Chapter 2 - The Shadow over the MountainThe first three months of our marriage in our restored timber-frame house in Blackwood, Vermont, were a dream of quiet, rustic peace.
Jonah operated Blackwood Timber & Restoration, a custom woodworking and historic barn restoration company that was revered across the state. His hands, capable of lifting three-hundred-pound oak beams without straining, possessed a delicate, artistic mastery that transformed raw timber into breathtaking furniture.
I managed the company’s business logistics, handling client contracts, design blueprints, and financial accounting from my sunlit office near the workshop.
Every morning began with fresh coffee, Jonah’s warm embraces, and quiet walks through the pine woods with our golden retriever, Barnaby.
Until the afternoon the shadow of Jonah’s past returned to Blackwood.
It was a chilly Tuesday in late October. The autumn leaves were turning brilliant shades of crimson and gold against the mountain slopes.
I was sitting at my office desk reviewing a secondary restoration contract for a historic estate in the valley when the heavy wooden door of the workshop was pushed open with a sharp, heavy bang.
Walking into the sawdust-scented room, wearing a dirty canvas jacket and a sneering, bitter expression, was Miller Vance—Jonah’s thirty-two-year-old former football teammate from high school and the son of the town’s wealthiest real estate developer.
Behind him walked two broad-shouldered men carrying clipboards and legal notices.
Jonah, who was working at a hand-planing bench near the rear of the shop, set his wooden mallet down flat on the bench. He wiped his hands on his canvas apron, his broad posture straightening, his storm-gray eyes narrowing into dark, guarded slits as he looked at Miller.
"Miller," Jonah spoke flatly, his deep baritone steady, controlled, and devoid of hostility. "What can I do for you?"
Miller Vance walked over to the central workbench, leaning his hip against a finished black-walnut dining table, running his dirty boots across the polished floorboards.
"I came to deliver a message from my father, Jonah," Miller sneered, sliding a thick legal folder onto the wood. "Vance Land Development just finalized the purchase of the secondary water rights along the Blackwood Creek property. Which means your timber yard access lease is officially revoked as of November first."
I stepped out of my office, my heart tightening as I looked at the legal papers. "Miller, that lease has been active under a forty-year agricultural easement since Jonah's grandfather owned this land! You can't revoke a secondary easement without ninety days' written notice!"
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Miller turned his head, looking down at my five-foot-one frame with a disgusting, condescending smirk.
"Ah, the little wife," Miller scoffed, his eyes scanning my face with dismissive arrogance. "I see you're still playing business manager, Claire. But this is between men who own real estate. Jonah knows how this works. Don't you, giant?"
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