The Midwife's Secret (19 page)

They had to weave past Fannie Potter, her husband and her folks. Cripes, why were they here? Ruby was here, too—Tom supposed it was between her morning breakfast rush and the busy lunch hour—but didn’t they all have better things to do?

Toward the front, on one side of the aisle, Miss Clementine sat squeezed between Tom’s pa and Graham—in Mountie uniform, fiddling with the papers on his lap. On the other side sat Wilson, alone. Neither party could afford to have a lawyer represent them, but Graham had insisted he’d like to help with the talking, and Amanda had gladly accepted. It was just a minor civil case, Tom understood, with a community-appointed magistrate to preside.

In the far corner, at the end of one row, Tom caught sight of a familiar brown bonnet. Clarissa? She nodded solemnly in Tom’s direction, and he twitched with discomfort.

When Amanda looked her way, he felt Amanda’s back stiffen beneath his hand. Why on earth was Clarissa here? Graham had told Tom she was free and clear of any wrong-doing.

As Tom and Amanda took their places next to Graham, the constable whispered to them, “I asked Clarissa to come. She’s directly involved, and her testimony against Finnigan needs to be included.”

Tom glanced sharply around. His demeanor was shifting into one of alarm. And Graham seemed a bit overeager.

Amanda’s mouth tightened in Clarissa’s direction, but she didn’t respond.

A side door opened. At the front of the room, next to the massive, raised walnut desk, Benny Jones jumped to his feet. “All rise for the Honorable Magistrate Nicholson.”

The magistrate sailed in, black robes flowing behind
him. He was a short, clean-shaven man with a bulbous nose and well-groomed, long white hair. He walked past the flag in the corner—Canada’s Red Ensign—then glanced briefly at the photographs pegged to the wall—Prime Minister John A. Macdonald, and the golden jubilee portrait of heavy-set Queen Victoria.

“Please be seated,” he said as he took his own seat behind the desk. “I understand there’s a property dispute here.”

Graham handed the magistrate Amanda’s deed.

When Lorne Wilson stood up to give him his, Nicholson glanced at his disheveled appearance. Wilson’s clothes looked as though the dirt had been washed out of them, but no one had ironed them, so the wrinkles in his pants were remarkable.

The magistrate studied the papers. “I take it Zeb Finnigan is not here.”

Tom heard the benches behind him creak from side to side, and voices began to titter.

“Quiet,” the magistrate declared, and all went still.

“No, Your Honor,” said Graham, “Zeb Finnigan is not here, but his business partner—
former partner
—is seated next to Miss Ryan. Tom Murdock.”

Nicholson peered at Tom. “Why former?”

Graham began, “Because the two—”

“I’m asking Mr. Murdock,” Nicholson interrupted.

Tom rose and walked to the front, thinking perhaps he should have worn a suit as Wilson had, as wrinkled as it was. Instead, Tom ran a hand down his denimed leg, and grew uneasy in his newly ironed, laundered shirt. He was being asked a direct question. He wished the crowd would vanish for the very private answer he was about to give. It was hot in the room, he noticed, feeling his palms sweat.
“Because, Your Honor…just before he left town, Zeb Finnigan stole my money.”

“Speak up, sir.”

“Zeb Finnigan stole my money.”

Dozens of people gasped. It was out. The secret he’d hoped to keep to himself was out, and there was nothing he could do to take it back. Would it shake the confidence people had in him? In the sawmill?

The magistrate turned to Graham. “Has Finnigan been charged?”

“Yes, Your Honor. With robbery, fraud and larceny. He’s wanted by a lot of folks. He stripped the sawmill’s business account of all its money. Fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars.”

For cryin’ out loud, why did Graham say that? The crowd murmured and Tom could hear their boots shuffling clear to the other side of the windows.

“Do you know his whereabouts?” Nicholson continued.

“He’s hasn’t been found yet. We’ve tracked him to Calgary and Edmonton. We think he’s back in the area, somewhere between here and Canmore. Yesterday, he was spotted on the express train comin’ in from Canmore. We can’t be sure it’s him, but the conductor’s description sounds likely.”

Amanda’s gaze swung to Tom, but he was just as surprised by the news. What would Finnigan want here? It had to be someone else on that train.

