Chapter 6 - A Debt Due in Eleven Days
The irony irritated Harriet.
Eleven days earlier, money had been her greatest problem.
She had nine dollars and eighteen cents.
A feed account.
Dry fields.
A leaning fence.
Now the debt was paid.
And Harriet had become more afraid.
She carried the ledger to Mabel’s boarding house before sunrise.
Mabel opened the door wearing a robe and holding a rolling pin.
“You look terrible.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“What happened?”
Harriet handed her the note.
Mabel read it.
Her mouth tightened.
“Inside.”
They sat in the kitchen.
Harriet placed the ledger on the table.
Mabel stared.
“So that’s the famous book.”
“Famous?”
“Orson mentioned it yesterday.”
Harriet went still.
“To you?”
“He asked whether I’d seen your grandmother’s recipes.”
“What did you say?”
“That if he wanted to improve his cooking, he should begin by learning to boil water.”
“Mabel.”
“I did not tell him anything.”
Harriet believed her.
“Someone came to my house last night.”
Mabel’s humor disappeared.
“Did they enter?”
“No.”
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
“Thomas?”
“What about him?”
“Tell him.”
Harriet shook her head.
“Why?”
“Because there are moments when independence becomes another word for stupidity.”
“That sounds like something you’ve been waiting to say.”
“For years.”
“Mabel, Tom already risks his job.”
“Then at least let him risk it with accurate information.”
Harriet sighed.
The front bell rang.
Mabel rose.
“Stay.”
She returned with Caleb Bellweather.
Harriet stood immediately.
Caleb looked from her to the ledger.
His face went pale.
“You shouldn’t have that out.”
Mabel shut the kitchen door.
“Interesting greeting.”
Harriet stepped toward him.
“How do you know about it?”
Caleb swallowed.
“My father.”
“How does your father know?”
“I heard him talking to Pierce.”
“Pierce from Cheyenne?”
Caleb nodded.
“What did they say?”
He glanced toward the door.
Mabel planted herself between him and it.
“You came voluntarily. You may as well finish.”
Caleb looked miserable.
“Pierce used to work for a chemical company back east. Father hired him to reproduce your binder.”
“From sour milk.”
“Yes.”
“How does that involve my ledger?”
“They can make something. It just isn’t as strong.”
Harriet already knew.
Caleb continued.
“Pierce thinks there’s a preparation step missing.”
“And your father believes it’s in the book.”
“Yes.”
Harriet leaned against the table.
“Why are you telling me?”
Caleb stared at the floor.
“Because he sent two men to your property last night.”
Mabel swore.
Harriet went cold.
“You know who?”
Caleb nodded.
“Roy Cobb and Milton Shea.”
Both worked occasional freight jobs for Orson.
“Did he tell them to break in?”
“I don’t know exactly what he said.”
“What did you hear?”
“Find the book. Don’t hurt her.”
Mabel slapped the table.
“As though the second sentence improves the first.”
Caleb flinched.
Harriet studied him.
“You helped him humiliate me.”
His face reddened.
“I laughed.”
“You laughed while three barrels were dumped in my yard.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Caleb looked genuinely ashamed.
“Because Father laughed.”
That answer was so simple Harriet almost hated it more.
Caleb continued.
“I’ve been doing that most of my life.”
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Mabel crossed her arms.
“And now?”
“Now he’s talking about forcing Harriet off the claim.”
Harriet’s eyes snapped to him.
“How?”
Caleb shook his head.
“I don’t know all of it. Something about proving she abandoned improvements or failed residency.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Pierce said impossible and illegal aren’t the same thing if everyone believes the paperwork.”
Mabel’s face changed.
Harriet understood.
A land claim required residence and improvements.
Records mattered.
Witnesses mattered.
So did local influence.
Orson had all three available.
“He wants the south forty,” Harriet said.
Caleb nodded.
“The freight spur.”
Mabel sat slowly.
“He’s buying parcels around the proposed line.”
“How many?”
“Six that I know of.”
Harriet thought of neighbors.
People with debts.
People who believed Orson was helping them.
“Why my whole claim?”
