# PART 2 FULL — The Woman Jonah Abernathy Tried to Bury

# Part 2 — The Woman Jonah Abernathy Tried to Bury

# Part 2 — The Woman Jonah Abernathy Tried to Bury

Gideon Caldwell had faced men with knives.

He had faced starving wolves in February, a grizzly with a broken jaw, and once, during a mining dispute outside Silverton, three drunk men who had decided his scarred face made him an easy target.

None of those things had frightened him as much as the calm way Mabel Higgins spoke about being poisoned.

“The soup tasted of arsenic,” she repeated.

Outside the cabin, wind combed through the pines. The fire cracked behind Gideon, throwing orange light across the rough walls.

He stared at his new wife.

Mabel sat with both hands folded around her bowl.

She did not tremble.

That bothered him most.

People trembled when they discovered someone wanted them dead.

Mabel looked like a woman discussing the weather.

“How long?” Gideon asked.

“Almost three years.”

His jaw tightened.

“And you kept eating his food?”

“At first I didn’t know.”

“At first?”

“The symptoms were small. Stomach pain. Swelling. Weakness. Headaches.” She hesitated. “And weight.”

Gideon’s gaze flicked over her.

Mabel noticed.

She had spent her whole life noticing.

“That’s what made it perfect,” she said quietly. “Everyone already believed I ate too much. If I gained weight, Jonah blamed pies. If my ankles swelled, Doctor Harlan blamed my size. If I became tired, people said I was lazy.”

Her mouth twisted.

“When people have already decided what you are, they will explain everything according to that belief.”

Gideon leaned back slowly.

He had learned the same lesson differently.

People saw his scars and assumed violence.

They saw that he lived alone and assumed madness.

They saw that he had no children and whispered that he was less of a man.

Neither of them, he realized, had ever been granted the luxury of being judged by truth.

“How did you figure it out?”

“My grandfather.”

“He’s dead.”

“His books aren’t.”

Mabel rose.

She crossed to the small trunk Gideon had carried from Jonah’s wagon and knelt beside it. From beneath folded dresses, she removed a worn leather volume.

Gideon frowned.

“You brought that from Ridge Creek?”

“I brought six.”

Mabel placed the book before him.

The pages were filled with sketches of plants, chemical compounds, symptoms, and notes written in cramped handwriting.

“My grandfather studied medicine before he became a mine assayer,” she said. “Mother kept his journals. Jonah thought they were worthless.”

“And they told you about arsenic?”

“They helped me recognize it.”

Gideon turned a page.

“You certain?”

“No.”

His eyes lifted.

Mabel met them.

“I’m certain enough that I stopped eating anything Jonah personally brought me six months ago.”

Gideon went very still.

“And?”

“I lost nineteen pounds.”

The room seemed to shrink around him.

Mabel gave a humorless smile.

“Funny, isn’t it?”

He did not smile.

“No.”

“The town would.”

“I ain’t the town.”

Something changed in her face.

Only for a second.

Then she looked away.

Gideon shut the book.

“Doctor Harlan.”

Mabel nodded.

“He gave me tonics.”

“You think he knew?”

“I think Jonah paid him.”

“That isn’t proof.”

“No.”

“What is?”

Mabel reached into the trunk again.

This time she removed a folded sheet of paper.

Gideon opened it.

There were columns of figures.

Payments.

Dates.

Initials.

J.A.

E.H.

Beside several entries were single words.

Medicine.

Silence.

Certificate.

Gideon read the final word twice.

“Certificate?”

“I stole that from Jonah’s desk the night before our wedding.”

“You stole it?”

“I prefer ‘rescued.’”

Despite himself, Gideon almost smiled.

Almost.

“What certificate?”

“I don’t know.”

“That makes two of us.”

“No.” Mabel looked at him. “I suspect it’s my death certificate.”

The wind howled against the cabin.

Gideon’s expression hardened.

“You’re not dead.”

“Jonah has always been a man who plans ahead.”

For the first time since their wedding, Gideon understood precisely why Mabel had accepted exile without protest.

The marriage had not been her prison.

It had been her escape tunnel.

And Gideon Caldwell had unknowingly been the horse waiting on the other side.

He pushed away from the table.

