Chapter 19 #2
Abner nodded slowly. "He was very friendly.
Very sympathetic. He said he'd heard about my difficulties with the county.
Such a shame, he said. Such an unfortunate situation, especially since I was a disabled veteran.
We'd been neighbors for years. He said he might be able to help.
That he had connections, he knew people.
Perhaps an arrangement could be reached. "
"What kind of arrangement?"
"He offered to buy my land. Forty acres. Good timber. Clean water. He offered two hundred thousand dollars."
I shook my head in disgust. Even fifteen years ago, Abner's land was worth three times that amount.
"That's some bullshit," I muttered.
"Indeed. So I refused."
"What did he say?"
"He said I should think about it. He said living without electricity was hard. Especially in winter. Especially for a man with a young daughter." Abner's voice went cold. "He said he hoped nothing bad would happen to Liberty."
"He threatened your daughter?"
"Not directly. Never directly. Harlan Foster doesn't threaten. He implies, he suggests. He expresses concern." Abner set down his coffee cup. "But I understood him perfectly."
"What did you do?"
Abner opened his mouth to answer. What came out instead was a cough.
It started small, just a clearing of the throat. Then it deepened, became raw and wet. His whole body shook with it. His face went red, then pale. His eyes watered, tears streaming down into his beard. He bent forward in the chair, hands gripping the armrests, fighting for air.
I started to stand, to do something, but he held up a hand. I waited. Abner's cough seemed to be getting worse since I first met him. I thought it was a cold that lingered, but now I knew he had a chronic condition.
The coughing went on for what felt like minutes. When it finally subsided, he sat back, breathing in shallow, careful gasps. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and his mouth.
"Burn pits," he said hoarsely. "Iraq. Twenty years later, the bill comes due."
"Do you need anything?"
"I'm fine." His voice was rough but steady. "It passes."
I didn't argue. There was nothing to say. After a moment, he continued. His voice was quieter now, strained.
"What did I do? I decided I would not give in.
Not to Harlan Foster. Not to anyone. 'Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
' James four, verse seven." He managed a thin smile.
"I saved for a year. Ate less. Sold everything I could spare.
When I had enough, I bought solar panels.
Installed them myself. My background in the Army, prime power production, it served me well.
I made my cabin self-reliant, just as Thoreau advised. 'Simplify, simplify.'"
"And Harlan?"
"He came back twice more. Each time, he raised his offer. Each time I refused. Eventually, he stopped coming." Abner looked at me. "But he never stopped wanting my land. And he never forgave me for keeping it."
The owl called again, closer this time.
"I do not know what you will do, Thomas. That is your decision to make. But you can be certain of one thing. Harlan Foster will try to thwart you in whatever ways he can. He has the county in his pocket. He has patience. He has money. And he has absolutely no conscience."
"I'm getting that impression."
Abner picked up his coffee cup again. His hand trembled slightly but his grip was firm.
"You differ from most men I have met. You ask questions. You write things down. You do not bluster or make threats." He took a sip. "That may serve you well. Or it may not. Harlan has broken stronger men than either of us."
"Maybe," I said. "But I'm not planning on being broken."
From the trailer, floating through the evening air, came the sound of laughter. Light and clear and genuine. Scout, watching the trailer's TV.
"Scout seems to be enjoying Pride and Prejudice," I said.
"Austen." Abner shook his head. "Frivolous. Drawing rooms and marriage plots. Not a single idea worth examining."
"She seems to disagree."
"Liberty has always had her own opinions. Even when they are wrong."
"I've noticed." I smiled. "The pond looks good, by the way. She and the goats did great work."
"Cincinnatus and Thoreau are excellent at what they do. And Liberty..." He paused. "Liberty loves that you call her Scout."
I looked at him. Abner nodded slowly, looking down at his mug.
"She talks about you a great deal. Especially after you helped with her tooth. That was a kindness she did not expect."
"It was nothing."
"It was not nothing. It was significant. And she knows it." Abner stared at his coffee. "These movie nights? They are the highlight of her week. She counts the days until the next one."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"I raised her in these woods," Abner continued.
