Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Civil War
The root cellar was dark, smelling of damp earth, stored potatoes, and winter apples.
Eleanor huddled the children together behind a stack of wooden crates, holding Edward against her chest while Sarah and Thomas hovered protectively over their younger siblings. The heavy oak door of the cellar above was shut tight, but through the small ventilation grate, they could hear the muffled sounds of footsteps crunching across the frozen snow outside the cabin.
Upstairs, Caleb was moving with calculated silence.
He didn't light a lamp. He didn't lock himself inside; instead, he stood near the heavy front window, peering through a small gap in the curtains, his finger resting lightly against the trigger of his Spencer repeating rifle.
The riders had descended from the ridge.
Through the thick pine logs, Eleanor heard the unmistakable sound of horses halting near the front porch. A heavy, aggressive knock rattled the cabin door—three sharp blows, followed by the sound of boots scraping heavily across the wooden boards.
"Roar!" a harsh, raspy voice shouted from the porch. "Open up, you bastard! We know you're in there!"
Caleb didn't answer. He didn't flinch.
"We saw the smoke from the valley," another voice called out, laughing mockingly. "Heard you bought yourself a broodmare and seven little calves down in Covenant Creek. Must be getting soft in your old age, Captain!"
Captain.
The word struck Eleanor in the darkness of the cellar like a physical blow. The rumors in Covenant Creek had whispered about a former soldier with blood on his hands—a man who had vanished after the war under a cloud of military secrecy and unproven accusations.
"You're trespassing," Caleb's voice finally rang out from inside the cabin. It was low, steady, and carried a lethal promise that made the blood run cold. "Turn around and ride back down the canyon before I lose my patience."
"Oh, patience, is it?" the first man sneered. "After what you did at Andersonville—after the gold shipment went missing in '64—you think you get to play mountain hermit and live out your days in peace? We want our cut, Roar. And if the woman and the brats have to bleed for it, that's just the cost of doing business."
Inside the cellar, Thomas’s eyes widened in sheer terror, and Sarah gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth.
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Eleanor pulled them tighter against her, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. But beneath the fear, a white-hot fury ignited in her veins. They had come for her children. They had threatened blood.
Upstairs, the front door splintered with a deafening crash as a heavy shoulder slammed against it.