“Because your south boundary controls the best road access to the depot site.”
Harriet laughed bitterly.
“Three years before I own it, and he’s already trying to steal it.”
Caleb looked toward the ledger.
“Sell him the formula.”
“No.”
“He might stop.”
“No.”
“Harriet—”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“If I sell the formula, he still wants the land.”
Caleb knew she was right.
Mabel asked, “Can you prove any of this?”
Caleb hesitated.
“There are letters.”
“Where?”
“Father’s office.”
“Can you get them?”
His face hardened with fear.
“That is different from overhearing.”
Harriet spoke quietly.
“Don’t.”
Mabel looked at her.
“We need proof.”
“Not if getting it means Caleb steals from his father.”
Mabel raised an eyebrow.
“He came here to accuse the man of conspiracy.”
“Accusation isn’t evidence.”
Caleb looked at Harriet.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Harriet softened a fraction.
“But I believe you’re trying.”
That seemed to affect him more.
He nodded.
“I’ll tell you if I hear anything else.”
After he left, Mabel stared at Harriet.
“You realize he may have been sent here.”
“Yes.”
“You realize this could be a trap.”
“Yes.”
“You also realize refusing to let him steal papers was an inconvenient display of morals.”
“Yes.”
Mabel sighed.
“I was afraid of that.”
Thomas arrived an hour later.
Harriet told him everything.
He paced once across the kitchen.
Then again.
Finally, he said, “Move into town.”
“No.”
“For a few days.”
“No.”
“Harriet.”
“I cannot prove a land claim by abandoning the property the moment someone frightens me away.”
“That’s exactly what Orson might want.”
“He might also want me scared enough to stop producing.”
Thomas leaned both palms against the table.
“I’m asking you not to sleep alone in a house men already tried to enter.”
Harriet looked at him.
“Then don’t ask me to leave.”
He understood.
His expression shifted.
“You want me to stay.”
“I want someone there.”
“That sounded almost like asking.”
“Don’t become difficult.”
“I learned from Mabel.”
From the stove, Mabel said, “I approve.”
Harriet stared at her.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I live here.”
Harriet closed her eyes.
That night Thomas slept in the barn loft.
Harriet kept the ledger under a loose floorboard.
Nothing happened.
The next night, nothing happened again.
On the third, Edwin Marsh returned.
He stepped from his wagon carrying a newspaper.
“You’re famous.”
Harriet’s stomach dropped.
“That has never preceded good news.”
He handed her the paper.
An advertisement occupied half a column.
BELLWEATHER FARM BINDER
SUPERIOR TO CRUDE HOMEMADE MILK PASTES
SCIENTIFICALLY PREPARED
Below that:
Available throughout Laram Valley.
Harriet folded the paper.
Edwin smiled.
“You look angry.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because I brought something else.”
He handed her three pieces of wood.
One jointed with Harriet’s adhesive.
One with Bellweather’s.
One unmarked.
“What am I looking at?”
“A cabinetmaker tested both.”
Harriet pulled.
Her joint held.
Bellweather’s cracked.
Edwin grinned.
“His product is cheaper.”
“How much?”
“Twenty percent.”
Harriet’s heart sank.
Edwin continued.
“But it fails under load. He rushed his process.”
“That won’t stop him selling it.”
“No.”
“It could ruin the reputation of milk binder altogether.”
“Yes.”
Harriet looked at the failed joint.
That was Orson’s advantage.
He did not need to make a better product.
He only needed to flood the valley with a bad one, make customers distrust all of it, then survive longer than Harriet could.
“He can afford failure,” she whispered.
Edwin nodded.
“You can’t.”
That evening a second letter arrived.
Three customers canceled orders.
They had seen Bellweather’s advertisement.
Harriet placed the letters beside her grandmother’s ledger.
She understood the new battle.
Debt had been simple.
Pay or fail.
This was different.
Orson intended to make her success look like an accident.
He would use money, reputation, supply, and fear.
Harriet had one advantage.
Her grandmother’s sentence actually worked.
May you like
The question was whether truth could survive long enough for people to notice.
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