Temporary restrictions were imposed to prevent the contested property interest from being transferred while the claim was examined.
The young woman was required to provide examples of her handwriting.
The original property arrangements were requested.
Witnesses were identified.
The timber syndicate was notified that the validity of the proposed easement was disputed.
The process was slow.
Complicated.
And sometimes frightening.
But for the first time, the young woman wasn't alone.
The widow helped locate records.
The mountain man drove her to appointments.
The county clerk supplied certified copies.
And an attorney agreed to represent her after reviewing the preliminary evidence.
The young woman participated actively.
She didn't simply sit quietly while other people spoke on her behalf.
She learned the documents.
Asked questions.
Reviewed figures.
And explained the accounting records she'd kept for years.
One evening, after another exhausting meeting, she returned to the cabin and collapsed into a chair.
The mountain man brought her tea.
"Long day?"
She laughed tiredly.
"You have no idea."
He sat beside her.
She looked toward the ceiling.
"I think I've signed my name more times this week than in the previous five years."
He smiled.
"At least nobody's doing it for you now."
She laughed.
Then her expression softened.
She looked toward him.
"Are you getting tired of all this?"
He frowned.
"Of what?"
"Lawyers. Paperwork. Trips to town. My father causing trouble."
The mountain man stared.
"Sweetheart, I survived a winter with three broken ribs and no proper roof."
She blinked.
He smiled.
"I think I can survive a little paperwork."
She laughed.
Then she grew serious.
"You didn't agree to any of this when you paid those twenty dollars."
He looked at her.
"I didn't pay because I expected an easy winter."
She swallowed.
"Then why?"
He considered the question.
Then answered.
"Because I couldn't stand there and watch your father treat you like livestock."
She looked down.
He continued.
"And because your mother once did something for me that changed my life."
The young woman's expression softened.
"You've told me."
He nodded.
"But not everything."
She looked up.
The mountain man stared toward the fire.
Then said quietly, "The twenty dollars weren't an accident."
Her breath caught.
"What?"
He looked toward her.
"When I was seventeen, I owed a logging contractor twenty dollars."
She stared.
"How?"
"Food. Equipment. Travel expenses. Charges he kept adding until I couldn't work my way out."
He paused.
"I thought I was trapped."
The young woman listened.
"Your mother found me after I nearly froze in the mountains. She learned about the debt."
He looked toward his hands.
"Then she paid it."
The room became silent.
The young woman's eyes filled.
"Twenty dollars?"