"Who else?" Clara asked. Emma listed four names. Daniel wrote them down. That was how the day began.
By midm morning, Clara had organized the records into three categories. The original loan terms, the documented adjustments, and the dates on which those adjustments had been made without written notice to Daniel. She had been careful. She had been thorough. She had cross- refferenced every number twice because the kind of fight they were building could not afford a single error.
Daniel had written out to see Jim Larkin. He came back 2 hours later with the look of a man who has had a suspicion confirmed and is not sure whether to feel vindicated or horrified. Larkin showed me his records, he said, pulling off his coat. Same pattern. 18 months ago, they adjusted his rate.
He paid it because he thought he'd misread the original agreement. He blamed himself. He didn't misread it, Clara said. No, he didn't. Daniel set his hat on the hook by the door with a controlled deliberateness that was louder than anger.
Hollis has been doing this for years, not just to me. At least three families in this valley. We need those families to stand with you. Clara said they're scared. Daniel said.
Larkin said he'd think about it, which means he's scared. People who are scared need to see that someone else went first. Clara said, "If you go to the lawyer, if you file a formal challenge, others will follow, but somebody has to go first." Daniel looked at her steadily. "I know who has to go first."
"Yes," she said. "You do." He nodded once slowly. "Then let's get me ready." What followed was 3 days of preparation that Clara would remember later as some of the most precise and exhausting work she had ever done.
She organized documents. She drafted summaries of the discrepancies in language clear enough for a lawyer to use and plain enough for a judge to understand. Daniel wrote into town twice and came back each time with new information names. Dates a conversation with a land records clerk who had quietly confirmed that three other properties in the valley showed similar adjustment patterns in the county files. Lily, who said little but missed nothing, began keeping a handwritten log of every name, date, and figure that moved through the kitchen table discussions.
She did it without being asked. She did it with the focused, meticulous attention of a girl who had realized that she could not fix her family's pain, but she could at least make sure nothing important was lost. When Clara noticed the log, she said, "Lily, this is extraordinary." Lily shrugged with the careful nonchalance of someone who did not want to appear proud. "It helps to see it all in one place," she said.
"May I use this when we speak to the lawyer?" Lily looked up. "You'd use mine." "Yours is better organized than mine," Clara said honestly. Lily pressed her lips together to control a smile.