But the judge controlled her home, income, and social protection, and Daniel had seen enough to understand how effectively he used that dependence.
He also understood the danger of confronting him openly without proof or resources.
For several minutes, Daniel remained motionless.
Then he carried the water into the stable.
He tried to tell himself Elizabeth's situation wasn't his business.
He had a purpose.
A plan.
A mother whose final years had been consumed by injustice.
But that night, lying on his narrow bed in the loft above the stalls, he kept remembering the sound of Elizabeth's voice.
Then perhaps I should learn to live without your money.
He'd heard courage in those words.
And terror beneath it.
The next morning, the judge's notice appeared outside the courthouse.
By noon, half the town was discussing it.
Some people laughed.
Others called it a disgrace.
Several unmarried men presented themselves at the Hawthorne estate, hoping that marriage to the judge's daughter might bring money or influence.
The judge rejected the most dangerous and openly dishonest candidates.
He wasn't trying to send Elizabeth into the care of a violent criminal.
He wanted a husband poor enough to embarrass her.
Someone whose station would make every wealthy family in Silver Creek whisper.
And someone he believed he could control.
Daniel tried to stay out of it.
He continued working.
Then, on the sixth evening, the judge summoned him to the library.
Daniel entered wearing his cleanest shirt.
The judge sat behind an enormous desk.
Victor Caldwell stood near the fireplace, looking pleased with himself.
Daniel stopped.
โYou sent for me, sir?โ
Judge Hawthorne examined him.
โYou're unmarried?โ
โYes, sir.โ
โNo debts?โ
โNone that I can't account for.โ
The judge raised an eyebrow.
โThat's a curious answer.โ
Daniel remained silent.
Victor laughed.
โLooks like a promising specimen, Edward.โ
Daniel's jaw tightened.
The judge leaned back.
โYou've worked here for six months. No complaints. Strong. Healthy. Quiet.โ