Do not confuse the two.

Eli stared at those words.

Then folded the letter.

Ada looked embarrassed.

“Ruth always spoke strangely when she was trying to be wise.”

“No.”

Eli smiled.

“She spoke exactly like that.”

Autumn came slowly to Crestfall.

The cottonwoods turned gold.

Travelers returned.

The station reopened.

But the sign changed.

CROWe’s CRESTFALL STATION disappeared.

In its place hung a new board.

BELL WAY STATION.

Ada owned it legally.

Nathaniel’s original deed had survived in county records despite Silas’s forged copy.

People who had ignored her now called her Miss Bell.

Some apologized.

Most did not.

Ada discovered she did not need their apologies.

She hired a cook.

A widowed woman named Margaret.

Then a stable boy whose father had died in a mine.

Then a young mother who needed work but could not leave her child behind.

Ada built small rooms behind the kitchen.

“No employee of mine is sleeping under a table,” she declared.

Eli rebuilt the roof.

Then the porch.

Then the stable doors.

Eventually Ada stood in the yard with her hands on her hips.

“You understand I can pay someone to do this?”

“Yes.”

“You understand you have no obligation to me?”

“Yes.”

“You understand Montana is still north?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“Then why are you rebuilding my fence?”

Eli hammered another nail.

“Because it’s crooked.”

“You are impossible.”

“So my mother said.”

Ada tried not to smile.

Failed.

The first snow arrived in November.

One evening the station emptied early.

Ada baked biscuits.

Eli sat near the stove reading an old newspaper.

She placed a plate before him.

He picked one up.

Bit into it.

Paused.

“No pepper.”

Ada folded her arms.

“You complained last time.”

“I praised them.”

“You created a criminal investigation.”

“That was unrelated.”

“You nearly got shot.”

“You got shot.”

“Exactly.”

He took another bite.

“Needs pepper.”

Ada threw a dish towel at him.

Eli caught it.

They were both laughing when the front door opened.

An elderly woman stood beneath the frame.

Snow covered her shoulders.

A scarf hid most of her face.

Ada immediately moved forward.

“Come inside.”

The woman entered slowly.

She carried no luggage.

Only a small leather bag.

Eli rose.

Something about the woman stopped him.

Not her face.

Her posture.

The way she removed her gloves finger by finger.

The way she glanced automatically toward the stove.

The way she looked at the biscuits.

Then at Eli.

Her eyes widened.

Eli’s heart stopped.

Impossible.

The woman whispered one word.

“Elijah?”

The biscuit fell from his hand.

Ada turned sharply.

Eli could not move.

The woman removed her scarf.

Gray hair.

Weathered face.

A thin scar along her jaw.

Thirteen years older than the woman in his memories.

But the eyes—

He knew them.

“No,” Eli whispered.

The woman began crying.

“My boy.”

Eli stumbled backward.

Ada covered her mouth.

The room seemed to tilt.

“Mother?”

Ruth Marsh was alive.

For thirteen years, Eli had imagined a hundred impossible miracles.

None had prepared him for receiving one.

He crossed the room slowly.

Ruth opened her arms.

Eli stopped one step away.

Anger hit before joy.

“Where were you?”

Ruth’s arms lowered.

“Eli—”

“Where were you?”

Her face crumpled.

“I couldn’t come back.”

“You could have written.”

“I tried.”

“Thirteen years!”