Then bent and kissed her forehead.
“I love you.”
She smiled.
“I love you too.”
He left.
Mrs. Bellamy watched from the doorway.
For a moment, she seemed surprised.
Then her expression softened.
“He's very fond of you.”
Eleanor looked toward the empty hallway.
She felt warmth rise through her chest.
“Yes.”
The landlady smiled.
“That's a blessing.”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“It is.”
Then she rested.
For the first time in years, she could sleep without worrying that someone would insult her for needing a little time to recover.
Martin Pierce was forty-eight, with sandy hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a manner that combined professional caution with genuine concern.
He had handled Eleanor's initial correspondence after Henry's death and understood the pressure Solomon Whitmore had been placing upon her.
But he hadn't known about Caleb.
Or Nathaniel Mercer.
Or the Blackwater Pass records.
When Caleb arrived, Martin listened carefully.
Then examined the copies already delivered.
For nearly an hour, he asked questions.
Dates.
Names.
Locations.
The identity of witnesses.
And the circumstances under which each document had been preserved.
He didn't promise immediate victory.
That reassured Caleb more than an extravagant declaration would have.
Finally, Martin leaned backward.
“These papers raise substantial questions about the Whitmore claim history.”
Caleb nodded.
“Can they help Eleanor?”
“Potentially. We need to establish authenticity, compare them with official records, and determine whether later transfers were valid.”
Caleb looked toward the table.
“What about Solomon's attempt to control her property?”
Martin's expression hardened.
“We can challenge that directly.”
He explained that physical disability, unusual body size, or a need for practical assistance did not automatically establish inability to manage legal and financial affairs. Any proceeding affecting Eleanor's autonomy would require a lawful basis and evidence rather than Solomon's personal assertions.
Caleb felt some relief.
“She understands more about these papers than I do.”
Martin smiled faintly.
“Then the court should hear from her.”
For a moment, Caleb was silent.
Then asked about Samuel Harrow.
The attorney's expression changed.
“I've been trying to locate him.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“You have?”
Martin nodded.
“Reverend Cross contacted a colleague in Denver. We learned that a man using Samuel's former name had lived at a boardinghouse near the railway district.”
“And then disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Caleb frowned.
“Did Whitmore take him?”
Martin shook his head.
“We don't know.”
He opened another folder.