“He’ll still owe thirty-four hundred dollars in back title search fees and court costs at Clara Potts’s counter,” Daniel said.

“That’s between Robert and the clerk,” I said.

I stood up, resting my palm on my right knee as the joint gave its familiar sharp pinch.

“Are we square on your legal fee?” I asked.

Daniel closed his briefcase with two crisp clicks of the brass latches.

“Your grandfather paid my father for four years of legal advice with three cords of seasoned white oak and a rebuilt tractor engine,” Daniel said.

“We’re square, Evelyn.”