“We have an eyewitness here, Miss Ashford, that can attest Finnigan was in Canmore.”

“Miss Ashford?” said the magistrate.

“Yes, Your Honor?” She stepped forward in her stylish brown suit, nervous and ill at ease. The room went still again.

“What do you know of Zeb Finnigan?”

“I was with him when he left town.”

Voices rose behind Tom. He rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate. He couldn’t look at Amanda, didn’t want to place her under the scrutiny of the crowd if he so much as glanced warmly in her direction. Their secrets were being aired, and he wanted to protect her.

“I’m urging all of you to keep your voices down,” Nicholson said to the crowd. When they settled, he asked Clarissa, “Why were you with Finnigan?”

“He asked me to…to…go away with him. To marry him.” As the crowd roared, Clarissa craned her neck to study Tom, bit her lower lip and looked away.

Tom heard Amanda’s soft gasp. It was the first time she was hearing it, too.

“Quiet in the courtroom!” Nicholson banged his gavel. “It’s not a formal trial, but I can still kick the whole lot of you out to the street.” With a look of exasperation, he turned to Clarissa. “Did you marry him?”

“No, sir.”

Nicholson looked to Graham. “Has Miss Ashford been charged with any crimes?”

“No, Your Honor. She didn’t know what Finnigan was up to. There’s no evidence she was involved.”

Tom glanced at Clarissa’s stark profile. She looked as though she wanted the floor to part so she could drop through it. How had it come to this between them?

The magistrate still hadn’t asked Amanda any questions, Tom realized, and he was beginning to wonder why. It could only help her case.

Tom rose. “Your Honor?”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for speaking out, but perhaps if you knew what Mrs. Ryan intended to do with the property—”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“I should say so!” bellowed Lorne Wilson, jumping to his feet.

“But Your Honor, an orph—”

“Irrelevant,” Nicholson repeated in the storm of voices. “Sit down everyone!”

When Tom fell back onto his bench, the magistrate continued. “The crown can’t show favoritism toward one individual. We’re here to discuss the facts of the deed only.”

Tom didn’t like what he was hearing.

The judge addressed Amanda. “Is this is your deed, Mrs. Ryan?” He held it up.

Amanda stood. Tom saw her hands tremble and he wished he could reach out and soothe her. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Can you add anything more to the facts of the situation?”

“Only that I bought my property from Mr. Finnigan, and it was signed and sealed by a barrister and solicitor’s office, and that I’ve already begun to build a log cabin.”

The magistrate eyed her from behind the desk. “How far are you in construction?”

“About halfway. You can ask Mr. Murdock here, he’s the builder.”

“That’s right,” said Tom, standing up beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

“How much have you paid him so far?”

Amanda thought about it for a moment. “One hundred and seventy-six dollars and fifty cents.”

“That’s fine. You can both be seated.”

That was it? That was all the magistrate wanted to know?

“Mr. Wilson?” The magistrate motioned to the wily man who Tom was disliking more by the minute. “Al
though your deed doesn’t have a lawyer’s seal, it’s not necessary in these parts.”

Lorne Wilson gloated in their direction.

“And as for the missing date, that is a deep concern, but one you’ll soon see is irrelevant, too. We’ll hear from the clerk now,” said Nicholson, surprising the entire congregation.

Benny looked thunderstruck, turning cherry-red at being singled out. He stood and faced the judge.

“Have you read Subsection A of the Article of Property Lease and Sales?”

“Your Honor?”

“Have you read it? It’s a simple question.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve read it. So has my boss, so has everyone in the registrar’s office.”

Tom turned to Amanda. What article were they talking about? Her eyes darted around the room in confusion.

“Do you understand it?” Nicholson asked.

Two deep lines appeared on the clerk’s pocked forehead. “I think so.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, I do. I brought the entire book.”

“Turn to that section and read it to the court.”

Benny cleared his throat, leafed through the dog-eared handbook and read out loud in his squeaky voice. “‘The properties shall be divided—”’

“Not that huge paragraph. Just the last sentence.”

“‘All lease and property sales must be approved by the government land registry before they are deemed valid.”’

“That’s the sentence right there. Read it again.”

“‘All lease and property sales must be approved by the government land registry before they are deemed valid.’ But…but we
have
been approving all sales at the clerk’s office—”

“With all new sales, correct?”

