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“Clear as a mountain stream, Josh.” Ben pushed back his chair.

“Now, I need to ride to town. I’m going to add a few lines to a letter I wrote my father, then make sure it’s on its way.

I intend to keep him updated.” As he rose, he said to Tilda in a formal, polite tone, “And I wish to know all about you. I understand you’re teaching, but I request that we spend time together every day and get to know each other.

You’re right that I’m a stranger, but I don’t have to stay one. ”

“I’ll give your request serious consideration,” Tilda answered, yet she couldn’t help but doubt her brother’s sincerity.

She pushed her chair back and looked at Thayne and Lock.

“Boys, would you walk over to the school with me?” Then to Annie, “You and Caroline, too.” She smiled at Josh.

“And you if you’ve got the time ... I feel safer knowing my family is all around me. ”

“I’m your family, Tilda.” Ben sounded hurt, and that melted the smile off her face. “I hope, before much longer, you’ll feel safe with me around, too.”

Ben left the room then. She could even say he stormed out. He was sleeping in the housekeeper’s apartment because Gretel didn’t use it, having her own home with her family. Tilda heard his feet thudding and the door in the back of the house shut as if his temper was ruling him.

Was he hurt? Was he angry? Possibly both.

Mostly, she thought he was driven by a need to deliver what his father wanted.

A boy who’d had to hunt down his father and care for his sister.

A boy whose mother was gone, who’d lost another sister, might never feel safe.

He might do most anything to keep a new home.

Josh rested one of his strong hands on her back and gestured for the door. As they left the house, Josh said to her quietly, “Your brother has a hot temper. I don’t think you should ever be alone with him.”

A chill of dread raced down Tilda’s spine as she nodded and walked with him and the others toward the schoolhouse.

* * * *

Brody stepped into the study on the first floor under his own power. He was finally up and moving.

Cord was playing the piano somewhere. The rippling, sweet sound he managed to get out of a piano was humbling. It really was more than a simple song. Brody could feel those notes, the emotion behind them, the beauty unleashed.

The butler, Fletcher, had guided him and Ellie to the room and knocked on the door. Brody thought they might have needed someone to lead them through the mansion to find Mayhew Westbrook, but he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t have knocked on the door and announced himself.

“Send Cordell in, Fletcher.” Mayhew rose unsteadily.

Brody, while knowing better than to trust a diagnosis from across the room, wondered if the man had gout or maybe arthritis.

The usual joint pain of old age was so often just accepted, but there were things a doctor could do to help.

Brody had just come home from medical school and knew all the latest treatments.

He wondered if Mayhew took any medicine at all.

Brody would recommend willow-bark tea and feverfew, which sometimes offered relief.

There were more treatments too, heat and cold packs, some exercises, and changes in diet, all depending on what exactly Mr. Westbrook suffered from.

Brody hesitated to suggest a medical exam. He’d find out more, but not as the very first thing they talked about.

“Please, be seated. I’m glad you’re up and around at last, Dr. MacKenzie. I appreciate that you made a heroic and no doubt reckless effort to come here as soon as possible, even with your injuries, all to help me solve the mystery of MacKenzie’s Treasure.”

He gestured at the chairs in front of him. There were three, all carefully situated to face the man who ruled behind the massive desk.

“Now, because of your injuries, Cord and I haven’t turned our attention to the treasure hunt until now. He said you hadn’t told him much on the train ride here, probably because you were so badly hurt.”

The door behind them opened, and Cord came in and took the empty seat closest to the door.

Smiling like a man who counted his treasure in heaven rather than in gold doubloons, Cord asked, “Are we talking about MacKenzie’s Treasure?”

“We are for a fact,” Brody said. “I apologize for the delay, but being shot, well, it couldn’t be helped. I’m sure you’re anxious to learn what I’ve come to say.”

“I find that after all these years of letting that treasure tantalize me, the idea of finding it is almost frightening.” Mayhew settled back in his chair and folded his hands across his lean belly.

“I’ve built it up in my head so long that whatever we find can’t possibly match what my wildest dreams have conjured. ”

Brody smiled, then reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out the gold doubloons. Three of them. He stretched forward and laid them in front of Mayhew. “I suppose these are yours, sir. We found”—he turned to Ellie—“how many?”

She shrugged. “A lot happened right after we divided them up.” She looked at Cord. “I think there were fourteen of these gold coins. We portioned them out to, let’s just say, not put all our eggs in one basket. Then Brody got shot, and his life was saved by those coins.”

Mayhew looked more sharply at the coins. He picked one up and ran his thumb over the bullet-sized dent in the coin.

“Half are yours, Mr. Westbrook. We didn’t think to count them out and bring a full half along, but rest assured we’ll figure out what half is and get the rest of your share to you.

I found a note in my grandpa’s hand, found alongside his body in a cave, that said that’s your due.

There was also an old knife with him. That’s what we’ve found so far, but I suspect there’s more.

You have a claim on half of whatever comes to light. ”

Mayhew reached an unsteady hand toward the rest of the gold doubloons in front of him.

“We have no idea what they’re worth, but we believe they’re around three hundred years old. They almost certainly have value as antiquities beyond their weight in gold.”

“The size of the coins tells me each has a value of at least one hundred dollars,” Cord said. “They’re much larger than a twenty-dollar gold piece, and that’s not counting whatever historical significance they might have.”

“Graham MacKenzie died, then.” Mayhew seemed to take that information and let it weigh down his shoulders.

“I’ve been so angry for so long, thinking he took my money, found his treasure, and never paid me back.

Even when I met your father, obviously searching for the treasure, which made it plain as day that he’d lost contact with your grandfather, I let myself believe Graham had found the treasure and left his own son with nothing.

I clung to my anger, nurtured it, soaked my soul in it.

” Mayhew frowned at the gold coins, studied them for a moment.

Then he looked up at Brody. “You said you found your grandfather’s body? ”

“Yes, and this is why we needed to come to you. Along with his note saying he’d promised you half was another note saying he sent you something that will help us find the rest of the treasure.”

Mayhew’s brow furrowed. “I did get a letter from him—thirty years ago.”

Brody’s breath caught. “Did you keep it?”

The man nodded slowly. “I kept it and have read every bit of what he wrote me dozens of times.”

There was a gleam in Mayhew’s eyes that made Brody a bit nervous. He glanced at Cord and found ease in the kind expression he saw there.

“Can we see what you have, sir?”

Mayhew pushed back from his desk and opened a drawer on the bottom right. He brought out an old, battered envelope, thick and dirty but intact.

Mayhew opened a flap and tipped the contents of the envelope onto the desktop. A single object fell out. A leather book, much smaller than Brody’s journal, but made of the same old leather. And on the front cover was that same unique cross, cut into the leather, but so worn it was nearly invisible.

Brody looked at Ellie.

She said, barely above a whisper, “The Cross of Burgundy.”

Brody reached out and clutched her hand. His heart pounded. They both smiled as they turned back to Mayhew.

He said, “Cross of Burgundy? What is that?”

“It’s the insignia on the Spanish flag,” said Brody, “what they called the Cruz de Borgona . They’ve had a few changes to their flag over the centuries, but this one is still used sometimes. Three hundred years ago, Cortés sailed under that flag.”

“Cortés?” Mayhew frowned.

“Yes, the Spanish conquistador. He had that flag when he invaded Mexico. It’s the flag we found carved into my grandpa’s journal.”

“And you’re saying there’s a map hidden in this little book?”

Brody shrugged one shoulder. “There was one in our journal. Grandpa said he sent you the other half of the treasure map so we’d be sure to talk with you if we ever got close enough to find it.”

The four of them stared at the little book for long, stretched-out moments.

Then Brody reached for it.