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elbows. Her long black hair was done in a single braid and ornamented with a feather. She wore brightly beaded earrings and a beaded bracelet and possessed one of the most confrontive gazes Jo had ever encountered in another female. A young woman, probably twenty, though she was hardly larger than a girl, stood behind her, slightly hidden.

    “What kind of lawyer are you?” the large woman with the earrings and bracelet asked.

    “A good one,” Jo replied.

    “Are you a lawyer for money or for justice?”

    “Given the choice between those two, I lean toward justice.”

    “Good. We don’t have any money.”

    “Maybe we should talk about justice, then. Won’t you both have a seat?”

    The women accepted the chairs Jo offered. The large woman sat proudly, with her back held very straight. The younger one sat a little slumped and wouldn’t look at Jo directly.

    “You know me,” Jo said. “My name’s on the door. You are—?”

    “I am Wanda Manydeeds,” the large woman replied. “This is Lizzie Favre.” The young woman glanced up and then lowered her eyes quickly.

    “What is it you wanted to see me about?” Jo asked.

    “We want to fight some powerful people,” Wanda Manydeeds replied.

    “Who exactly?”

    “We want to fight the Great North Development Company.”

    “Great North.” Jo sat back, a little tug deep in her stomach. “Robert and Sandy Parrant. What’s your complaint against them?”

    “They won’t hire Lizzie.”

    Jo looked at the young woman. “Because you’re female?”

    Lizzie hesitated, then replied quietly, “And because I am Ojibwe.”

    “The man who hires for Great North, a man named Chester, I’ve heard he calls us squaws,” Wanda Manydeeds said.

    “But not to your face,” Jo said.

    The large woman shook her head. “He is a coward.”

    “That kind of man always is.” Jo picked up a pencil and idly tapped the sharpened lead on a legal pad as she considered the situation. “Judge Robert Parrant. Sandy Parrant.” She liked the taste in her mouth, the slight dryness in anticipation of a good fight. “Going at the old man would be like taking a swing at barbed wire. But the son—” She leaned toward the other women confidently. “Word is, he’s poised for a run at the state legislature. I think we might have him there.”

    “You’ll do it?” Wanda Manydeeds asked. Her face, which was hard and tawny as sandstone, showed no emotion. But there was a flash in her eyes that Jo interpreted as satisfaction.

    “We’ll do it,” Jo replied.

    And they had.

    “How’s Sandy’s transition to Washington going?” Stu Grantham asked.

    “What?” Jo brought herself back to the moment, to Stu Grantham stalling on the far side of her desk.

    “Our new senator. Is he ready for Washington?”

    “He will be.”

    “You read the article in the
Pioneer Press?
Another Jack Kennedy, they’re saying. Harvard-educated, liberal, good-looking. A lady’s man.” Grantham paused a moment, twirling his heavy class ring. “You going with him?”

    “I beg your pardon?”

    “I heard he wanted you to be part of his staff in D.C.”

    “My practice and my family are here in Aurora,” Jo replied coolly. “I have no intention of leaving.”

    “I just thought, with things the way they are between you and Cork—”

    “What about my client?” Jo swung back to the real issue. “Are we going to be here all night or do you agree to the terms I’ve proposed?”

    “All night with you?” Grantham leaned across the desk, grinning. “Now, that’s a thought.”

    “You know, Stu,” Jo replied calmly, “that’s exactly the kind of statement that landed your road crew in deep shit.”

    “Ah, look, Jo—”

    “No, you look.” She drove a finger at him, and although she didn’t touch him at all, he sat back abruptly. “I want an answer and I want it now. Will you advise the board to accept our terms? Or do we drag this through the courts and air all the