Chapter 8 - The Night the Boarding House Burned
They had less than five hours.
Gideon Shaw read the old deed three times.
Then a fourth.
“This could stop them.”
Harriet stood beside the dining-room table.
“Could?”
“Lawyers never say will.”
“Why?”
“Because judges enjoy proving us foolish.”
Harlan leaned over the map.
“Explain the clause.”
Gideon pointed to the faded language.
“Your grandfather apparently controlled Bell Creek and the upper spring before dividing the acreage. He created a covenant preventing either parcel's principal water source from being transferred separately.”
“To keep one owner from cutting off the other,” Harriet said.
“Exactly.”
“So Vale cannot buy my water without Harlan's consent.”
“Potentially.”
“And he cannot take Harlan's spring without mine.”
“Potentially.”
Harlan frowned.
“Stop saying potentially.”
“I charge extra for certainty.”
Samuel coughed weakly from the sitting-room sofa.
“That's why nobody likes lawyers.”
Gideon pointed at him.
“You're supposed to be in bed.”
Harriet said, “So tomorrow we show them this.”
“If the original is legally recorded.”
Harriet's stomach sank.
“You don't know?”
“This copy bears a seal, but I need county records.”
“The courthouse is closed.”
“Opens at seven thirty.”
“The hearing is eight.”
Gideon folded the document.
“Then we move quickly.”
At five, Harriet returned to the kitchen.
There was nothing else she could do.
So she baked.
Harlan found her loading the oven.
“You're making bread now?”
“People ordered it.”
“You've been awake two days.”
“People still need breakfast when rich men steal property.”
Harlan stared.
Then rolled up his sleeves.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You can't bake.”
“I can carry.”
She handed him a flour sack.
“Finally, a skill.”
He smiled.
They worked silently.
At six ten, the first smell of fresh bread filled the boarding house.
At six twenty-two, Harriet smelled something else.
Smoke.
She turned toward the oven.
Not there.
“Harlan.”
He had already noticed.
They ran into the dining room.
Smoke seeped beneath the door leading to the rear storage room.
Harlan grabbed a water bucket.
Harriet opened the door.
Flames climbed the wall.
“Fire!”
Everything became movement.
Gideon carried Samuel outside.
Mrs. Grady screamed from upstairs.
Harlan ran toward the pump.
Harriet organized buckets.
Boarders poured into the snow wearing nightshirts and boots.
The fire spread unnaturally fast.
Too fast.
“Kerosene!” Harlan shouted.
Harriet smelled it then.
Her blood went cold.
Someone had done this.
The rear wall caught.
Flames reached the roof beams.
Harriet stood in the yard watching the place she had spent eleven years keeping alive burn above her.
“No.”
She ran toward the door.
Harlan caught her around the waist.
“Harriet!”
“The deed!”
“Gideon has it.”
“My mother's ring!”
“No.”
She fought him.
“Harlan, let me go!”
“No.”
“My mother's—”
The kitchen windows shattered.
Flame rolled outward.
Harlan pulled her backward.
Harriet screamed.
Not because of the ring.
Because suddenly it was all happening exactly as Vale promised.
Refuse.
Lose everything.
The roof over the storage room collapsed.
Samuel sat wrapped in blankets inside Harlan's wagon.
His face was white.
Harriet stopped fighting.
The town woke around them.
Men formed bucket lines.
Women carried blankets and coffee.
Pearl arrived wearing a coat over her nightdress.
Josephine came minutes later.
Even Walter Mercer appeared.
By sunrise, the fire was controlled.
The rear third of the boarding house was destroyed.
The kitchen was blackened.
Two upstairs rooms were unusable.
But the main structure stood.
Harriet stood in ashes.
Her hair smelled of smoke.
Her hands were blistered.
A fireman approached Harlan.
“Found this.”
A broken glass bottle.
Kerosene residue blackened the neck.
Harlan's face became stone.
Harriet looked toward Main Street.
“Vale.”
Gideon stepped closer.
“We don't know that.”
“Who else?”
“Knowing and proving are different.”
Harriet hated lawyers again.
Then the courthouse bell rang seven times.
Seven o'clock.
The hearing.
Harriet looked down at her smoke-stained dress.
Pearl approached.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“You cannot go before the commission like this.”
Harriet looked at the ruins.
“I don't care how I look.”
“I know.”
Pearl's voice softened.
“But they will.”
