“Enough,” Ana whispered, praying the arguing would end soon.
“Your concern for your pocket outweighs your concern for human life,” Dr. Mercer declared.
“Without me, you’d all be nothing but poor dirt farmers!” Thompson retorted.
“Better an honest farmer than a rich tyrant,” someone called out from the crowd.
Ana could see the fissures forming among the people she had come to cherish, divisions carved by fear and ambition.
“William,” she whispered under her breath. She believed in his cause as much as he did, but she wished he didn’t have to be the one to go toe-to-toe with Thompson.
As the meeting descended into chaos, and Ana’s resolve hardened. She would stand by her husband, stand by the miners, stand by the truth. She knew the cost might be dear, but some things—justice, love, life itself—were worth the price.
“Thompson,” the name again seared her thoughts. He was a puzzle she needed to solve, a shadow that threatened her new life.
The dust had barely settled on the town meeting when Anabelle found herself wandering near the fringes of Hope Springs. She walked to the edge of Thompson’s property—a place she’d come to view with a wary eye.
There, in the shadow of the fading sun, she stumbled upon something that quickened her pulse. A leather-bound ledger, half-buried under a pile of discarded timber, its pages fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. Ana knelt, her fingers brushing against the coarse cover before opening it to the scrawled handwriting within. Each entry was a meticulous record of shipments—not of the silver that brought Hope Springs to life, but of materials unaccounted for, materials that could easily be used to weaken the very structures of the mines.
“Mercy,” she whispered. The implications were as clear as they were chilling. In her hand was evidence of deceit, of sabotage.
It was dusk as Ana returned home, the weight of discovery heavy in her hands. She found her sisters, Izzy and Rosie, waiting outside her home for her.
“Ana, what is the matter?” Izzy asked, looking at Ana with confusion.
“Look at this.” Ana handed over the ledger, watching as realization dawned on her sisters’ faces.
“John Thompson?” Rosie’s voice was a fragile thread, laced with disbelief.
“Seems he’s been undermining more than just spirits,” Ana replied.
“William,” Izzy started, her face paling, “what will this mean for him? For all our husbands?”
“I’m not sure,” Ana said. “But we cannot let fear dictate our path.”
“Nor can we ignore the danger this brings to our doorstep,” Rosie added, her gaze locking with Ana’s.
“That’s true,” Ana agreed. “We must tread carefully. We cannot allow such treachery to fester.”
“Then we stand with you,” Izzy declared, her hand finding Ana’s. “As we always have.”
“United,” Rosie affirmed, completing the circle of hands.
*****
THE FOLLOWING DAY,Ana lingered outside the general store, pretending interest in a display of calico fabric, listening to muffled voices within the store. Two men were speaking about the recent troubles at the mine.
“Accidents they say,” one voice chuckled darkly, “yet fortune favors the bold, or so it seems for some.”
“True,” replied another, a hint of fear tainting his agreement.
Ana moved on, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place within her mind.
At the edge of town, Ana found her opportunity. Old Pete, the livery hand, sat alone on a rickety stool, his eyes downcast.
“Mr. Peterson,” Ana began. “May I have a word?”
He looked up, his weathered face a map of reluctance. “Miss Ana, I reckon you should be headin’ home ‘bout now.”
