Chapter 2 - The Morning Ledger
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway chimed six times before the gray light of dawn crept through the high, arched windows of the master suite.
Ria was already awake. She stood by the window, watching the mist rise off the vast timber pastures below. Dozens of horses moved like dark shadows across the fenced enclosures, and beyond them, the massive silhouette of the Calder lumber mill loomed against the pale morning sky, silent for the moment before the day's shift began.
Her mind was a whirlwind of calculations. Back in her father's cabin, survival meant stretching a pound of salt pork across seven days. Here, survival meant understanding ledgers, corporate bylaws, and the treacherous politics of men who measured their worth in board-feet and railway shares.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Before Ria could answer, the heavy wood creaked open, and a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a sensible gray apron entered, carrying a heavy silver tray laden with steaming coffee, fresh bread, and preserves.
"Good morning, Mrs. Calder," the woman said, her voice warm with a Scottish burr. "I'm Martha. I've managed the kitchens here for fifteen years."
Ria turned from the window, her posture instinctively guarded. "Good morning, Martha. You don't need to bring breakfast up. I can come down."
"Mr. Calder specifically asked that you be given peace this morning," Martha said, setting the tray down on a cherrywood table near the hearth where a small fire was already crackling. She lingered for a moment, her eyes taking in Ria's braided hair and simple wool dress. "And don't you mind Miss Mara. She's ruled this roost with an iron skewer since the old master passed. She thought she'd marry Trace off to some eastern socialite and run the mills through him."
Ria poured a cup of dark, rich coffee, letting the steam warm her face. "She mentioned legal papers last night. Do you know what she's planning?"
Martha hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before stepping closer. "She's been meeting with Mr. Vance, the company lawyer, down in the town office. They've been pouring over the 1874 incorporation papers. There's a clause about the primary heir needing a union approved by a majority of the founding trustees. Since the trustees are mostly Mara's old cronies..." Martha left the sentence unfinished, her expression sympathetic.
"They plan to declare the marriage void," Ria said quietly.
"Or claim you married him under duress, leveraging your family's debts to force his hand," Martha whispered. "Mr. Vance is a shark in a wool suit. He twists words until black looks like white."
Ria took a sip of the coffee, letting the bitter warmth steady her nerves. She had faced men with guns before; a lawyer with a stack of papers was just a different kind of predator.
"Where is Trace?" Ria asked.
"Down at the main office already," Martha replied. "He went down at dawn to meet with the foreman before the night crew came off shift. He told me to tell you he'd be back by eight."
"Thank you, Martha," Ria said, offering a small, genuine smile. "I appreciate your honesty."
"You're a Calder now, whether Miss Mara likes it or not," Martha said, patting Ria's arm gently before turning toward the door. "And from what I've seen of you so far, I'd say the Calder name just got a lot tougher."
By seven-thirty, Ria had changed into a dark green riding skirt and a sturdy wool jacket Trace had thoughtfully had placed in the wardrobe. She descended the grand staircase with purposeful strides, her boots clicking softly against the polished wood.
Instead of waiting passively in the parlor, she walked straight out the heavy front doors and toward the stables. The crisp morning air bit at her cheeks, smelling of pine sap, damp earth, and horse sweat.
As she approached the main stable block, she saw a sleek bay gelding being saddled by a young stable hand. Standing a few yards away, holding a leather portfolio under his arm, was a tall, thin man with slicked-back gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. A gold pocket watch chain gleamed across his vest.
Mr. Vance.
The lawyer turned as Ria approached, his eyes narrowing behind his lenses with a mixture of professional condescension and calculated curiosity.
"Ah," Vance said, his voice smooth and oily. "Mrs. Calder, I presume? Or should I say... Miss Red Feather?"
Ria stopped two paces away, looking him up and down with the cool detachment her mother had always used when appraising a dishonest horse trader.
"My name is Mrs. Calder," Ria said clearly, her voice carrying across the yard. "And you must be the man who mistakes paperwork for power."
Vance's smile did not reach his eyes. He snapped his leather portfolio shut with a sharp click. "I am merely a man who ensures that the multi-thousand-dollar interests of the Calder estate are protected from... unfortunate, impulsive romantic miscalculations."
"My marriage is none of your business, Mr. Vance," Ria said, stepping closer.
May you like
"On the contrary, my dear," Vance replied, pulling a folded document from his pocket. "Under Article Nine of the territorial charter, it is exclusively my business. And by noon today, this court petition will ensure that it is the judge's business as well."
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