War Woman (11 page)

These corporations could afford to hire the best, and though she was by no means the best, she was steadily rising through the ranks at the prestigious firm she worked for. The firm’s clients and top management alike were taking notice of her and she was starting to gain access to what one of her colleagues referred to as ‘the big fish’. So far that access involved being part of a team for a top-ranking client but ‘the fish’ were biting and she was sure the day wasn’t far off when she would snag one all to herself.

Still, there was always a part of her that felt unfulfilled. It was the reason she took the occasional case on the side where her client couldn’t afford to pay anything like what she was earning at the law firm but the case called to her. This case with Wilson – well, Cooper as he had insisted – and the protestors was such a case.

Isabelle had needed to take a break from her current work environment to recharge her batteries. She was sure time away would help to soothe some of the longing – longing for what, she didn’t know. All she did know was that she couldn’t keep ignoring the restlessness inside her and a change of scenery sounded like an ideal way to disperse at least some of it. So she’d managed to scrounge two weeks off and had gotten in touch with Vivienne. The two women had been close friends since high school and although they had gone their separate ways after graduating from high school, they had kept in contact. Visiting Vivienne for a few days would serve two purposes. Not only could she catch up with her friend, but Vivienne lived in a small town that would offer a welcome break from life in the city.

Vivienne had been eager to see her so Isabelle had packed her bags and driven to Crooked Creek, which served as the central hub for the surrounding farming community. With a bottle of wine between them, most of which was empty, the women had been chatting about what they were currently doing in their respective lives and Vivienne had brought up the subject of the protestor group who had set their sights on Cooper’s farm.

The protestors were trying to reclaim land on behalf of the Cherokee nation and were basing their claim to Cooper’s land on word-of-mouth accounts passed down through the generations of Cherokee who lived within the area. Apparently there had been a few Cherokee villages within the surrounding area but the villagers had been forced to relocate as a result of the Indian Removal Act. The Trail of Tears was infamous and she knew that thousands of Cherokee had died during the relocation. The protestors argued that land had been wrongfully taken from the Cherokee villages, and Cooper’s farm encompassed some of that land.

She didn’t know why – perhaps it was the wine – but Isabelle had felt an overwhelming urge to get involved in the protestors’ claims. She’d agreed to carry out some research and to go with Vivienne  and her fellow protestors to the farm in order to get a better sense of the situation. She never took up any case without doing some prep work beforehand because it was important to find out what she was dealing with before committing herself.

The following morning she had woken up and groaned inwardly on remembering her agreement to look into the protestors’ claims.
You’re meant to be getting away from work, not taking more on
. However, Isabelle was a woman of her word. When she agreed to do something, she did it.
After all, I didn’t promise I would take their case. I don’t even know if they have one. This farm visit is simply a recon mission, observation and nothing else.

Knowing the protestors were planning to visit the farm the next day, Isabelle had carried out some brief online research on her laptop and had assembled a general overview of the Wilson family and their farm. She knew it was a family-run business that had been established in 1842 and that currently it was the largest and most successful corn producer in Georgia.

What she hadn’t expected was the odd little pull she had experienced on arriving at the farm. Following Vivienne’s directions, she had driven on ahead to the farm so that she could get a good look at it without the influence of protestors all around her. While driving through the farmland towards the spot where the protestors habitually met up, Isabelle had experienced an odd sensation. It had felt slightly similar to how she felt when visiting her parents during the holidays while she was studying to become a lawyer. It was like coming home.

When the other protestors had arrived and assembled themselves into a group, she had made sure to stay back and blend in while they had advanced towards the farmhouse. They had stopped next to a Land Rover parked in the driveway and had proceeded to encircle it, chanting and holding up their signs as they did so. She wasn’t sure if such actions would attract the owner himself but Vivienne had informed her that he had come out to greet them on several occasions. He was supposedly easy-going and friendly.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected but when Vivienne had indicated the figure coming around the side of the house as Cooper Wilson himself, Isabelle had to admit she was surprised. He was nothing like what she imagined he would be. His hair was shoulder-length and sandy-blonde with sun streaks. Hours in the sun had also tanned his skin and she could see from his body that he was in excellent shape. He moved with a strong, purposeful stride and the muscles in his arms were impossible to miss as he hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. Judging from the considerable amount of wealth the family supposedly had, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the farm owner had taken a step back and let others run the physical side of the farm for him. However, Cooper looked like the kind of man who knew what a hard day of outdoor work was.

Curious, she had watched the way he’d approached the protestors, an easy confidence with a smile that held a hint of cockiness to it. Then he’d addressed them as if a group of protestors on his farm was the most natural thing in the world, though she couldn’t help but think that his tone held an underlying blithe playfulness to it, as if he was happy to accommodate the protestors because they posed no threat to him whatsoever. If there was one thing she didn’t like, it was people not treating something with the seriousness it deserved and no one would deny that the protestors’ claims were serious.

However, his demeanor had changed abruptly on learning that she was a lawyer, and she had to admit a small amount of satisfaction at that. Maybe it was petty, but she was pleased to see the smile wiped off his face, and having decided on the spot to help the protestors, she was looking forward to keeping him on his toes. Still, she had to give him credit for remaining calm, despite his obvious displeasure at the fact that a lawyer was getting involved. His rapid switch back to full-on Southern charm was impressive, not that she was taken in by it. It took more than a smile from a handsome man to get the better of her.
Uh huh, go on and ignore the fact that your stomach did that odd little flip-flop
. Okay, so what if it had? It was natural to appreciate a good-looking man. That didn’t mean she trusted him.

