“He never went near it.”
Elias looked at the narrow cabinet beside the stove.
“You're telling me the great evidence hiding place is behind dessert?”
“Don't mock.”
“I respect dessert deeply.”
They emptied flour sacks.
Spice tins.
Old jars.
Nothing.
Clara crouched.
Ran her hand beneath the bottom shelf.
A loose board.
She froze.
“What?”
Elias asked.
Clara pried it upward.
A folded oilcloth packet lay underneath.
Her breath stopped.
Thomas's handwriting appeared across the top.
CROWE WEIGHTS.
Elias went completely still.
Clara opened.
Dates.
Weights.
Names.
Farmers.
Bushels recorded by farm.
Bushels recorded by Crowe.
Differences.
Always in Crowe's favor.
Then copies of receipts.
Military purchase amounts.
The numbers did not align.
Elias whispered:
“Jesus.”
Clara looked at him.
“This is what you need?”
“It may be.”
She held the papers tighter.
“May?”
“Evidence needs corroboration.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Will it save my farm?”
“I don't know.”
Wrong answer.
She stood.
Elias did not try to soften it.
Good.
He continued.
“But it may prove Thomas paid more than Crowe admits.”
Clara searched.
Near the bottom:
A note.
Final settlement delivered February 12, 1861. Crowe refused duplicate receipt, claims original enough. Witness: Samuel Pike.
Clara stared.
“Samuel died.”
Elias looked.
“Three years ago.”
“Then no witness.”
“Maybe his records.”
“He was a notary.”
Clara looked at Elias.
Hope hurt more than despair sometimes.
“Could there be a county copy?”
“Yes.”
“Could Crowe know?”
“Yes.”
The next morning Elias rode to town.
Clara stayed.
He insisted on nothing.
That mattered.
He returned after sunset.
No record.
County archive fire in 1862 destroyed half the files.
Clara expected that.
Still hurt.
Elias placed Thomas's notes carefully on the table.
“We don't give him these yet.”
Clara looked.
“We?”
He paused.
“You.”
She smiled faintly.
“Learning.”
“Painfully.”
The weeks passed.
Elias came and went.
War work.
Questions.
Clara learned to tolerate absence.
Not enjoy.
Tolerate.
Silas grew impatient.
February arrived.
Then one night someone entered the barn.
Clara woke to the horse screaming.
She grabbed the useless shotgun out of habit.
Elias was away.
She opened the rear door.
Two shadows.
“Hey!”
One ran.
The other turned.
Clara swung the shotgun like a club.
The stock struck his shoulder.
He cursed.
She swung again.
He ran.
Clara followed three steps.
Stopped.