"Homeschooled her. Kept her away from the corruption of institutions.
I believed I was protecting her. And perhaps I was.
" He paused. "But I also made her lonesome.
She had Claire, Bessie, and the little boy to talk to.
And she loves her visits to Port Chasten. "
"She mentioned the library there. About how much it meant to her."
"The library, yes. She would spend hours there, reading everything. Devouring the world through books because she could not experience it any other way." Abner's voice was heavy. "I am glad she found a friend in you, Thomas."
"I'm glad too. She's remarkable."
Abner turned to look at me directly. His blue eyes, the same shade as his daughter's, held mine.
"Liberty is a grown woman. Twenty-one years old. I would not presume to pry into her private affairs. Whatever she chooses to do with her life, wherever she chooses to go, whoever she chooses to be with, those are her decisions to make."
I felt heat rising in my face.
"But I will say this." His voice was quiet but carried weight. "I hope that you will be an honorable man with my daughter."
"Abner." I shifted in my chair. "Nothing like that is happening. We watch movies. We swim in the pond. We talk. That's all."
He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded once and said nothing.
We sat in silence after that. The light faded. The stars came out. From the trailer, Scout's laughter drifted across the clearing, mixing with the sounds of the forest settling into night.
Eventually, Abner rose. He set his empty cup on the porch railing.
"Thank you for the coffee, Thomas."
"Anytime."
He walked to the edge of the porch, then stopped.
"'The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a lion.' Proverbs twenty-eight, verse one." He looked back at me. "Be bold, Thomas. But be careful."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness between the trees.
I sat at my kitchen table past midnight. The lamp cast a pool of yellow light across the polished wood. Outside, the forest was filled with night sounds.
My laptop was open in front of me. I'd been staring at the blank document for ten minutes, organizing my thoughts.
Finally I began to type.
Harlan Foster — Property Record Irregularities
I'd been gathering documents since Harlan's visit. The surveys Claire had given me. The property records I'd pulled from the county assessor's website. The title search I'd ordered when I bought the place. Notes from conversations. Dates and times and details.
Now I began organizing it into something coherent. Something that would hold up to professional scrutiny.
Section 1: Well Access Fraud
I typed out everything I knew. The well on Claire's property. The access fees Harlan had been collecting for decades. The recorded easement that shouldn't exist. The discrepancies in the documentation that Claire's lawyer would need to examine when she found one.
Section 2: Boundary Irregularities
The survey markers that didn't match the county records. The hundred-foot discrepancy along the eastern edge of my property. Timber rights that had been conveyed under questionable circumstances two decades ago. The chain of title that raised more questions than it answered.
Section 3: Tax Abatement Discrepancy
The agricultural exemption that Harlan claimed on land that may not have been his to claim. The county assessor's records that showed payments made for services never rendered. The pattern of small frauds that added up to something much larger.
Section 4: Parallel Experience — Abner Flint
I typed out Abner's story. The transformer. The five feet. The fifteen years without power. Harlan's offer. The implied threat against Liberty. The solar panels that represented not just self-reliance but resistance.
Section 5: Pattern of Behavior
I pulled it together. The common thread was Harlan Foster using his influence with the county government to pressure landowners. To create problems that only he could solve. To acquire property at fractions of its value from people who had no other options.
I made a note at the bottom: Coordinate with Claire's lawyer re: tax abatement issue. Confirm easement validity. Request a formal boundary survey.
When I finished, I saved the document and backed it up to the cloud. I emailed a copy to myself.
The clock on my laptop read 12:47 AM.
I closed the computer and sat in the darkness for a while, listening to the silence.
The document wasn't evidence. Not yet. But it was the beginning of a case file, a framework for understanding what I was dealing with.
A map of the battlefield, so to speak.
Harlan Foster had money and influence and patience and no conscience. He had the county in his pocket and decades of experience breaking people who stood in his way.
I had a laptop and some documents and a stubborn refusal to be pushed around.
It wasn't much. But it was a start.