“Then we find the ones who are not.”
Nathaniel paced across the room.
“If Hargrove attacks the valley while we're here—”
“We have riders watching the roads,” Whitcomb interrupted. “And I've sent copies of the documents to two separate offices.”
Ayana looked up.
“Copies?”
“Yes.”
“Then even if something happens to us, the evidence survives.”
“Precisely.”
Nathaniel stopped pacing.
The judge continued.
“Hargrove's power depends on frightening people into silence. If he cannot destroy the evidence, he must discredit it. And if he cannot discredit it, he may become reckless.”
Nathaniel looked toward the window.
“Then we should go back.”
Ayana nodded.
“Yes.”
Whitcomb sighed.
“I was afraid you would say that.”
The return journey began the following morning.
This time, they traveled with Clara Finch, Thomas Reed, and two hired guards.
The independent survey had to be completed before the territorial inspection.
They carried copies of the historic agreement, detailed notes, and enough equipment to measure the disputed boundary.
For two days, the journey passed without incident.
On the third, they encountered smoke rising beyond the southern hills.
Nathaniel reined in his horse.
Ayana followed his gaze.
“No.”
The smoke was coming from the direction of Red Willow Valley.
She urged her mare forward.
Nathaniel caught up.
“Ayana, wait!”
She ignored him.
They rode hard through the final pass.
As they reached the ridge, the valley opened below them.
The western grain shed was burning.
Several smaller structures had been damaged.
People were carrying water from the river.
Children gathered near the central fire.
Ayana's heart hammered.
“Father.”
She kicked her horse into a gallop.
Nathaniel followed.
They reached the settlement amid shouting and confusion.
Koda ran toward them.
“Ayana!”
“Where is my father?”
“He's alive.”
She nearly collapsed with relief.
“Where?”
“At the council shelter.”
Nathaniel looked toward the burning shed.
“What happened?”
Koda's expression hardened.
“Riders came before dawn. They cut the eastern fences, drove off the cattle, and set fire to the grain storage.”
“Hargrove?”
“They wore masks.”
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
“Mercer.”
Koda nodded.
“We recognized one of the horses.”
Ayana was already running toward the council shelter.
She found Tavish sitting on a blanket.
His left arm was bandaged.
There was dried blood along his forehead.
“Father!”
He looked up.
“Ayana.”
She dropped beside him.
“What happened?”
“A horse knocked me down.”
“Your arm?”
“Bruised.”
She examined it carefully.
He watched her face.
“You came back.”
“Of course.”
Tavish touched her cheek.
For a moment, the old leader looked terribly old.
“I was afraid I would not see you again.”
Ayana's eyes filled.
“I'm here.”
He took her hand.
“I have been thinking about the things you said.”
She looked at him.
“Father…”
“No. Let me speak.”
He drew a breath.
“For years, I believed my duty was to make certain someone would care for you after I was gone.”
Ayana remained silent.
“I thought marriage would protect you. I thought finding a husband would make people stop speaking cruelly.”
His voice trembled.
“But I never asked whether their cruelty was the thing I should have challenged.”
Ayana felt tears rise.
Tavish lowered his head.
“I was wrong.”
She stared at him.
The words she had wanted for years were finally being spoken.
Yet they did not erase the past.
They did not undo the shame or the loneliness.
But they opened something.
A door that had remained closed for too long.
“I know you were afraid,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“I was afraid too.”
He looked at her.
“Of what?”
“That you believed them.”
“Believed what?”
“That I was worth less than other women.”
Tavish's face crumpled.
“No.”
A tear slipped down his weathered cheek.
“Never.”
“Then why did you let them say it?”
He could not answer.
Ayana began crying.
Her father pulled her carefully into his arms.
“I failed you,” he whispered. “Not because I couldn't find you a husband. Because I forgot to tell you that you never needed one to be worthy of love.”
They held each other for a long time.
Outside, the settlement continued working to extinguish the fire.
But inside the shelter, another kind of damage had finally begun to heal.
Nathaniel spent the afternoon organizing repairs.
He helped move the remaining grain into a protected storehouse.
He sent riders to search for the stolen cattle.
And he worked with Clara Finch to preserve evidence of the attack.
The surveyor examined hoofprints, damaged fencing, and the tracks left by heavy wagons.
“This wasn't random,” she said.
Nathaniel shook his head.
“No.”
“They wanted the eastern route cleared.”
“For what?”
Clara looked toward the springs.
“Equipment. Perhaps a drilling rig.”
Nathaniel stared at her.
“You think Hargrove intends to divert the water?”
“If he can establish physical control before the hearing, he may claim he's already developed the property.”
Thomas Reed joined them.
“That wouldn't automatically make his claim lawful.”
“No,” Clara replied. “But it would complicate matters.”
Nathaniel looked toward the mountains.
“Then we stop him.”
That night, the settlement gathered around the council fire.
Tavish stood before them despite his injured arm.
His voice was weaker than usual, but every person listened.
“We have been threatened,” he said. “Our grain has been burned. Our cattle stolen. Our children frightened.”
A murmur passed through the crowd.
“But we are still here.”
He looked toward Ayana.
“My daughter traveled beyond the mountains to bring back people who can help us defend our home.”
Several heads turned.
Ayana stiffened.
She was not accustomed to public praise.
Tavish continued.
“She remembered knowledge passed to her by those who came before us. Because of her, we have found documents that may protect our land.”
He paused.
“And because of her, I have remembered something I should never have forgotten.”
The fire cracked.
“A person's worth is not decided by the family they may one day create, the marks they carry, or the opinions of those who refuse to see their courage.”
Ayana's eyes filled.
Tavish looked at the gathered families.
“My daughter has served this community through sickness, hunger, and danger. She has cared for our children, helped our elders, and risked her own life for others.”
His voice strengthened.
“She has never been unwanted here.”
Silence settled over the gathering.
Then an elderly woman rose.
She approached Ayana.
“You saved my grandson during the flood,” she said.
Ayana recognized her.
Kimi's grandmother.
The woman took Ayana's hands.
“I should have thanked you properly years ago.”
Ayana shook her head.
“You did.”