That almost broke him more than anything else.
A laugh escaped Eli unexpectedly.
It became something dangerous halfway out.
He lowered his head.
Chaska stood.
This time she touched his shoulder.
And Eli Mercer, who had learned before adolescence how to endure nearly anything without witnesses, covered his face with both hands and wept.
They stayed.
Nobody suggested leaving.
That afternoon passed in fragments.
His mother had lived near San Miguel for several years.
She had healed children.
Delivered babies.
Read every newspaper she could find looking for names.
Asked travelers about a boy who would no longer have been a boy.
She had kept one thing from his childhood.
The silver locket.
Inside was a faded miniature photograph.
Eli at eight.
His mother beside him.
He stared at it until darkness filled the windows.
Only then did he remember the contract.
It remained on the table beneath Serina’s elbow.
Chaska noticed his gaze.
“What is that?”
“An offer for the ranch.”
Serina looked down.
“From whom?”
“Harlan Voss.”
All three women changed.
Not dramatically.
That frightened Eli more.
Waya rose.
Chaska’s face hardened.
Serina slowly pulled her arm away from the paper.
“What?”
Chaska picked up the contract.
“Have you signed this?”
“No.”
“Anywhere?”
“No.”
“Any earlier document from him?”
“No.”
Chaska closed her eyes.
Waya murmured something in Apache.
Eli caught only the anger in it.
“What?”
Serina took the contract and began reading.
Her English was excellent, but legal language slowed her.
Then her finger stopped.
“There.”
Eli leaned over.
She pointed to a clause buried near the end.
The sale transferred the property together with all mineral rights, water rights, hereditary interests, inherited claims, attached securities, and beneficial interests belonging to the named grantor within the Territory of New Mexico.
Eli frowned.
“I assumed that’s ordinary lawyer talk.”
“It is not,” Serina said.
“How do you know?”
She looked at him.
“Because your mother spent the last year of her life teaching me to read legal documents.”
Eli stared.
Chaska put the contract flat on the table.
“Harlan Voss does not want only your ranch.”
“What else would he want?”
Serina reached into her satchel again.
This time she removed several folded sheets wrapped in oilcloth.
The first bore a territorial seal.
The second contained columns of names.
The third was a will.
Eli saw his own name.
Elias Daniel Mercer.
His knees weakened.
Chaska spoke.
“Your mother owned shares in the Red Willow Land and Water Company.”
Eli laughed once in disbelief.
“My mother didn’t own a company.”
“Her father did.”
“I never knew my grandfather.”
“You knew almost nothing about your mother’s family because she left them when she married your father.”
Serina unfolded another document.
“Her shares represent twenty-three percent.”
“Twenty-three percent of what?”
Chaska looked toward the dark window.
“Most of this valley’s water.”
Eli said nothing.
“The company was created before the war,” Serina continued. “Several families pooled water claims along the Red Willow watershed. Over time, most sold their shares.”
“To Voss,” Eli said.
“Yes.”
“How much does he have?”
“Forty-nine percent.”
Eli understood slowly.
“And mine?”
“Twenty-three.”
The arithmetic hit him.
If Eli sold everything named in the contract, Voss would control seventy-two percent.
A controlling interest.
Not merely in the company.
In the water.
Every ranch downstream.
