“Pick Any Wife For Free” The Judge Laughed – “I’ll Take The Obese Amish Girl”

Chapter 9

The day of the hearing arrived with the same harsh summer sun that had marked every day since Abby had arrived in Colorado. She rose early, as always, but this morning her hands trembled as she prepared breakfast. Today, they would present their case before the county land commission, hoping to stop the railroad from claiming their water rights.

Luis came down in his best shirt, the one Abby had washed and pressed the night before. He moved stiffly, his jaw tight with the tension they both felt.

“Henry’s going to stay with the Thompsons today,” he said. “In case… well, in case it takes longer than expected.”

Abby nodded, understanding the unspoken meaning. In case we lose and need time to figure out what comes next.

They ate in silence, then hitched the wagon and set out for San Miguel. The railroad camp was buzzing with activity as they passed, men and machinery preparing for the construction that would begin as soon as the legal hurdles were cleared.

The county courthouse was the same building where Abby had been paraded like livestock just weeks before. She felt the familiar knot of dread tighten in her stomach as they climbed the steps, but she pushed it down. She was not the same woman who had stood in that circle of mockery. She had a home now. A family. A reason to fight.

The hearing room was crowded with ranchers, railroad officials, and curious townspeople. The land commission sat at a raised table, three men in stiff collars who looked like they would rather be anywhere else. The railroad’s lawyer, a sleek man in an expensive suit, presented first, laying out their claims with practiced ease.

“Under the Territorial Water Rights Act of 1867,” he said, his voice smooth as oil, “any water source crossing federal land is subject to claim by federally chartered corporations. The creek in question crosses two separate sections of government land, giving the railroad clear and legal access to its waters.”

The ranchers in the room shifted restlessly. Luis’s lawyer, a young man named Mr. Jennings who had taken their case for a fraction of his usual fee, rose to respond.

“With respect,” he said, “the Boon family has held continuous and productive use of those water rights for three generations. The law also recognizes prior appropriation — first in time, first in right. The railroad’s claim was filed last month. The Boons’ claim was established in 1843.”

The railroad’s lawyer smiled. “Prior appropriation applies to valid claims. The Boons’ claim was never formally registered with the territorial government. It exists only as a matter of local custom, not law.”

The room erupted in murmurs. Abby felt the ground shift beneath her feet. She watched Luis’s face go pale, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

The commissioners conferred in low voices, their expressions unreadable. Finally, the chairman raised his hand for silence.

“We have reviewed the evidence presented by both parties. This commission finds that the railroad’s claim, while technically valid, fails to account for the prior use and improvement of the water source by the Boon family and their predecessors. We are therefore recommending a six-month stay of the railroad’s claim, during which time both parties are encouraged to reach a mutually agreeable solution.”

It wasn’t a victory. But it wasn’t defeat either. Six months. They had six months to find a way to save their land.

As they left the courthouse, Luis’s hand found Abby’s. “Six months,” he said, his voice tight. “That’s not much time.”

“It’s time enough,” Abby replied, squeezing his hand. “We just need to trust.”