“What about it?”
“The original deed.”
She froze.
Colum continued.
“When Elias registered the property, he kept the first signed copy.”
“Everybody did.”
“Yes.”
“The county office has the filing.”
“The filing Amos altered.”
Martha understood.
Colum’s voice lowered.
“The original can prove fraud.”
“Amos thinks it’s here.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I hoped you knew.”
Martha stood abruptly.
Elias had kept papers.
Receipts.
Letters.
Maps.
But after his death, Martha had stored almost everything in a cedar chest upstairs because looking at his handwriting hurt too much.
She climbed the stairs.
Colum waited.
Twenty minutes later, Martha returned with an armful of documents.
They searched until sunset.
No deed.
Then Colum noticed an old Bible.
“Elias religious?”
“Not particularly.”
“Why keep a Bible in an account chest?”
Martha stared.
She opened it.
The center pages had been cut into a compartment.
Inside lay a folded parchment.
Martha’s hands shook as she opened it.
Original property deed.
Elias’s genuine signature.
Witness seals.
Boundary description.
Everything.
Colum exhaled.
“That’s it.”
Martha looked at him.
“What do we do?”
“Get it to a judge.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Amos knows I’m here.”
“He already knew.”
“But now he knows I can speak.”
Martha looked toward the darkening windows.
Colum continued.
“He dumped me here expecting either you’d refuse me or I’d die before telling you.”
“Or?”
“Or he planned something else.”
Martha’s throat tightened.
“What?”
Colum looked toward the cedar chest.
“If he knows the original deed is here, he doesn’t need both of us dead.”
“Just the paper.”
“Yes.”
That night, Martha moved the deed.
She did not tell Colum where.
He approved.
At midnight, someone approached the barn.
Colum heard the horse first.
Martha reached for Elias’s shotgun.
She crept toward the kitchen window.
A shadow moved near the shed.
Then flame.
“Fire.”
Martha ran outside.
Colum cursed from the parlor.
The hay shed had caught along one wall.
Martha pumped water desperately.
Rain barrels emptied.
She beat flames with wet blankets.
Neighbors arrived only after they saw smoke from miles away.
By dawn, the shed was half destroyed.
The house survived.
Martha stood in blackened snowless dirt, though autumn chill had begun settling over the plains.
A sheriff examined the remains.
“Lantern accident?”
Martha stared.
“There was no lantern in that shed.”
He shrugged.
“Could’ve been.”
Colum called from the porch.
“Or somebody poured kerosene.”
The sheriff looked toward him.
“Who asked you?”