Word got out this morning. Half the town knows by now. Mara had the oil cloth packet on the table in front of her. She'd been looking at it, thinking about whether she needed to keep carrying it the way she had been, and the answer was probably not, but she hadn't put it away yet. His lawyers filed a challenge before noon.
Orson continued. But the judge assigned is Harriet Moss. She's been watching Ror operate in her district for 6 years. She's not going to be sympathetic to delay tactics. What about cutter?
Gideon said gone. Orson said it without particular emphasis, but the word had weight. Left town yesterday. Nobody saw which direction. He looked at Gideon.
Not your problem anymore, I don't think. Cutter follows money. If Ror's money is frozen, Cutter finds different employment. Gideon didn't say anything, but his jaw moved slightly the expression he had when he was acknowledging something without being willing to call it relief yet. The Hartley family, Mara said.
She'd been thinking about them since Gideon had mentioned them on the second day. They're in Whitlock's investigation. Their transfer documents are being reviewed, Orson said. Margaret Hartley sent a letter. She still has her original records.
He finally stopped unpacking and looked at Mara directly. She's not the only one. Four families so far. Two more may have documents in storage they didn't know mattered. Four family.
Two more possibly. Mara sat with the arithmetic of it. Not the mathematics of properties and legal filings, but the human arithmetic. How many mornings of waking up not knowing if you still had a home. How many Tobies sitting in barns talking to horses that weren't theirs because a child needed somewhere to put what he was feeling.
Six families, she said quietly. At least Orson said. She looked at the oil cloth packet. She had carried it for 4 months against her ribs like a second heartbeat. And now it was in the hands of the territorial court system.