Then they had shaken hands and it was as if an odd change had taken over him, almost as if he was in shock. When she’d tried to extricate her hand from his grip, he had ignored her, staring at their hands and then her face with an odd expression on his own. Was it some sort of game? A way to try and psych her out? Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to work. Cooper Wilson may have been used to coming out on top but now he’d met his match. 

***

It had been a busy morning but as she glanced at her watch, Isabelle realized she would have to get going if she wanted to make it to the meeting on time.
So much for lunch
. She walked to her car, ignoring the grumbling in her stomach. Isabelle had spent the morning researching, both within the local records office and online, and had lost track of the time. She’d meant to pick up a quick bite to eat from the local take-away but she’d just have to wait until dinner time.

The drive from the center of town to Cooper’s farmhouse took just under half an hour but she made it with time to spare. Gathering her research and laptop, she walked around the side of the house, up onto the porch and knocked on the front door. While she waited for someone to answer, she looked around. The landscape was absolutely beautiful and a complete contrast to the buzz of Atlanta with its concrete skyscrapers and throng of traffic and people. She enjoyed living in Atlanta but there was something about this place…something that made her feel connected to it.

Hearing the door open, she focused her attention back on why she was here.
Come on, Belle, head in the game
. Cooper stood to the side, holding the door for her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hawkins. Please come in.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside and looked around as he closed the door behind him. The farmhouse had an endearing lived-in feel to it, with photographs on the walls and side table that she assumed must be family members. From the hallway she had a view into the lounge, where there were more than a few expensive-looking antiques intermingled with modern, functional pieces of furniture. The eclectic décor was not what she would have expected but it held a distinctive appeal.

“Let me take your coat.”

Turning around to face Cooper, she shrugged out of her coat and handed it to him. “Thanks. Your home is lovely.”

Cooper smiled as he hung her coat up. “It suits my purposes. If you’d like to follow me, my office is this way.” Stepping around her, he led the way down the hall and into a side room which was dominated by a large, solid teak desk. A laptop and various folders were placed neatly on one side of the desk. Glancing around at the rest of the office, she noted it had an organized, practical feel to it.
No doubt like the man who works in it
. Isabelle liked to get a sense of people via their surroundings and from all appearances Cooper was efficient, despite his laid back demeanor. 

“Take a seat,” Cooper indicated one of two comfortable-looking armchairs in front of the desk. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got some freshly-made sweet tea if you’re interested.”

“Yes, please.” Isabelle sat down and waited for him to return with the iced tea. Placing a tray with a pitcher and two glasses down on the desk, Cooper poured some iced tea into both the glasses and handed her one. Taking a small sip, she smiled. “This tastes great. I’d be keen to get the recipe from whoever made it.”

“Sure, I can give it to you after our meeting.”

Isabelle placed her glass back down on the tray. “Well let’s get started. I appreciate you making the time to see me.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Hawkins. It’s in everybody’s interests to work together on this.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I’ve been doing some research surrounding the acquisition of the land on which your farm sits. If you have any supporting documents I’d be very interested in seeing them but from what I understand one of your ancestors, a Mr. Jonathan Wilson, purchased land from the United States government in 1841. By 1842 the farm was up and running and as it became more successful, Jonathan Wilson purchased more and more of the surrounding land. Is that correct?”

Cooper leaned back slightly in his chair as he sipped his iced tea. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you have any family records I could look through that would provide more information on Jonathan Wilson?”

“There’s some letters between Jonathan and his wife, Bethany. I think Bethany might have kept a journal as well. I’ll need to look for them. I read through them when I was young but it’s been so long since then that I can’t really remember what was in them. There’s also various business records. I can provide a family tree from Jonathan and Bethany onwards. I’ll let you look at them but you can ask me any questions you have now. I might be able to answer them.”

“Okay. Do you mind if I take notes?”

“No, go ahead.”

Isabelle took out her laptop and opened the document that contained all her notes so far for the case. “Right, so did Jonathan have a history of farming in his background?”

“I think his parents had a small place but it was sold after they died and Jonathan went off to join the army.”

“Do you know how old he was when he joined the army?”

“No.”

“Do you know why he left the army?”

“No. It could have been a number of reasons, I suppose. Perhaps he wanted something else and just got tired of fighting. Maybe he wanted to carry on the family tradition. Perhaps the land seemed like a good investment.”

“Gold was discovered in Georgia a few years before Jonathan purchased the land.”

“Yes it was. There’s no record of any mining activities having taken place on this farm. As far as I know, gold prospecting wasn’t carried out here.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“Not really. If you’re a farmer, why would you want to encourage people traipsing all over your land and ripping it up for something that may or may not be there. You value the land for what it readily provides, not for what may be hidden beneath it. That’s a value that’s been passed down through the generations of my family.”

Isabelle paused in her typing to look at Cooper. There was a protectiveness in his voice. He obviously cared very much for his farm. “Do any of your family records mention the Cherokee at all?”

“No.”

“Do you know how the United States acquired the land from the Cherokee who lived here before your family’s farm was established?”

“To be honest I haven’t looked into it much. Perhaps you could tell me.”