"That sounds fair."
Sofia signed the transfer.
Two months later, the Wilson family finished their lease and left peacefully.
The Ortegas returned to the ranch after more than twenty years.
Clara went once to watch Sofia's youngest son climb the apple tree beside the house.
She did not go inside.
Some homes needed to be returned completely.
Isaiah's name was formally cleared the following winter.
The territorial government offered him two hundred dollars for wrongful prosecution.
He stared at the document for nearly a minute.
Then asked Clara, "Do they think four years costs two hundred dollars?"
"Apparently."
"Seems low."
"It does."
He took the money anyway.
With it, Isaiah purchased lumber.
Rafael contributed an old printing press.
Clara contributed what remained from selling her house in Las Cruces.
Together, they opened a small records office near Mesilla.
People could bring deeds.
Receipts.
Loan papers.
Contracts.
Clara copied them.
Rafael printed duplicates.
Isaiah traveled between distant ranches delivering copies to families who wanted records kept somewhere Carrow's former associates could not easily destroy them.
Above the entrance hung a simple sign.
BENNETT, COLE & MENDOZA
LAND RECORDS AND DOCUMENTS
Rafael objected immediately.
"My name should be first."
"You arrived last," Isaiah said.
"I'm the oldest."
"That isn't how signs work."
"It should be."
Clara listened to them argue and smiled.
Thomas's photograph remained on her desk.
For years, she had looked at it and seen a perfect husband taken from her by violence.
Now she saw something more difficult.
A man who had participated in wrongdoing.
A man who had made excuses.
A man who had become ashamed.
A man who had eventually risked his life trying to repair part of what he had helped create.
She loved him no less.
But she loved him more truthfully.
One evening, nearly eighteen months after the ambush on the Santa Fe Trail, Clara found Isaiah sitting outside the office.
He held a letter.
"What is it?" she asked.
He handed it to her.
The letter came from Washington.
Federal investigators had completed a review of several territorial land cases tied to Carrow.
At the bottom was a list of properties eligible for reconsideration.
One name appeared near the middle.
COLE, JOSIAH.
Isaiah's father.
Clara looked at him.
"Your ranch."
"Maybe."
"You can get it back."
"Maybe."
"You don't sound happy."
Isaiah watched wagons moving through the evening street.
"My mother is dead."
Clara sat beside him.
"My brother is dead."
"I know."
"My father died believing he'd failed us."
Clara said nothing.
Isaiah folded the letter.
"Getting dirt back doesn't give people back."
"No."
They sat quietly.
After a while, Clara said, "But maybe you can decide what happens to the dirt."
Isaiah looked at her.