“Pack.”

Mabel blinked.

“What?”

“We’re going back.”

“No.”

The word came fast.

Gideon turned.

“No?”

“No.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Which is exactly why returning immediately would be foolish.”

“He’s sitting down there thinking he got away with it.”

“Good.”

Gideon stared.

Mabel stood.

The frightened, humiliated woman from the church seemed to disappear.

In her place stood someone colder.

Sharper.

“Jonah believes you wanted your debt erased,” she said. “He believes you brought me into the mountains because five hundred dollars mattered more to you than I did.”

“It did.”

The words came automatically.

Mabel’s expression flickered.

Gideon immediately wished he could pull them back.

But he had never been good with words.

Not after the war.

Not before it either.

So he added, “At first.”

Silence.

Mabel looked at him differently.

Gideon cleared his throat.

“Continue.”

“If we return now, Jonah knows I told you. He destroys whatever evidence remains.”

“And if we stay?”

“He relaxes.”

“He might send someone.”

“Yes.”

“You say that too calmly.”

“I’ve had practice.”

Gideon’s mouth hardened.

He hated that answer.

For six days, nothing happened.

Mabel settled into mountain life with astonishing speed.

She cooked.

She scrubbed years of soot from Gideon’s pots.

She learned where he kept flour, salt, ammunition, lamp oil, and the small amount of money hidden beneath a loose floorboard.

Gideon complained when she found it.

“A thief could’ve found that.”

“A thief wouldn’t clean under your bed.”

“Why were you cleaning under my bed?”

“Because something under there attempted to grow legs.”

She made bread the next morning.

He stopped complaining.

At night they slept separately.

Gideon took the narrow cot near the stove.

Mabel slept in his bed.

He had insisted.

She had objected.

“You’re six feet three.”

“Six four.”

“The cot is five feet long.”

“I curl.”

“You don’t curl. You hang off it like a dead elk.”

He gave her a look.

She gave one back.

Neither surrendered.

On the fourth night, Gideon woke before dawn and found a blanket draped across his legs.

He said nothing about it.

On the sixth morning, someone shot at him.

The bullet struck the cabin wall inches from his head.

Gideon threw himself sideways.

“Mabel!”

She was already moving.

Not screaming.

Moving.

She dropped behind the table as a second bullet shattered the window.

Gideon grabbed his rifle.

“Stay down.”

Mabel crawled toward the stove.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting the coffee.”

Another shot.

A tin cup jumped from the shelf.

“Forget the coffee!”

“The kettle.”

“Mabel!”

She snatched it from the stove.

Then Gideon understood.

Steam.

She carried the kettle low, crawled to the back window, and poured the boiling water onto the frozen ground beneath the sill.

“What in God’s name—”

“Tracks.”

She pointed.

“If he comes around back, the snow will melt enough to catch the tread.”

Gideon stared at her.

Then another bullet slammed into the logs.

He stopped staring.

He went through the rear door.

The shooter fled downhill.

Gideon pursued through the trees, moving with the quiet speed of a man who had survived most of his life by knowing mountains better than other men knew streets.

He caught a glimpse.

Brown coat.

Black hat.

A horse tied beyond the ridge.

Gideon fired once.

Not at the man.

At a pine trunk beside him.

The attacker ducked.

That moment cost him.

Gideon tackled him from behind.

They rolled through snow.

The stranger struck Gideon’s injured cheek.

Pain flashed white across his vision.

Gideon answered with one punch.

The man stopped fighting.

Minutes later, Gideon dragged him back toward the cabin by the collar.

Mabel opened the door.

“Alive?”

“Mostly.”

“Good.”

Gideon dumped him onto the floor.

Mabel stared at the man.

Recognition drained the color from her face.

“Silas Crowe.”

Gideon looked down.

“You know him?”

“He works for Jonah.”

Silas groaned.

Gideon crouched beside him.

“Did.”

Silas opened one eye.

“Go to hell.”

Gideon reached for his revolver.

Mabel touched his shoulder.

“Wait.”

It was the first time she had touched him voluntarily.

His hand stopped.

Mabel knelt.

“Silas.”

The man looked at her.

And laughed.

Even bleeding, he laughed.

