Chapter 8 - What Jacob Buried Beneath the Floor
Clara did not sleep.
By midnight the kitchen table had disappeared beneath papers.
Jacob's large ledger.
Pocket ledger.
Railroad agreement.
Bank copy.
Debt notices.
Receipts.
The new note claiming Jacob borrowed $611.
Clara compared signatures.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Something bothered her.
Eli watched from across the table.
“What?”
“The J.”
“What J?”
“Your father's signature.”
She placed three papers side by side.
Jacob's letters.
The Voss livestock agreement.
The bank note.
“See?”
Eli leaned closer.
“No.”
“Jacob always lifted the pen here.”
She pointed.
His J formed in two strokes.
The bank note's J was continuous.
Eli's eyes widened.
“Someone copied it.”
“Maybe.”
“That's forgery.”
“Yes.”
“Can we prove it?”
Clara looked toward the clock.
“By nine tomorrow morning?”
That was the problem.
They needed someone familiar with Jacob's signature.
Charles Wade would claim the note was legitimate.
Voss might support him.
The children could testify, but they were minors.
Then Clara remembered something.
Jacob had written to someone regularly before Clara.
His sister.
The sister who placed the matrimonial advertisement.
“She died last spring,” Eli said.
“Where are her letters?”
“Pa burned most.”
“Why?”
“She asked him to.”
“Why?”
“Don't know.”
Clara searched Jacob's bedroom again.
Nothing.
Then Ruth appeared.
“I know where Mama kept family letters.”
“Where?”
“Under the flour.”
Clara stared.
Ruth shrugged.
“No one steals flour.”
In the pantry, beneath a loose board under an old flour barrel, they found another bundle.
Mary Bennett's letters.
Jacob's sister's letters.
Tax documents.
Dozens of signatures.
Every one supported Clara's observation.
Two-stroke J.
She gathered them.
At sunrise, Dr. Mercer arrived.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant exhausted.”
“Much better.”
He examined the bank note.
“Have you asked Wade?”
“He is accusing us.”
“Forgery is a serious charge.”
“So is stealing ten children's home.”
Mercer looked at her.
“You're going to win.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why?”
“Because if I believe you, losing becomes unbearable.”
He held her gaze.
“Then don't believe me.”
A pause.
“Believe yourself.”
Clara looked away before the expression on his face became something she had to answer.
At eight they traveled to the courthouse.
All ten children insisted on coming.
“No,” Clara said.
May crossed her arms.
“Yes.”
“Court isn't a picnic.”
“Neither was Boston.”
Clara stared.
Eli coughed to hide laughter.
“Where did you hear that?”
“You.”
Clara surrendered.
The courthouse filled quickly.
Mercy Ridge had discovered entertainment.
A Boston widow.
Ten orphans.
A wealthy creditor.
A disputed farm worth thousands if the railroad came.
Every bench filled.
Judge Hollis entered.
Harlan Voss sat with an attorney.
Charles Wade sat behind them.
Clara had no attorney.
Mercer whispered, “Still time to run.”
She looked at him.
“Boston?”
“Mexico.”
“Tempting.”
The hearing began.
Voss's attorney presented the original claim.
Then the bank note.
Over eight hundred dollars combined.
Bennett Farm could not pay.
Clara stood when permitted.
She presented the railroad payment.
The $425 cashier's draft to Voss.
Jacob's ledger.
The black pocket book.
The attorney objected repeatedly.
Judge Hollis allowed most of it provisionally.
Then Clara showed the signature samples.
“This note is forged.”
The room murmured.
Charles Wade stood.
“That is outrageous.”
Judge Hollis struck his gavel.
Clara faced him.
“Mr. Wade, did you personally witness Jacob sign this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“November fourth.”
“Where?”
“My bank.”
“Who else was present?”
Wade hesitated.
“No one.”
“Did Jacob receive cash?”
“Credit adjustment.”
“For what?”
“Prior obligations.”
“Which obligations?”
“Various.”
“Recorded where?”
“Our files.”
“May we see them?”
