Chapter 8 - The Storm Over Whitaker Ranch
Eleanor waited until supper dishes had been cleared.
Walt had gone to the bunkhouse.
The wind outside strengthened, pushing hard against the windows.
A winter storm was moving across the prairie.
Thomas sat opposite her at the kitchen table.
“You said there was something I needed to know.”
Eleanor folded her hands.
“When we sold the boarding house, I didn’t simply receive money.”
Thomas waited.
“I received a note.”
“A debt note?”
She nodded.
“The buyer, Joseph Merritt, paid part in cash and financed the rest through a private lender.”
“Hargrove?”
“I didn’t know then.”
Thomas leaned forward.
“How much?”
“Eight hundred dollars remained owed to me.”
“That’s nearly what Hargrove stole from us.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“For three months, payments arrived.”
Then they stopped.
Eleanor had written to Joseph.
No answer.
She visited the property.
Another family occupied it.
Joseph Merritt had supposedly moved west.
“The lender told me the sale had failed and that my remaining claim was worthless.”
“Who told you?”
“A company representative.”
“What company?”
Eleanor met his eyes.
“Prairie Development.”
Thomas sat back.
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
“You still have the paperwork?”
“In my trunk.”
She retrieved a bundle tied in blue ribbon.
Thomas read everything.
The boarding house purchase contract.
Payment schedule.
Assignment documents.
A letter from Prairie Development.
The signature at the bottom was not Calvin Hargrove.
It belonged to Henry Talbot.
Thomas looked up.
“The banker.”
“Yes.”
“You knew his name when we met him?”
“No. The letter only says H. Talbot. I didn’t connect it until today.”
Thomas went through the papers again.
“You may still have a legal claim.”
“I assumed it was gone.”
“Maybe that’s what they wanted you to assume.”
Lightning flashed far beyond the windows.
Snow began mixing with rain.
Thomas examined the sale agreement.
“I’m not a lawyer.”
“Neither am I.”
“We need one.”
“With what money?”
Thomas looked at her.
“You’re the numbers woman.”
“That means I understand when there is none.”
He almost smiled.
Then a thought occurred.
“Reverend Hayward.”
“He isn’t a lawyer.”
“No. His brother is.”
Eleanor blinked.
“You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked.”
She gave him a look.
Thomas smiled.
“Sorry.”
Reverend Hayward’s brother, Benjamin, practiced law in Wichita.
They could send copies.
Perhaps there was still a claim.
Perhaps Eleanor had been a victim of the same scheme years before marrying Thomas.
The thought changed his anger.
Hargrove had not only attacked the ranch.
He may already have taken something from Eleanor.
Thomas reached across the table.
His hand covered hers.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you had to handle all of that alone.”
Eleanor looked down at their hands.
“Everyone handles something alone.”
“They shouldn’t have to.”
Her eyes lifted.
Thomas realized the irony as soon as he said it.
“So you finally learned that lesson?”
“Apparently.”
The wind howled.
Then someone pounded on the door.
Walt entered without waiting.
“Thomas!”
“What?”
“North fence went down.”
Thomas stood.
“How many cattle?”
“Could be twelve out.”
In freezing rain, loose cattle could wander miles.
Worse, the north pasture bordered a creek that flooded unpredictably during storms.
Thomas grabbed his coat.
Eleanor stood too.
“No.”
She froze.
Thomas caught himself.
He changed the sentence.
“It’s dangerous. I’d rather you stay.”
Eleanor studied him.
Then nodded.
“I will.”
Thomas blinked.
“That easy?”
“You asked instead of ordered.”
He almost laughed.
Then ran outside.
For three hours, Thomas and Walt fought wind and darkness.
They found seven cattle near the fence.
Three more along the creek.
Two remained missing.
By the time they returned, Thomas could barely feel his hands.
Eleanor met them at the door with towels and hot water.
Thomas’s coat was frozen stiff.
She helped remove it.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m cold.”
“That is not better.”
She made him sit near the stove.
Walt accepted coffee and disappeared to check Danny’s old bunk room for blankets.
Eleanor knelt before Thomas and wrapped a warm cloth around his hands.
He watched her.
She concentrated on his fingers.
“What?”
She looked up.
“What?”
“You’re frowning.”
“I’m trying not to say I told you so.”
“About what?”
“Keeping people warm being part of ranch management.”
Thomas smiled.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The woman who argues while saving me.”
Eleanor’s expression shifted.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The storm rattled the windows.
Thomas realized how close she was.
Flour dust had been replaced by damp strands of hair.
Her cheeks were flushed from the stove.
He wanted to touch her face.
The desire startled him.
He had not wanted closeness for years.
Need had felt dangerous.
Affection worse.
Because everything loved could be lost.
He pulled his hands back.
Eleanor noticed.
She stood.
“I’ll make tea.”
The distance returned.
Thomas hated himself for creating it.
Before he could speak, Walt entered again.
“Found one of the missing cows.”
“Where?”
“South boundary.”
“And the other?”
Walt’s expression tightened.
“Tracks head toward the road.”
Thomas rose.
“You think someone opened the fence?”
“Maybe.”
Eleanor turned.
“What do you mean?”
Walt placed something on the table.
A fence staple.
Freshly removed.
“Storm didn’t pull this.”
Thomas stared.
Someone had loosened the fence before the weather arrived.
Perhaps hoping cattle would wander.
Perhaps hoping Thomas would lose more property.
Hargrove again?
Impossible to prove.
But the timing was too convenient.
Eleanor looked at Thomas.
“He’s escalating.”
Thomas nodded.
“And we’re running out of time.”
Sixteen days remained before the bank deadline.
The storm lasted through the night.
By morning, snow covered the ranch.
The missing cow was found alive several miles east.
But something else had happened overnight.
A rider from Caldwell arrived shortly before noon.
He carried a telegram.
For Eleanor.
She opened it with Thomas beside her.
The message was from Benjamin Hayward, the lawyer.
He had reviewed copies of her boarding-house documents.
The note she believed worthless might still be legally enforceable.
More importantly, Joseph Merritt had not moved west.
Public records showed he had died two years earlier in Kansas City.
And before his death, he had filed a civil complaint against Prairie Development.
The complaint claimed the company had falsified debt records to seize property.
Thomas read the telegram twice.
Eleanor whispered, “He tried to expose them.”
“And failed.”
“Maybe not completely.”
Thomas looked toward the road.
Somewhere, perhaps in a courthouse file or lawyer’s cabinet, Joseph Merritt might have left exactly the evidence they needed.
But Kansas City was far away.
The bank deadline was sixteen days.
And the storm had closed most roads.
Thomas looked at Eleanor.
“We can’t reach Kansas City in time.”
She stared at the telegram.
Then her eyes sharpened.
“We may not have to.”
“What are you thinking?”
Eleanor turned the paper over.
“Joseph filed a complaint.”
“Yes.”
“Then he had an attorney.”
Thomas understood.
“And the attorney may have kept copies.”
Eleanor nodded.
The name of Merritt’s lawyer appeared on the bottom of the telegram.
Charles Wainwright.
Wichita.
Closer.
Still difficult.
But possible.
Thomas reached for his coat.
Eleanor stopped him.
“The roads are impossible.”
“So we wait.”
“For what?”
“The storm to break.”
She looked at him.
“Then we go together.”
Thomas nodded.
Together.
The word no longer frightened him as much.
Outside, snow continued burying the prairie.
Inside, neither of them knew that Calvin Hargrove had just learned Joseph Merritt’s old complaint had resurfaced.
May you like
And before the storm cleared, he would make one final attempt to buy Thomas Whitaker’s silence.
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