“Yes, as people come in to lease the properties, we’ve been very careful to put our seal of approval on every one.”

“That’s good, Benny. You’re doing fine job, too, as was demonstrated to me when I looked at the books this morning. But if I understand correctly, Mr. Murdock was the first person who transferred his lease and resold his building, outside the hands of government. And Mrs. Ryan and Mr. Wilson are the first two who’ve bought resold property.”

“That’s correct.”

Tom shrank in his seat. He couldn’t believe what this implied. He felt Amanda rear up to attention.

The magistrate waved the deeds in the air. “I don’t see a government seal on these two deeds.”

The crowd hushed.

“You mean
every
time a transfer of property occurs,” Benny said weakly, “the government needs to approve it?”

“That’s what the law states. We’ve never come across anything like this before, because Banff is the first national park, but that’s the way it was set up and that’s how I’ve got to make my judgment.”

The magistrate looked in Tom and Amanda’s direction. He held up the two deeds and fanned them in the air. “These deeds aren’t valid. And if Finnigan sold any more deeds that we don’t know about yet, those won’t be, either.”

Tom leaned over his legs and dropped his head into his hands. Amanda moaned in the ensuing commotion.

The magistrate strained to be heard above the buzz, banging on his gavel. “Therefore Tom Murdock still owns the property.”

“What?” said Tom, rising to Amanda’s defense, unable to control his shock. “What about the money Amanda’s spent?”

“And mine?” shouted Lorne Wilson.

“Unfortunately,” said the magistrate, “they were robbed by Zeb Finnigan. When that man’s caught, his assets will be divided to make restitution. Until the time he is, you, Mr. Murdock, still own the property.”

The crowd was out of control. This affected everyone. Every sale, every lease transaction needed to be approved? What kind of government involvement was this? It was beyond reason!

The magistrate banged his gavel. “As far as Mrs. Ryan is concerned, she’s building a cabin on property that doesn’t belong to her. Tom Murdock, the court further instructs you to pay her for the value of the cabin, so far under construction. By the end of this week. Value of one hundred and seventy-six dollars and fifty cents.”

What? Tom spun to Amanda, who stood up beside him, pale and grappling for words. The property wasn’t hers!

And he didn’t have one hundred and seventy-six dollars! That was a month’s payroll. He’d have to lay off half his men to come up with that kind of payment. If he did that, that would be it for the town’s confidence in his sawmill, and confidence was
everything
in business.

Neither one of them could comprehend what had just happened. As everyone rose to their feet, the magistrate and Benny disappeared through the side door. Wilson cursed up and down at the other end of the room then ran out the back door.

While the mass of men and women pushed their way into the aisles, Miss Clementine dabbed at her eyes with a hanky, Graham tried to explain to Amanda, Amanda was consoling her grandma, Pa looked on in bewilderment and
Clarissa and Tom painfully eyed each other across the room.

“Amanda,” said Tom more desperate than he appeared, staring at her shaken face, “we’ll work out something.”

“That’s right,” said his pa, patting Miss Clementine’s hand with renewed vigor.

“But you have to follow the magistrate’s decision,” Graham reminded them. “You’ll have to go through the legal channels and get approval before you can do anything.”

Tom cursed. He rubbed his sore neck.

Amanda’s eyes had lost their sheen. “I appreciate what you tried to do in here today—”

With a burst of determination, Tom slid closer and gripped her by the shoulders. “There’s good news here, too, Amanda. Lorne Wilson doesn’t own this property. One of
us
does. And we both know that it should go to you. I’ll sell the whole thing back to you for one penny, and you can keep the log cabin in lieu of the money I’m supposed to pay you. We’ll keep building, starting this afternoon—”

“You know I can’t sink another dime of lumber into that cabin until…until I know it’s rightfully and legally mine. With the proper deed.”

“Then, dammit, I’ll get you a proper deed—”

“Tom,” Graham interrupted, “you’ve got to go through the proper channels.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. It’ll take at least a few days for the magistrate’s decree to settle in at the registrar’s. They’ll probably check with their government lawyers to confirm the ruling. They may even change the clause if it no longer suits them. You know the government, they always move slowly, on the side of caution. If they work at breakneck
speed you might get a new lease in three weeks. Maybe three months. Who knows?”