Part 4
Lydia folded the letter along a new crease, making it small enough to disappear into her apron pocket. The cream had begun to warm beneath her hands.
“What is it, Mama?”
“Nothing, love. Bring me the clean cloth.”
Eli went to fetch it. She watched him leave and pressed her lips together.
That night she read the demand by a low lamp. Three hundred and forty dollars. Every coin the dairy brought in already had somewhere to go: the bank, the Jersey, flour, boots, school expenses. She took out Warren’s old note and looked once more at the apology he had left her.
Then she put it away and sat until the lamp needed trimming.
She told Silas she was tired the next Thursday. The Thursday after that, she made the same excuse.
He studied her over his cup.
“You can tell me when you choose,” he said.
October brought cold evenings. Lydia finally carried the letter onto the porch and handed it to him. She had spent days preparing to refuse his money. While he read, she stood with both hands clasped behind her back.
He turned the page over, checked the date again, and returned it.
“Let’s start with what you signed.”
“The bank note is mine. I took responsibility after Warren left.”
“And this pledge?”
“I’d never heard of it.”
“Your father left the land to you?”
“Yes.”
Silas looked toward the darkening yard. “I can ask questions about cattle all day. This requires a lawyer.”
She released her hands.
“I’ll find out what one would charge to come from Ardell,” he continued. “You decide whether to engage him. If you need the fee advanced, we can make another agreement.”
Despite herself, she gave a small, unsteady laugh.
“You’re running out of clauses.”
“Six is available.”
She leaned against the porch rail.
“I’ve managed every difficulty alone for more than three years. I don’t know how to do this otherwise.”
“We’re both out of practice.”
“You are?”
“I’m trying very hard not to issue instructions.”
That brought a real laugh, quickly gone.
He rested a hand on the rail near hers. “I won’t make your choices. But I mean to be here when you make them.”
Lydia laid her hand over his. He waited a moment before turning his palm upward and closing his fingers around hers.
The lawyer arrived late in October with damp hems and a leather case. His name was Hensley. Lydia gave him the deed, the bank note, the divorce papers, and Dace’s demand, placing them in separate piles on the kitchen table.
He spent an hour making notes. At last, he removed his spectacles.
“Your bank obligation remains valid. You signed it, and there is no question about that.”
Lydia nodded. She had expected as much.
“The pasture is another matter. Mr. Dace cannot take it under this pledge. The document was never recorded. More importantly, Warren had no title to offer, and you gave no consent.”
“Then the debt?”
“Mr. Dace may pursue Warren. He has no enforceable claim against your land.”
Hensley slid the deed back toward her. Lydia put her hand on it but did not gather up the other papers.
After he left, she opened the biscuit tin again.
There were receipts beneath the documents she knew best, folded inside an old loan statement. She had avoided them because Warren’s handwriting appeared on the outside. Now she spread them under the lamp while Silas stood beside the table.
A pump. Fence wire, two hundred feet of it. Lumber for repairs to the barn roof. The dates fell in the same spring as the loan.
She added the purchases twice.
“Ninety dollars,” she said.
Silas bent to look.
“That much of his money improved this place.” She touched the pump receipt. “Whatever Warren did with the rest, I’m still using this.”
On Friday, they went to Ardell.
Everett Dace received them in a back office smelling of paper and stove polish. He was past sixty, stooped through the shoulders, with a jaw that seemed to have resisted years of hard weather. Silas took a chair by the wall. Lydia sat across the desk and removed her gloves.
“My attorney says the pasture was never yours to claim,” she began. “I believe him.”
Dace watched her without answering.
“But I’ve found receipts. Ninety dollars of your loan paid for things that belong to me now. I intend to repay that portion.”
“You’ve just told me you owe nothing.”
“Under the pledge, no. For what I received, yes.”
She placed the ledger before him and opened it to the current month. Rather than explain the whole business, she pointed out what remained after expenses.
“Sixteen dollars in a good month. I can promise nine. Ten monthly payments, beginning December first. I must keep the rest against winter.”
Dace drew the book closer.
She waited while he turned the pages. He stopped at a line for Eli’s shoes, then went back to the totals. Lydia kept her hands still in her lap.
“I’ve lent money for thirty years,” he said. “Men have brought me excuses, threats, and witnesses to their good character.”
He closed the ledger carefully.
“You’re the first to bring the accounts.”
“Will you accept the terms?”
“I will. We’ll put them on paper.”
From beside the wall, Silas said softly, “Clause seven.”
Dace looked at him.
“A private matter,” Silas said, his expression innocent.
The road home was stiff with frost. Lydia tucked the ledger beneath the seat and drew the blanket over her knees. For a while, there was only the wagon’s creak and the measured pull of the horses.
Silas adjusted the reins.
“There’s something I want to ask. But I won’t approach it through Eli. I need to know whether you’d welcome the question.”
Lydia turned toward him. The light was failing, but she could see the strain at the corners of his mouth.
“After Warren, I promised myself I’d never marry again.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
She reached across the blanket and touched his sleeve.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like you to ask…”
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