“The storm damaged—”
“The same storm that damaged Mr. Voss's files?”
The courtroom erupted.
Judge Hollis banged the gavel.
Wade reddened.
Clara lifted the document.
“Why does Jacob's signature differ from every authenticated signature his family possesses?”
“It doesn't.”
She handed samples to the judge.
He studied them.
Then Wade made a mistake.
He looked at Voss.
Just once.
But Judge Hollis saw it.
So did Clara.
The judge leaned back.
“I am suspending foreclosure.”
The children gasped.
Clara nearly collapsed.
“Pending handwriting examination and review of financial records.”
Voss stood.
“Your Honor—”
“Sit down.”
Voss obeyed.
“For how long?” Clara asked.
“Thirty days.”
Thirty days.
It sounded like eternity.
Then Hollis continued.
“Additionally, Mr. Wade will surrender the bank's Bennett records to Sheriff Cole immediately.”
Wade's face drained.
“The records were damaged.”
“Then surrender what remains.”
The hearing ended.
Outside, children surrounded Clara.
May hugged her waist.
“We won!”
“Not yet.”
Eli groaned.
“Do you ever say we won?”
“When we win.”
Mercer approached.
“Thirty days.”
Clara smiled.
“Thirty days.”
For the first time since arriving, she allowed herself to imagine staying.
Not surviving tomorrow.
Staying.
That afternoon, she bought flour without counting every penny first.
She bought May real shoes.
She bought Eli a secondhand arithmetic book.
He stared at it.
“For engineering.”
He said nothing for several seconds.
Then hugged her.
Quickly.
Awkwardly.
He pulled away instantly.
But Clara's eyes filled.
On their way home, Sheriff Cole stopped them.
“I need to speak with you.”
Clara's happiness faded.
“What?”
“We opened Wade's safe.”
“And?”
“Most Bennett records are missing.”
“Of course.”
“But we found something else.”
He handed Clara a bank envelope.
Inside was a key.
Small.
Brass.
A label read:
BENNETT SAFE BOX 17.
Clara frowned.
“Jacob had a safe-deposit box?”
“Apparently.”
“What's inside?”
“Don't know. Bank says Wade was the only one with the master key.”
“Can we open it?”
“Judge authorized it.”
They returned to the bank.
Box 17 sat in a private room.
Clara inserted the key.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
For Clara Whitmore.
Another.
Her hands trembled.
She opened it.
Clara,
If you are reading this, I have failed to meet you at Mercy Ridge.
I pray that failure means illness rather than death.
But I know the men I have angered.
I discovered someone is using false land notes to take farms along the proposed railroad route.
Voss is involved, but I no longer believe he began it.
The bank records lead higher.
Do not trust Charles Wade.
And do not let Eli blame himself for what he saw.
There is proof beneath the kitchen floor, directly under the place where Mary used to knead bread.
Clara stopped.
“Kitchen floor,” she whispered.
Eli stared.
“We looked under the bedroom.”
“Not the kitchen.”
They raced home.
The kitchen floor was scarred from years of use.
Ruth showed where Mary had once kneaded bread on a low table.
Eli pried up the board.
Beneath it was a cloth bag.
Inside:
$71 in cash.
The missing $200 receipt.
And a packet of documents.
Deeds.
Debt assignments.
Names of farmers.
Amounts altered.
Signatures forged.
A scheme affecting twelve properties around Mercy Ridge.
At the top of one sheet was Charles Wade's handwriting.
At the bottom:
H. Voss.
Clara stared at the evidence.
Then she noticed another name.
A name she had not seen before.
EDWARD BENNETT.
Eli read over her shoulder.
His face went white.
“Uncle Edward.”
Clara turned.
“Jacob had a brother?”
Eli whispered, “Pa said he was dead.”
But according to the paper in Clara's hand, Edward Bennett was very much alive.
And he had sold his share of a disputed family claim to Harlan Voss only six months earlier.
The story of Bennett Farm had just acquired another living heir.
May you like
And if Edward Bennett returned, Clara's fragile claim to keep the family together might disappear overnight.
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