A small stand of aspen.
Two horses.
Four goats.
Chickens.
A mule with an unpleasant personality.
The cabin was worth perhaps twelve hundred dollars if someone wanted it badly.
Beatrice listened carefully.
“You own it outright except Marcus’s note?”
“Owned.”
“Do you have the original deed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Caleb frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if Marcus expected you to be blamed for my death, he might also expect your property to become vulnerable.”
Caleb stared.
“You think like a criminal.”
“I lived with one.”
He brought the deed.
Beatrice read everything.
“Good.”
“What?”
“Your debt was personal, not secured directly against title.”
Caleb frowned.
“Marcus said he could take the homestead.”
“He lied.”
Caleb stared harder.
“He could sue you.”
“Yes.”
“Obtain judgment.”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t automatically own the land.”
Caleb sat.
“He told me—”
“I know.”
Anger moved across his face.
Beatrice touched his hand.
“Now you understand.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“What it is like to discover your fear was built partly from another person’s lie.”
Caleb became quiet.
He had nearly married her solely to save land Marcus could not simply take.
The revelation should have made him furious about the marriage.
Instead he looked at Beatrice and felt something unexpected.
Relief.
If Marcus had lied about the debt, then Caleb’s choice had not been as necessary as he believed.
Yet he did not wish to undo it.
That frightened him.
“You all right?”
Beatrice asked.
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
“I think I’m becoming glad I was deceived.”
Her expression changed.
He saw it.
“Not that you were.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I mean…”
“You’re bad at this.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice smiled.
“Keep trying.”
They traveled to the county seat one week later.
Not Ridge Creek.
Silverton.
A larger town where Beatrice’s grandfather had practiced medicine.
She knew one person there.
Attorney Nathaniel Shaw.
Seventy years old.
Nearly blind in one eye.
He had written her mother’s trust.
When Beatrice entered his office beside Caleb, Nathaniel stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“Beatrice?”
She stopped.
“You remember me?”
“My dear girl.”
He came around the desk.
Then stopped before embracing her.
“May I?”
Beatrice smiled.
“Yes.”
Nathaniel hugged her.
Caleb watched.
“Last time I saw you, you were fourteen.”
“Marcus stopped bringing me to Silverton.”
“I know.”
The old lawyer looked toward Caleb.
“And you are?”
“My husband.”
Nathaniel’s face changed dramatically.
“Husband?”
Caleb removed his hat.
“Caleb Mercer.”
Nathaniel stared.
Then smiled.
“Well.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is never nothing.”
Nathaniel looked between them.
“Your mother used to worry Marcus would marry you to some banker twice your age.”
Caleb said, “I’m only fourteen years older.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“That is not helping.”
Nathaniel laughed.