"Yes," she said. They went to Carver's Mill in the wagon with all six children because Miriam had decided that if Orson wanted to stand in a courtroom and argue that he deserved custody of six children, she wanted those six children to be present in the room, not as props, not as performances, but as the simple, irrefutable evidence of themselves alive, healthy, clean, fed, with straight postures and clear eyes, because that was what they were and what they'd become since November. And a judge who looked at them would understand something that documents could only approximate. Foss met them outside the courthouse. He was a compact, gray-haired man of about 55, who wore his suits with the comfortable familiarity of someone who'd been wearing versions of the same suit for 30 years.
He shook Miriam's hand first, which she noted, and then Bramwell's, and then looked at the six children with an expression of brief professional assessment. They'll wait in the anteroom, he said. With someone they trust. August. Miriam said.
August had driven the second wagon and was standing at a respectful distance with the expression of a man who would stand in that exact spot for as long as was required without complaint or movement. Foss nodded. Good. He looked at Miriam. Briggs is already inside.
He brought Orson and a witness, a man from Billings, who apparently knew Orson in California, and is prepared to testify about his intentions. Miriam said, "A character witness essentially. We have seven." Foss allowed himself a small tight smile. "I know.
I've spoken with all of them." He looked at her steadily. "Mrs. Hensley, I've handled a great many cases of this nature. I want you to know that what you've built here, the documentation, the witness accounts, the financial records, is as solid a case as I've presented in this courtroom.
I don't say that to make you comfortable. I say it because it's accurate and you should know it going in. Miriam looked at him. Thank you, she said. Let's go in.
The courtroom was small in the way that Montana Territory courtrooms were small, functional, unadorned, built for use rather than impression. Judge Aldrich was a lean man of about 60 with the particular economy of movement of someone who had learned to conserve energy across a long career of listening to people argue. He looked at both tables when they entered with the same level, measuring expression, which told Miriam nothing about what he thought, and suggested he'd worked at keeping it that way. Orson was at the other table with Briggs. He looked at Miriam when she came in.
She looked back at him without expression and sat down. She did not look at him again until she had to. Briggs opened for Orson's side with a narrative he'd constructed, the struggling husband, the desperate decision, the California plan that had been derailed by bad partners and worse luck, the intention always to send for his family once he'd established himself. He was smooth about it. Miriam gave him that.