Chapter 2: THE WOMEN WHO REMEMBERED
The present settled back around Eli.
His fingers still gripped the porch rail.
The women remained mounted beyond the gate.
“I remember,” he said.
Something in Chaska’s expression softened, though only slightly.
Waya was first to dismount.
She was around thirty now, and the sharp awareness Eli remembered from the canyon had matured into something controlled and formidable. Her black hair was pulled back, and a bow rode across her shoulder.
Serina climbed down next.
The scar on her cheek had faded into a narrow pale line.
Her buckskin clothing carried intricate beadwork arranged in patterns Eli did not understand, though he suspected the patterns were intended to communicate something rather than merely decorate.
Serina caught him looking.
“You still make the same confused face when you see something beautiful.”
Her English was nearly flawless.
Eli blinked.
Serina smiled.
For an instant, she looked much younger.
“You learned English.”
“I learned several things.”
Waya tied off her horse.
“Some less useful than others.”
Serina looked at her.
Eli glanced toward Chaska.
“And you?”
“I learned patience.”
Waya made a skeptical sound.
Chaska ignored her.
Eli found himself smiling.
The sensation felt strange on his face.
“Come inside. This heat is trying to cook the whole valley.”
Serina removed the leather satchel from her saddle.
The contents shifted.
Clink.
Eli’s smile vanished.
That sound.
He knew it now.
Or at least he knew where he had heard it.
The canyon.
Ten years earlier.
Serina saw his reaction.
Her hand settled over the bag.
“Later.”
Eli generally disliked unexplained things in his own house.
Nevertheless, he stepped aside.
The three women entered.
Waya looked around without pretending she was not inspecting every detail.
Her gaze passed over the rifle beside the stove, the ammunition shelf, both windows, the bedroom entrance, the floorboards, and the distance between the table and the front door.
“You always inspect a room like you expect to defend it?” Eli asked.
“Only rooms that may need defending.”
Eli stopped moving.
Chaska placed one hand on a chair.
Serina sat near the cold stove.
No one explained Waya’s answer.
Eli’s attention shifted to the land document.
Chaska followed his gaze.
She walked to the table, picked up the paper, and read it.
“This is one reason we arrived today.”
Eli frowned.
“You spent ten years finding me because somebody wants to buy my ranch?”
“Not only because of this.”
“Then perhaps start with how three women I have not seen in a decade know what is sitting on my table.”
Waya crossed toward the southern window.
“We have watched this property for three days.”
Eli stared at her.
“You watched me?”
“We watched everyone.”
“For what reason?”
Waya looked back.
“Because men are coming.”
The entire room seemed to tighten.
Chaska placed the contract on the table.
“Harlan Voss.”
The name brought its own weight.
Eli had never stood face-to-face with Voss.
Few people in the valley had.
But everybody knew what the name represented.
During the previous few years, Harlan Voss had purchased ranch after ranch and water right after water right until his holdings curved around the valley like a tightening hand.
He purchased from ranchers in trouble.
From widows.
From families weakened by bad seasons.
Whenever somebody refused his first offer, another came.
Usually better.
Then inconvenient things began happening.
Barns burned.
Wells failed.
Livestock disappeared.
A farmer lost part of his property after a boundary dispute based on a survey he claimed never to have ordered.
No one proved Voss had arranged any of it.
Somehow, every incident helped him.
Eli folded his arms.
“What do you know about Voss?”
“Enough,” Waya answered.
“That tells me nothing.”
Chaska placed the paper flat.
“This offer is not truly an offer.”
“I had already guessed that.”
“Had you?”
Eli’s posture stiffened.
Chaska touched the lower edge of the document.
“You intended to sign it.”
Eli remained silent.
His silence answered her.
Chaska studied him.
“You once risked your life for three strangers without calculating what it might cost you. Now, ten years later, you were preparing to surrender the only place you ever chose to build.”
Eli’s jaw flexed.
“Did you cross mountains just to criticize me?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why you are here.”
Her voice became quieter.
“Because we know what this property actually is.”
Eli glanced around.
“A ranch.”
“No.”
“A poor ranch?”
Serina almost smiled.
Chaska did not.
“This place is the center of something Voss has spent years attempting to erase.”
Eli looked between the women.
“Then explain.”
Serina placed her leather satchel on the table.
Its contents struck the wood.
Clink.
Eli’s pulse accelerated.
Serina opened it.
Inside were leather rolls, carving tools, folded documents, and a narrow wooden case.
She removed the case carefully.
Waya left the window and came closer.
Chaska sat at the table.
Serina opened the box.
Inside lay one half of a silver seal.
It was not jewelry.
It was not currency.
Someone had deliberately split a formal seal down the center.
The visible design showed part of a hawk above three flowing lines.
Eli leaned forward.
He recognized the image.
His stomach dropped.
His father had owned an old trunk.
A similar symbol had been burned into the wood underneath it.
That trunk disappeared after Eli’s parents died.
He looked at Serina.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“She had been ordered never to lose it.”
“By whom?”
Serina glanced at Chaska.
Chaska answered.
“Your father.”
Eli stepped backward.
A chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
“Yes.”
“You never knew him.”
Chaska’s gaze remained steady.
“Our families knew him before you were born.”
Eli shook his head.
“No.”
“Eli—”
“No.”
His tone hardened.
“My father raised horses, and most of them were better at it than he was. He drank too much coffee. He sang badly. He cheated at cards when he believed nobody noticed. He was not part of some secret arrangement with Apache families and pieces of silver.”
Serina spoke carefully.
“You remember the father who raised you.”
“I remember my father.”
“You may not know everything he did before you were old enough to understand it.”
Eli stared at the broken seal.
The document on his table suddenly stopped looking like an aggressive land purchase. It began to look like an attempt to buy something from him before he understood that he possessed it.
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