“Well,” he whispered. “Town boulder learned to climb mountains.”

Gideon’s face changed.

Mabel felt the air beside her become dangerous.

She squeezed Gideon’s shoulder.

“Not yet.”

Silas grinned.

“Got yourself a loyal dog.”

Gideon hit him.

Once.

“Gideon.”

“He slipped.”

“I saw you.”

“Floor’s uneven.”

Silas spat blood.

Then Mabel noticed something hanging around his neck.

A leather cord.

At its end was a small brass key.

She pulled it free.

Silas’s grin vanished.

There.

Fear.

Mabel saw it.

“What does this open?”

“Nothing.”

Gideon hit him again.

“Uneven floor,” he said.

Mabel held up the key.

“What does it open?”

Silas stared at her.

“Ask your mother.”

Mabel froze.

“My mother is dead.”

Silas smiled through bloody teeth.

“That what Jonah told you?”

No one spoke.

The fire snapped.

Mabel’s fingers tightened around the key.

Gideon leaned forward.

“What did you say?”

Silas laughed again.

But it sounded weaker now.

“Mabel’s mama knew too much about that mine. Just like her daddy. Just like everybody who goes digging where Abernathy tells ’em not to.”

“My father died before I was born,” Mabel whispered.

Silas looked directly at her.

“Did he?”

Mabel’s breathing changed.

Gideon heard it.

“Mabel.”

She didn’t answer.

Silas had found a weapon more dangerous than his rifle.

Doubt.

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe.”

“What does the key open?”

Silas smiled.

“Maybe the grave.”

Gideon grabbed him by the throat.

“Answer her.”

Silas wheezed.

And then there came a sound outside.

A horse.

Gideon released Silas and rose instantly.

Mabel took his pistol from the table.

He turned sharply.

“You know how to use that?”

“My grandfather believed women should understand firearms.”

Gideon stared at her grip.

Proper.

Steady.

“Your grandfather was an interesting man.”

“He disliked surprises.”

“Apparently.”

Gideon went outside.

The approaching rider raised both hands.

“Caldwell!”

Gideon recognized him.

Elias Boone.

The Ridge Creek blacksmith.

Elias stopped twenty yards from the cabin.

“I ain’t armed.”

“Everyone’s armed.”

“Fine. I ain’t planning to shoot you.”

“Different sentence.”

Elias swallowed.

“There’s trouble in town.”

“Town always has trouble.”

“It’s about your wife.”

Mabel appeared in the doorway.

Elias saw the pistol in her hand.

His eyebrows rose.

Then he saw Silas Crowe unconscious behind her.

His eyebrows rose higher.

“Seems I arrived late.”

“Talk,” Gideon said.

Elias climbed down.

“Jonah’s telling people Mabel stole money.”

“How much?”

“Eight thousand dollars.”

Mabel laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because the number was absurd.

“I’ve never seen eight thousand dollars in one place.”

“That ain’t the worst.”

Elias removed a newspaper from his coat.

“He says you helped her.”

Gideon unfolded it.

There, among legal notices, was a reward.

$300.

For information leading to the arrest of Gideon Caldwell and Mabel Abernathy Caldwell, wanted for theft, fraud, and attempted murder.

Mabel stared.

“Attempted murder?”

“Doctor Harlan claims you poisoned Jonah.”

For several seconds, Gideon said nothing.

Then he handed the paper back.

“Smart.”

Elias blinked.

“Smart?”

“He accuses her of what he was doing. Now if she says poisoning, she sounds like she copied his story.”

Mabel looked at Gideon.

Exactly.

Jonah had moved first.

Again.

“What else?” she asked.

Elias hesitated.

“The mine.”

“What about it?”

“Caved in yesterday.”

Mabel’s face emptied.

“The Higgins Mine?”

“Main shaft.”

“Anyone inside?”

“Two men.”

“Dead?”

“Missing.”

Mabel stepped outside.

“Who?”

Elias hesitated.

“Caleb Dunn and Peter Moss.”

She shut her eyes.

She knew them.

Everyone in Ridge Creek knew them.

Honest miners.

More importantly, both had worked for Mabel’s mother.

“That wasn’t a cave-in,” she said.

Elias’s expression said he agreed.