I traveled four thousand miles across the ocean and two thousand miles across the prairie to marry Liam Callahan, Kathleen said, stepping off the stagecoach in Baker City, Oregon.
The morning fog still clung to the peaks when a rider approached the homestead, kicking up a plume of dust. It was Caleb Marsh, the Baker County Land Registrar, his usually impeccable suit slightly rumpled from the ride. He dismounted, his face grim.
Sean, who had been sharpening his axe by the woodshed, lowered the tool slowly.
Marsh held out a rolled parchment, tied with a ribbon. “Sean O’Shea, I have a court order here, petitioned by Mrs. Clara Callahan.” His voice was formal, clipped.
Sean took the document, unrolling it to reveal the official county seal. His eyes scanned the text, his expression hardening.
“Effective immediately,” Marsh continued, avoiding my gaze, “all timber harvest operations on this 320-acre parcel are frozen, pending an investigation into claims of coercion and undue influence.”
My stomach dropped. “Frozen? What does that mean?”
“It means,” Marsh explained, “that no logs can be felled, no timber moved off this land. Not until the title dispute is settled in court.”
Without timber income, Sean couldn’t pay anything. Winter was drawing in, and the land taxes would be due in thirty days. This wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a death sentence for the homestead.
Clara Callahan emerged from the cabin, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She carried a parasol, though the sun was still weak.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she purred, her gaze sweeping over me with contempt. “A necessary measure, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Marsh?”
Marsh merely nodded stiffly.
“Sean,” Clara continued, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, “there’s a simple solution to all this unpleasantness.” She cast a sidelong glance at Marsh before turning back to us.
“Surrender the 320-acre timber parcel to me,” she offered, her eyes gleaming with avarice. “My railroad buyers are eager. In exchange, I will drop all fraud charges against Miss Burke and you. And I’ll even ensure Liam receives the best medical care in San Francisco for his remaining days.”
Sean stood silent, the court order hanging limp in his hand. His gaze was fixed on Clara, a cold, dangerous light in his eyes. He didn’t speak.
“Thirty days, Sean,” Clara pressed, her voice dripping with false concern. “Those taxes aren’t going to pay themselves. Think about it. Your reputation, Miss Burke’s freedom… and Liam’s comfort.” She smiled, a predatory curve of her lips. “This is your last chance.”
She turned, her skirts rustling, and walked back towards the cabin, leaving us standing in the chill morning air. Marsh mounted his horse, offering a brief, apologetic nod before riding off.
Sean crumpled the court order in his fist. We were trapped. Clara had used the law itself as a weapon, and without the timber, our defeat was only thirty days away.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours