The widow's war Read Online Free PDF

fire on the woodlot. It’s all there in the deed. And as Sam Cowett is son and heir of Paumecowett, who was son and heir of Sachemas, he’s well within his right to cut wood on that lot. Therein lies the problem.”
    “Too bloody right it’s a problem! So what’s your solution?”
    Silence. “If you’re asking me for a legal opinion—”
    “I’m asking you how to get rid of that bloody Indian!”
    More silence.
    “You might inquire if Mr. Cowett would be willing to sell you his wood rights,” said Freeman at last.
    “What? Give him hard money for something I already own? Are you daft?”
    “Then perhaps you’d prefer to sell the lot to Mr. Cowett outright.”
    “And get what for a house with no woodlot? You’re getting dafter by the minute.”
    “Then divide it with him.”
    “Which is the same as giving it to him!”
    “Or you might maintain the status quo, and sell the house and woodlot with the deed restriction. I can recall of no instance when it posed a problem for your father-in-law.”
    “We’re not dealing with my father-in-law now, we’re dealing with that bloody old woman Smalley! He near shed his skin when he saw that Indian. No, I want you to run Cowett off that lot and sew it up in whatever legal jargon you have to. Do you understand me, Freeman?”
    Again, silence. Lyddie had a vision of Eben Freeman uncrossing a pair of long, jackknifed legs, carefully wrapping his fingers around his mug, and draining the remnants.
    “I believe I do understand you, Clarke. Let me make sure you understand me, or at least the reason for my presence here. I was legal representative to Edward Berry, and, I like to think, a friend to him, and as such have made a point to be on hand at the settlement of his estate. I’ll see the will proved; I’ll see you take lawful possession and the widow settled. I’m in no way free to undertake any additional representation on your behalf in the matter thus described as relates to the Indian. Now, if that remains the only subject left to discuss between us, I’ll say good evening.”
    If Nathan said good night to the lawyer, Lyddie didn’t hear it. The next audible sound from him was a shout for Bethiah to refresh the pitcher.
    Bethiah leaped to her feet, but so did Jane, no doubt in a well-practiced shoring up of sisterly defenses, and Lyddie waited alone, thinking something in the way of courtesy was now due Eben Freeman. He emerged from the front room, attempting an adjustment to his features that did little to improve them.
    “We had no trouble with the Indian over the woodlot,” she said.
    He raised an eyebrow.
    “I overheard your conversation, Mr. Freeman. I find it best to admit such things at the beginning.”
    Freeman’s features improved. “A safe policy, Widow Berry. So your husband acknowledged the Indian’s right to the wood, did he?”
    “I don’t know if he did or didn’t. In my life I never saw the Indian cut within sight of our house.”
    “Indeed? Then I find it curious that he did so today.”
    “Perhaps he wished to make known his claim.”
    “Perhaps. Finding land held in common is a rare thing, nowadays.”
    “Why so?”
    “Well, with so few Indians remaining in the village…Only look at their sad little nation at the pond—” Freeman either shivered with the cold or shook himself off the topic. His eye came to rest on her.
    “You’re well, Widow Berry? You’re comfortable?”
    “I’m well.”
    Had he noticed she’d only answered half his question? He started to say something that began with a when, changed it to an if, and then left it off entirely.

6

    February arrived and with it more bone-cracking cold; first the well froze, then the clock, next the ink, and finally the bay, in great chunks that separated on the ebb and crashed together on the flow to forge rooftops of ice all along the shoreline.
    Sam Cowett sat under Nathan Clarke’s skin like a wood tick. Smalley would not commit about the house; in desperation