He did something more effective.
He called her dependent.
Again.
And again.
Dependent upon reinforced furniture.
Dependent upon household modifications.
Dependent upon others for transportation.
Dependent upon hired labor for physical ranch work.
The implication was clear.
How could such a woman own a ranch independently?
The cook listened.
Her attorney did not interrupt unnecessarily.
When her turn came, she moved carefully to the witness chair.
The opposing lawyer smiled.
“How long were you employed in the late owner's household?”
“Twelve years.”
“As cook?”
“Yes.”
“Primarily?”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“I began managing household accounts.”
“Were you formally trained?”
“No.”
“So no education in finance.”
“I can add.”
A few people smiled.
The lawyer continued.
“Did you ride fence?”
“No.”
“Break horses?”
“No.”
“Drive cattle?”
“No.”
“Repair barns?”
“No.”
“Then explain why an experienced ranch owner would leave a working cattle operation to someone unable to perform basic ranch labor.”
The cook looked at him.
“Do you perform every task in your law office?”
The lawyer frowned.
“I ask the questions.”
“You asked why an owner would own something without performing every task.”
A murmur traveled through the room.
The judge hid amusement.
The lawyer changed direction.
“You require help with certain physical activities.”
“Yes.”
“Substantial help?”
“Sometimes.”
“You weigh approximately three hundred fifty kilograms.”
“Yes.”
“Does that limit mobility?”
“Yes.”
“Would you describe yourself as physically independent?”
The cook paused.
“No.”
The patriarch's lawyer looked pleased.
Then she continued.
“I would describe no ranch owner as physically independent.”
The lawyer's expression changed.
The cook looked toward him.
“A man with two thousand cattle depends on hired riders.”
Silence.
“He depends on blacksmiths.”
Someone in the back nodded.
“Veterinarians.”
Another pause.
“Merchants.”
She leaned slightly forward.
“Bankers.”
The lawyer stopped smiling.
“Neighbors during storms.”
The cook continued.
“If dependence disqualifies ownership, Montana has no ranchers.”
The judge looked down to hide a smile.
The lawyer recovered.
“Your situation is different.”
“How?”
“You cannot physically inspect distant acreage easily.”
“I can read reports.”
“Reports can be wrong.”
“So can eyesight.”
A few people laughed.
The lawyer became sharper.
“Would the neighboring rancher assist you?”
“If I ask.”
“Frequently?”
“No.”
“Do you have a personal relationship with him?”
The cook understood immediately.
There it was.
The rumor.
“He was the late owner's friend.”
“That is not what I asked.”
The cook looked toward the rancher.
He remained still.
She returned her gaze to the attorney.
“He is my friend.”
“Nothing more?”
The question hung.
The cook felt heat rise into her face.
The attorney wanted embarrassment.
She refused it.
“Not currently.”
The room reacted.