Mrs.
Rook may leave my home whenever she chooses.”
A deep silence followed.
Vane’s attorney looked irritated.
The judge studied Gideon for several seconds.
Then he postponed the guardianship petition.
Until additional evidence could be examined, no guardian would be appointed.
However, an interim order prevented Gideon from selling or transferring his property.
The ruling was neither victory nor defeat.
It bought us time.
But as we left the courtroom, Vane intercepted us beneath the courthouse steps.
“Mrs.
Rook,” he said pleasantly, “your mother was a very stubborn woman.”
I stopped.
“Don’t speak about my mother.”
He smiled.
“She kept papers she had no business keeping.
I wonder whether she passed that unfortunate habit to you.”
Gideon moved beside me.
Vane glanced at him.
For a brief instant, something cold passed across the businessman’s face.
“Your husband should have sold me North Fork years ago.”
I answered before Gideon could reach for his notebook.
“Then perhaps you should have offered him an honest bargain.”
Vane’s smile vanished.
“Honesty is a luxury people can afford only when they know which secrets will ruin them.”
He stepped into his carriage.
As the horses pulled away, he called one final warning.
“Ask your father what your mother stitched into her wedding dress.”
I stood motionless.
Her wedding dress.
The faded ivory gown I had worn to marry Gideon.
The gown with the blue stitching along its inner hem.
The gown still hanging inside my bedroom.
We returned to the ranch just before sunset.
I went straight to the wardrobe.
The dress hung exactly where I had left it.
Its ivory silk had yellowed with age, and the sleeves were embroidered with tiny flowers my mother had sewn herself.
I remembered watching her mend those sleeves when I was a little girl.
She always used ivory thread.
Except for one small section beneath the back hem.
That stitching was blue.
I had noticed it on my wedding morning but assumed she had run out of matching thread.
Now I understood that the difference might be deliberate.
I spread the gown across the bed.
Gideon brought the lamp.
With my sewing scissors, I carefully opened the blue seam.
A narrow compartment had been folded into the lining.
Inside lay a packet wrapped in oilcloth.
My hands shook as I unfolded it.
There were three objects.
A survey map.
A handwritten statement.
And a small red knitted mitten.
I stared at the mitten.
It belonged to a very young child.
One side was scorched dark brown.
The other had been repaired with blue thread.
My mother’s handwriting appeared on a tiny tag attached to the cuff.
October 14, 1860.
