Chapter 11
Jedodiah looked at her.
“What scar?”
She instinctively touched her shoulder.
A small crescent-shaped mark had been there since infancy.
“My mother said I was born with it.”
Elias shook his head.
“You weren't. You were burned when a lamp overturned the night someone tried to take you from your mother's room.”
Matilda's stomach turned.
“How could you know that?”
“Because I carried you outside.”
Her breath caught.
A distant voice echoed from the direction of the cabin.
“Search the ridge!”
Abigail.
Jedodiah lowered his rifle slightly.
“We can't stay here.”
Elias nodded.
“Follow me.”
Jedodiah did not move.
“Why should we trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
That answer surprised them both.
Elias looked at Matilda.
“But if Abigail Thatcher finds what was in that vault, every person who helped your mother hide the truth will be in danger.”
“Silas already d/i/ed because of it.”
Pain moved across Elias's face.
“I know.”
“You knew Silas?”
“For thirty years.”
Matilda's anger surged.
“You knew he was alive? You knew my mother was alive all those years? You knew I existed?”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed hidden?”
Elias flinched as if she had struck him.
“Yes.”
Matilda stepped toward him.
“You don't get to say that calmly.”
“I am not calm.”
“You abandoned us.”
“I protected you.”
“No. My mother protected me.”
Elias lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
That answer stole some of the force from her rage.
Behind them came another shout.
Jedodiah glanced toward the cabin.
“Arguments later.”
Elias turned and led them along a narrow ledge hidden behind pines.
They climbed for nearly half a mile until they reached a split in the granite wall.
A passage opened between two boulders.
Beyond it stood a small stone lodge invisible from the valley.
Inside were shelves of maps, bundles of letters, old ledgers, mining tools, and enough provisions to last months.
Matilda stared.
“You've been living here?”
“Not always. Only when I had reason to return.”
“Return from where?”
“Utah. Wyoming. Sometimes Canada.”
Jedodiah closed the door behind them.
“You spent twenty-three years running?”
Elias looked at him.
“Twenty-three years gathering proof.”
He placed a leather folder on the table.
Inside were deeds, names, affidavits, and newspaper clippings.
Matilda recognized one name immediately.
Thatcher.
Again and again.
But there were others.
Sheriff Hollis.
Judge Mercer.
Banker Clayton Voss.
Three mine owners.
Two territorial officials.
“What is this?”
“The network,” Elias said.
Matilda looked up.