"Find competent counsel. Submit the documents through the proper channels. And make sure nobody can quietly replace them."
Josephine leaned forward.
"Would you testify?"
Micah looked toward her.
For a moment, his eyes filled.
Then he nodded.
"For your father."
He swallowed.
"And for Eliza."
We hired a lawyer named Samuel Whitcomb.
He was forty-six, wore an unfashionable brown coat, and maintained a crowded office above the general store.
He didn't impress me at first.
His desk was buried beneath papers.
One window wouldn't close properly.
And he appeared to have forgotten the existence of a comb.
But he listened.
That mattered.
Josephine explained the history.
I described Calder's recent pressure.
Micah presented the survey and his own notes.
Whitcomb studied everything carefully.
Then he asked questions that showed he understood the difference between an old family story and evidence capable of supporting a legal claim.
He wanted to establish the documents' origins.
Identify surviving records held by public offices.
And determine which present-day transactions depended on the disputed boundaries.
He also asked whether anyone had threatened us.
I described Slade's visits.
Josephine told him about the letters and the man who followed her before she reached the mountains.
Whitcomb's expression became serious.
For several minutes, he took notes.
Then he advised us to preserve the originals securely while submitting authenticated copies through the appropriate process.
He didn't promise victory.
He didn't claim the Calders would disappear once confronted with a few papers.
Instead, he explained that old property disputes could involve complicated questions, especially where claims, transfers, and water-use arrangements overlapped.
I appreciated his honesty.
Josephine did too.
When we left, she looked toward me.
"Do you trust him?"
I considered the question.
"More than a man who promises certainty before reading the papers."
She smiled.
"That's a good answer."
I took her hand.
"Been learning from a stubborn woman."
She laughed.
"About time."
Calder Consolidated learned of our visit before sunset.
We discovered that the following morning when a messenger delivered a letter to the boardinghouse.
It was signed by Silas Calder.
The son of Roland Calder.
And the current head of the mining and timber company.
The letter requested a private meeting.
It claimed that the company wished to resolve the dispute amicably and avoid unnecessary expense.
Whitcomb advised caution.
He suggested that any discussions occur with proper representation present.
Josephine agreed immediately.
I was less patient.
Part of me wanted to ride straight to Calder's office and ask what his family knew about the fire that killed Eliza.