" How do you know? Because your mother has been building a case for 3 months that any judge in Montana would have a hard time arguing with. A pause. And because the law is on your side, father has a lawyer, too. He does.
Lawyers cost money. Where did he get money if California didn't work? There was a pause that might have contained a complicated answer. I don't know, Bramwell said honestly. But it doesn't matter.
Money can hire a lawyer. It can't manufacture a history that isn't there. Henry was quiet for a moment, Mr. Concaid, he said. Yeah, if we had to go somewhere else, if the judge said we had to, would you stopped? Started again.
Would you still be here after? Miriam stood outside the stall and did not move. Bramwell was quiet for long enough that she wondered whether he was going to answer. Henry, he said, look at me. A pause.
I am not going anywhere. Whatever happens on the 14th and I promise you what happens is going to be fine. I am not going anywhere. You understand me? A small sound that might have been a nod.
Say it out loud. Bramwell said. When someone tells you something important, you say you understand. That's how they know you heard it. I understand.
Henry said. Good. Good. Miriam turned around and walked back to the house before they came out, and she stood in the kitchen for a few minutes doing nothing in particular, which was unusual enough for her that she noticed it. Then she went back to work, because there was always work, and work was the thing that kept her from unraveling in directions that weren't useful.
The morning of June 14, Miriam dressed with the same care she brought to any task that had a right way to do it and a wrong way. She wore the dark blue dress she'd pressed the night before. Not her best clothes. She didn't have best clothes in the way that implied a wardrobe of options, but the most presentable thing she owned, cleaned and neat and worn with the posture of a woman who intended to be taken seriously. She braided her hair back.