“I notched the walls.”
Silence.
“I set the rafters with help I asked for.”
Clara continued.
“I gave birth in that cabin.”
“I have occupied that claim continuously.”
She leaned forward.
“You waited until I built something worth stealing.”
Dunar’s face reddened.
The examiner looked toward Bell.
“Record her statement.”
Dunar left before proceedings ended.
Clara kept the land.
Not provisionally.
Fully.
The territorial office confirmed Henry’s claim passed to his widow upon completed settlement conditions.
The fraudulent survey became part of a separate investigation.
Dunar lost two other disputed parcels when neighboring owners reopened old boundary cases.
Clara learned later he had used the same method before.
Find an uncertain boundary.
Commission a convenient survey.
Wait for weaker owners to give up rather than pay to fight.
Widows were particularly useful targets.
People assumed they would leave.
Clara did not.
The first thing she did after the decision was walk to Henry’s grave.
Amos stayed back.
Clara carried the ax.
Baby Henry slept in her arms.
She sat beside the marker.
“You troublesome man.”
Wind moved through pine needles.
Clara unfolded the letter again.
Read the last paragraph.
Another good man.
She looked over her shoulder.
Amos stood sixty feet away, hat in hand.
Not approaching.
Waiting.
Clara smiled.
Henry had always hated subtlety.
She returned to the cabin.
That evening Ruth took the baby without explanation.
Clara noticed.
“Where are you going?”
Ruth lifted Henry’s basket.
“My house.”
“Why?”
“Because newborns enjoy traveling.”
Clara stared.
Ruth looked toward Amos outside.
Then back.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Clara’s cheeks warmed.
“You are inventing things.”
“Of course.”
Ruth left.
Amos stood beside the chopping block.
He wore a cream work shirt.
Leather vest.
Hat.
The sunset colored the mountains.
Clara walked toward him.
“You arranged that.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Ruth terrifies me.”
“That part is true.”
Amos smiled.
Clara stopped inches away.
Neither spoke.
Then Amos looked toward Henry’s ax.
“It belongs above the fireplace.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I still use it.”
He laughed.
Clara looked at him.
“Amos.”
“Yes?”
“Henry wrote that I shouldn’t insult his memory by choosing loneliness.”
Amos’s expression changed.
“I read.”
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you for anything because he wrote it.”
“I know.”
Clara stepped closer.
“My problem is that I don’t know what comes after surviving.”
Amos looked down at her.
“We could find out badly.”
She laughed softly.
“You keep saying that.”
“It removes pressure.”
Clara touched the open edge of his vest.
Amos went still.
She looked at his chest.
Then his eyes.
“You have been very patient.”
“I’m trying.”
“Why?”
His voice lowered.
“Because wanting you isn’t permission.”
Clara’s fingers tightened.
“Suppose I give permission.”