”
Thomas read the paper again.
He recognized one name.
Captain Silas Vane.
The commanding officer at Fort Harrow.
Thomas's stomach dropped.
Vane was known throughout the territory.
A decorated cavalry officer.
A man praised by newspapers in Santa Fe.
A man Thomas had met twice.
Thomas remembered the first meeting.
Vane had shaken his hand.
Called him a good citizen.
Asked about his wheat.
And smiled.
Thomas looked at the document again.
“If this is real…”
“It is.”
“Where did you get it?”
Anya looked away.
“My brother.”
“What happened to him?”
Her face hardened.
“They killed him.”
Thomas folded the paper.
“Who?”
“Vane's men.”
Thomas said nothing.
Outside, the wind moved across the dry grass.
He suddenly understood why she had been running.
Why she had been afraid.
And why three men were willing to follow her into the middle of nowhere.
The paper was dangerous.
But there was something else.
Thomas noticed that Anya kept looking at the cedar trunk.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
He watched her.
“You looked at the trunk.”
“No.”
“You did.”
She said nothing.
Thomas walked toward it.
Anya suddenly stood.
Too quickly.
Pain crossed her face.
“Don't.”
Thomas stopped.
“What is in there?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded like something.”
Anya lowered herself slowly.
Then she looked at him.
“My brother gave me the paper.”
Thomas waited.
“He also gave me a name.”
“Whose?”
“Your wife's.”
Thomas felt the room disappear around him.
“What did you say?”
Anya swallowed.
“Clara Weller.”
Thomas stared at her.
“That is impossible.”
“No.”
“What would your brother know about Clara?”
Anya looked toward the window.
“Because your wife knew things.”
Thomas's heart began pounding.
“Things about what?”
“Fort Harrow.”
Thomas remembered Clara's last months.
Her fever.
Her fear.
The letters she had hidden.
The nights she had sat awake near the window.
He had always thought the fever had made her paranoid.
Maybe it hadn't.
Anya reached into the pouch again.
She removed a second paper.
This one was older.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Clara's.
Thomas recognized it immediately.
His hands began to shake.
He read the first line.
Thomas,
If you are reading this, I am already gone.
He sat down.
Anya watched him.
The room became silent.
Thomas read.
And with every sentence, the life he thought he had known began to change.
Clara’s Letter
Thomas read Clara's letter three times.
The first time, he could barely understand the words.
The second time, he began to see the pattern.
The third time, he understood why his wife had never told him the truth.
Clara had discovered that soldiers from Fort Harrow were illegally taking supplies intended for nearby settlements and Native families.