Of course, she said. Take your time. He reviewed the documents for 8 minutes. He found what she expected him to find, which was that his company's claim rested on an assumption about the survey post that the original deed did not support. He left 30 minutes later without the 38 acres and without looking at either of them as he went.
When the door closed behind him, Bramwell stood in the front room looking at the space Hail had occupied. Then he turned and looked at Miriam. "How did you know where the deed was?" He said. "I reorganized the document box in November," she said.
"I read everything in it. I like to understand things completely." She paused. "I should have told you I'd done that. I apologize."
He stared at her. "You read every document in the box?" Yes, and you remembered the specific language of the northwest parcel boundary. I have a good memory for precise language. She said it's a habit.
Bramwell Concaid stood in his front room and looked at the woman who had just preserved 38 acres of his land with a document she'd memorized in November, and she couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "You are extraordinary," he said. She felt heat rise to her face, which irritated her. "I just read carefully," she said. Miriam.
He said her first name, which he almost never did. I know when someone's being modest about something important. Don't. She was quiet for a moment. You would have found it yourself, she said.
Maybe. Not in time. He picked up his hat from the chair and held it the way he held it when he was working something out. Hill would have been in Helena filing paperwork before I found a lawyer who'd even look at the deed. I would have lost those acres, he paused.
Or paid a significant amount of money to get them back. She didn't argue with him about that because it was true. Thank you, he said. Straightforward, no flourish. You're welcome, she said.