“My name is Eleanor Preston,” the stranger said.

Abigail shook her head.

“No. My mother’s name was Margaret.”

Eleanor’s face tightened.

“Margaret was the name they gave me after they buried my past.”

The cabin was silent except for the wind pressing against the walls.

Morgan had secured Billy and the remaining riders inside the abandoned trapping shed. The wounded man had been bandaged, and the others had surrendered their weapons.

But Abigail barely noticed.

Her attention remained fixed on the woman sitting across from her.

Eleanor placed an old silver locket on the table.

Inside was a tiny portrait of a dark-haired child wearing a yellow ribbon.

Abigail recognized the ribbon.

She still had it.

Reverend Preston had told her it was the only possession her mother left behind.

“Where have you been?” Abigail whispered.

Eleanor lowered her eyes.

“Trying to stay alive long enough to come back for you.”

Seventeen years earlier, Eleanor had worked as a bookkeeper for the Hastings family.

Mayor Charles Hastings had controlled nearly every profitable business in Bitter Creek.

The lumber mill.

The freight company.

The bank.

And, most importantly, the mountain land surrounding the settlement.

But Eleanor discovered something unusual while recording payments.

The Hastings family was selling land that did not belong to them.

Thousands of acres had been transferred using forged documents.

Families who refused to sell were threatened.

Some disappeared.

Others were driven from their homes during the worst winters.

Eleanor had copied the original records.

She intended to deliver them to a territorial judge.

Then her cabin burned.

Three people died in the fire.

Or so the town believed.

Eleanor escaped through a cellar passage with her daughter.

But she was badly injured.

And the men pursuing her were closing in.

“Reverend Preston found us,” she explained. “He promised to hide you until I could return.”

Abigail stared at her.

“My father knew?”

Eleanor’s expression became painful.

“He knew you were mine.”

“But why did he tell me you were dead?”

“Because Charles Hastings discovered where you were living.”

Abigail felt sick.

The man who had raised her had lied about her entire childhood.

Morgan stood near the window, listening.

Finally, Abigail turned toward him.

“And you?”

He said nothing.

“Who are you, Morgan?”

Eleanor looked at him.

“She deserves to know.”

Morgan removed the leather cord from around his neck.

Attached to it was a small brass key.

He placed it beside the locket.

“My name wasn’t always Montgomery.”

Abigail waited.

“My father was Jonathan Vale.”

Eleanor closed her eyes.

“The man who owned the northern valley,” Morgan continued. “The land Hastings stole.”

Abigail looked between them.

“Then why did you claim my baby?”

Morgan’s voice softened.

“Because Billy was using the same methods his father used against our families. I couldn’t let it happen again.”

“But you told the church you were the father.”

“I told them what they needed to hear to let you leave safely.”

Abigail’s eyes filled with tears.

“You could have told me the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Morgan looked ashamed.

“Because I didn’t know whether your mother was still alive. And because telling you too soon might have sent you straight back to the people who were hunting her.”

Eleanor reached across the table.

“There’s something else.”

She opened a leather satchel.

Inside were three books, a bundle of letters, and a folded map.

The map showed the mountains surrounding Bitter Creek.

At its center was a black circle.

Beneath it were the words:

The Widow’s Vault.

Morgan immediately recognized the handwriting.

“Your father drew that,” Eleanor said.

Abigail leaned forward.

“What is the Widow’s Vault?”

Eleanor hesitated.

“The place where the original land records were hidden.”

Morgan shook his head.

“I searched for that vault for twelve years.”

“You searched the wrong mountain.”

Eleanor pointed to the map.

“The names were changed after the fire.”

Abigail examined the faded markings.

Then she noticed something strange.

The map contained a drawing of a church.

Not the church in Bitter Creek.

An older building.

One that had vanished long before she was born.

“Why is there a church in the middle of the mountains?”

Eleanor went pale.

“Because the first settlement was built there.”

Morgan leaned closer.

Abigail traced a narrow line running beneath the drawing.

“A tunnel?”

Eleanor nodded.

“The vault is beneath the original church.”

Morgan stared at her.

“That building collapsed thirty years ago.”

“No,” Eleanor replied.

“It was deliberately buried.”

Before anyone could speak again, a crash came from outside.

Morgan grabbed his rifle and hurried to the door.

The trapping shed stood open.

Billy Hastings was gone.

One of his men lay unconscious beside the fence.

The others were still secured inside.

Morgan searched the snow.

Billy’s tracks led toward the eastern ridge.

Straight toward Bitter Creek.

But the most disturbing discovery came moments later.

Pinned to the cabin door was a scrap of paper.

The handwriting was unmistakably Billy’s.

It read:

“Ask Eleanor what happened to Jonathan Vale’s wife.”

Morgan stared at the message.

His face drained of color.

Abigail looked at Eleanor.

The older woman began shaking.

“Morgan,” she whispered. “There is something I never told you.”

Morgan slowly turned.

Eleanor could barely meet his eyes.

“Your mother didn’t die in the fire.”

A long silence followed.

Then Eleanor delivered the revelation that made the mountain trapper stagger backward.

“She was taken alive.”

“And Charles Hastings has kept her hidden ever since.”