Harriet understood.
Not because appearance should matter.
Because to men like Vale, perception was a weapon.
She followed Pearl.
At Pearl's house, three women worked on her.
Pearl washed soot from Harriet's face.
Josephine repaired her hair.
Mrs. Grady brought Harriet's least-damaged blue dress from the front bedroom.
Harriet stood before the mirror.
For once, the women around her were not making her smaller.
They were preparing her for battle.
Pearl buttoned the dress.
“You know,” she said quietly, “your bread does look terrible.”
Harriet stared at her.
Pearl smiled.
“But it tastes wonderful.”
Harriet laughed.
Josephine did too.
At seven forty-two they reached the courthouse.
Gideon was waiting.
Harlan stood beside him.
His gaze found Harriet.
Something passed across his face.
She suddenly felt shy.
Ridiculous, considering the morning.
“You clean up well,” he said.
Pearl muttered, “That's the best you can do?”
Harlan looked confused.
Harriet burst out laughing.
They entered.
The hearing room was full.
Cyrus Vale sat in the front row.
He looked immaculate.
Not a speck of ash on him.
Their eyes met.
If he knew about the fire, his face revealed nothing.
Commissioner Mercer called the hearing to order.
Gideon presented the deed.
Vale's attorneys objected.
Records were requested.
The clerk returned from the basement.
“No matching covenant is recorded.”
Harriet's heart dropped.
Gideon frowned.
“Search again.”
“We did.”
Vale leaned back.
Samuel's copy might be valid.
But without county record, it could be challenged.
Commissioner Mercer looked almost relieved.
“Then we proceed.”
Gideon stood.
“We request delay due to newly discovered documentation.”
“Denied.”
“Chairman—”
“Denied.”
Harlan's fists tightened.
Harriet placed one hand over his.
He looked at her.
“Not here.”
The hearing continued.
Vale's engineer described the railroad as essential.
Jobs.
Growth.
Prosperity.
Public necessity.
Harriet listened as men described her land without once mentioning her life on it.
Then Commissioner Mercer asked whether any citizen wished to speak.
Silence.
Harriet stood.
Gideon whispered, “You don't have to.”
“Yes.”
She walked to the front.
Every eye followed her.
“My name is Harriet Bell.”
Mercer said, “We know.”
“I wasn't speaking to you.”
A few people chuckled.
Harriet turned toward the room.
“My family has fed travelers in Bitter Creek for twenty-three years. Bell Creek waters our garden, our animals, and households downstream. Mr. Vale says his railroad is necessary for prosperity.”
She looked at Vale.
“Maybe it is.”
People shifted.
“But prosperity for whom?”
Vale's face remained still.
Harriet continued.
“If the railroad needs passage, negotiate passage. If miners need water, negotiate water. But don't call theft progress because the thief owns a locomotive.”
A murmur moved through the crowd.
Commissioner Mercer struck his gavel.
Harriet raised her voice.
“Yesterday Mr. Vale offered me twenty thousand dollars for property his own representative first valued at five. Last night someone poured kerosene into my storage room and set my boarding house on fire.”
The room exploded.
Vale stood.
“That is an outrageous accusation.”
“I didn't say you did it.”
Harriet looked directly at him.
“I said it happened.”
His face hardened.
“And I said I will not be frightened into selling.”
The gavel hammered.
Gideon rose.
Commissioner Mercer shouted.
Then the rear courthouse doors opened.
Josephine entered.
Everyone turned.
Walter Mercer went pale.
His wife held a thick envelope.
She walked to the front.
Walter stood.
“Josephine, sit down.”
She did not.
“Josephine.”
She placed the envelope on the commissioner's table.
“I found this in my husband's desk.”
Walter's face emptied.
Gideon reached for it.
Inside were five hundred dollars in banknotes.
And a letter.
From Edwin Price.
Commissioner Dawson stood abruptly.
Vale's attorneys began whispering.
Josephine's hands trembled.
But her voice did not.
“My husband was paid to vote.”
Walter hissed, “You foolish woman.”
Josephine looked at him.
For the first time Harriet saw no fear in her face.
“Perhaps.”
She removed her wedding ring.
“Then you should have married a quieter fool.”
She placed the ring beside the money.
The hearing dissolved into chaos.
But Cyrus Vale did not look at Josephine.
He looked at Harriet.
May you like
And the expression in his eyes was no longer dismissive.
It was war.
