1870, Philadelphia, USA.
Martha Whitcomb, the wild child of Philadelphia society, is now a grown woman, independent in wealth and in personality. At twenty-three, still unmarried and childless, she is exposed to constant rumors and ridicule, crushed...
Please read the new addition to my author's note before proceeding with this chapter.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Paradise Reach, Arizona Territory April 19th, 1870
Dear William,
I apologize for the delay in writing, but I have been entirely swept off my feet since you left this place in February. You would be doubtless staggered to see my appearance these last months, which can best be described as bedraggled and exhausted, but beneath this pitiful veneer, I could not be prouder of what is being accomplished.
The strongbox of funds you sent arrived two weeks ago, and as we agreed, I met with Mr. Cuthbert Culter at his Triple C Ranch. In case you were wondering, I did ask if his second name also begins with a 'C', and he informed me that it does indeed.
Mr. Cuthbert Cornelius Cutler—what a name, and in my opinion, goes quite a long way in explaining the humorless codger he is.
But I digress, for that was a cheap shot and quite uncharitable.
In some ways, he is a gentleman and a businessman, and doing business with him was easy enough. Though I was expecting him to add petty fines or some such nonsense, he held true to the deal you struck with him and Denning. Both men have released our tenants from the obligations of both the personal loans and the bank loans, and Mr. Cutler has, in turn, paid me the outstanding amount his sons still owe us. There, the matter officially ends.
In other ways, however, he sends a chill up my spine. There is something in the eyes, a devious quality I do not like at all. Meeting him, it is not difficult to see where two of his sons developed this nasty streak of theirs. He presented himself as perfectly charming, amiable, and humble—nothing more than a rancher who has built a respectable amount of success for himself—but I could not help feeling as though he saw me as little more than a mouse in his cat-like sights. What is to become of this, if anything, I cannot say and would not like to find out. I can only hope that the hatchet is buried and that this family will give us no more trouble.
I suppose everyone is whole if you do not count the fact that you and I have waved goodbye two hundred thousand dollars to cover the residents' loans. In truth, they both seemed rather astonished that you were able to come up with such an amount of cash, especially while we are all still reeling financially from last September's criminal gold crash. Passing the money onto those two crooks made my stomach churn from bitterness, but even a penny would have had the same effect.
I still agree with you that the enormous sum we give away is penance for allowing matters to become so horrible for the residents of Paradise. I have explained to residents more times than I can count that the debts are paid fair and square and that you have no expectation of repayment, but the people do not trust me. I can hardly blame them, for it must be unimaginable to the point of suspicion that we should snap our fingers and wipe their slate clean, and they are indeed suspicious that you have a trick up your sleeve. I am, however, confident that if I continue to forge ahead, I will earn their trust and some of this tension can finally be cleaned away as well.
