Chapter Five
Elaina and Steven,with the Johnsons in tow, steered their horses down the dusty main street of town. Today, they would speak with the land officer about the boundary dispute between the two ranches. The land in question was important because there was a creek running through it, and there was never enough water.
“Hopefully, Mr. Pritchard will be able to clear this up without much fuss,” Mr. Johnson remarked.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Elaina replied, casting a hopeful glance at the Johnsons, who nodded in agreement, their faces etched with the same anticipation. She knew the other couple was as eager to settle this as she and Steven were.
Upon reaching the squat brick building that housed the land office, they dismounted, hitching their horses before stepping into the cool interior. The room smelled faintly of ink and old paper, a scent that brought an odd sense of comfort to Elaina. It reminded her that beyond these walls lay the permanence of written records.
“Good morning, folks,” greeted Mr. Pritchard, looking up from a stack of ledgers with a practiced smile. “What brings you here on this fine day?”
“We’re here about the property lines for the Walstad Ranch,” Elaina said.
“Ah, yes. Let me fetch the official map.” Mr. Pritchard disappeared into a back room, emerging moments later with a large, rolled parchment. He spread it across the desk, holding down the corners with a pair of brass weights.
Together, they huddled over the map. Lines intersected and diverged, creating a patchwork of ownership and boundary claims. Elaina’s finger traced along the edge where her ranch met the Johnsons’ land, while Steven leaned in, his gaze intent and analytical.
“Here,” Mr. Pritchard pointed with an aged finger, “you see, both your original claims were incorrect.” His words hung between them as they absorbed the implications. On the map, a compromise presented itself—a sliver of neutral territory that could bridge the gap between their lands.
“Would this be agreeable to all parties?” he asked.
“It looks like the creek we’re all so worried about is the border, so both ranches should have access,” Steven said with a smile, looking at Mr. Johnson.
“I don’t think we could have settled it better,” Mr. Johnson said, nodding.
“Yes, I believe this will do just fine,” Elaina said. “We can all live with this.”
“More than live with it,” Steven added, “we can thrive with it.”
“Then it’s settled!” Mr. Pritchard exclaimed.
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson looked pleased as they stepped back outside. “What a perfect solution,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Perhaps you’ll both come to supper on Saturday night, and we’ll celebrate the ease with which this matter was settled. We could play hearts again,”
Elaina nodded with a smile. “We’d love that.”
“We’ll see you then.” Mrs. Johnson threw her arms around Elaina and embraced her, whispering, “I’m glad we can be friends now.”
*****
MONDAY WAS AN EASYday with George no longer on the ranch. The men went to Steven with questions, and there was no one trying to undermine him and his decisions. Sure, there was still some grumbling about doing things differently than they ever had, but nothing like there had been when George was around.
“Looks like the north fence needs mending,” Steven remarked, shielding his eyes from the early light. “Storm last week must’ve been tougher on it than I thought.” He shook his head. “I feel like we spend more time fixing fences than we do anything else around here.”
Elaina followed his gaze to the crooked wooden posts standing unevenly in the distance. “I’ll gather the tools,” she offered.
As they worked side by side, the rhythm of hammering nails and the creaks of tightening wire accompanied their conversation. They spoke of mundane tasks at first—the best way to rotate the crops, the need for a new water trough—but gradually, their words took on a more personal hue.
“Back home, I dreamt of land like this,” Steven confessed, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. “Land that stretches as far as the eye can see, where a man can put down roots.”
“Roots...” Elaina echoed softly. She had always been rooted to this place. “I used to dream of seeing what lies beyond these fields. But now,” she hesitated, glancing at him, “I think there’s something to be said for staying put.”
Steven met her gaze, and there was an understanding there, a silent acknowledgment of shared dreams.
“Maybe our dreams aren’t so different,” he said. “You could have sold off the ranch when your father died.”
She shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. For as long as I can remember, my father would talk to me about how one day his grandchildren would own this ranch. I couldn’t disappoint him that way...even after he died.”
She watched him then, really looked at him, as they resumed their work. There was a tenderness to his touch as he handled the cattle, a reverence in his voice when he spoke of the soil.
