Free Solomon's Decision by Judith B. Glad

acquisitions budget."
    Madeline sensed rather than saw him checking his watch.
    "Look, I've got to go. Take care of yourself, okay?"
    Finally she allowed herself to look up. She wanted one last mental image, one last
memory of him. "I will," she managed to say, just above a whisper. "You too." Her throat
closed and no more words could escape past the threatening sobs.
    He reached, then pulled his hand back before his fingers could touch her cheek.
The lines next to his mouth deepened.
    He spun on his heel and was gone.
    "Goodbye," she said to the empty space he left behind. "Goodbye, Erik."
    * * * *
    "I'm not surprised," Emaline said. "I've always thought those conservation
organizations were a lot of hot air." The County Treasurer wasn't much of an
environmentalist. Not only did her husband work at the sawmill, but their oldest son was a
logger.
    "I expect they have to rely on contributions for their funding," Madeline said,
noncommittally. She was disappointed, and knew Jethro would be too. Last time she'd
taken the children out to the Z-Bar-Z, he had told her how much he'd liked that young fella
from the National Wetlands Trust. Would he wait, or would he sell Wounded Bear
Meadow along with the rest of the ranch? She was almost afraid to ask him.
    "I think it's a damned shame," Eddie said, setting his Pepsi on Madeline's desk. "It
seems like there's always money to build fancy houses and buy big new cars, but nobody's
willing to spare a few dollars to save the nation's resources."
    "Oh, come on, Eddie, don't make me vomit." Emaline cupped a hand over her
mouth. "One little swamp isn't anywhere near 'the nation's resources.'"
    "If everybody thought that, pretty soon we wouldn't have any wetlands or forests
or anything left." The young planning intern's voice rose and his ears grew red. "Erik
said...."
    "Stop it, both of you. I've got a headache." Madeline found she tightened up inside
every time Eddie went into his Erik says routine.
    That was the problem with being young and idealistic. Your heroes were
perfect.
    Then you got older and more worldly wise, and discovered your heroes were
nothing more than ordinary human beings.
    She had to admit she was as upset as Eddie was that NWT wasn't able to fund the
purchase of Wounded Bear Meadow right now. Erik's letter had arrived yesterday by
courier and as soon as the commissioners were all notified, they'd converged on the
courthouse. Soon its contents were common knowledge, as was the news that Erik
Solomon would be returning to attempt to put together some sort of alternative deal with
Jethro.
    That was, she realized, when her headache began.
    Eventually she managed to push both Emaline and Eddie from her office so she
could get some work done. Not much though, for it seemed like everyone in the
Courthouse dropped by to comment on Erik's report.
    "I've been up there," one of the fellows from County Roads said, as he leaned
against her doorframe about two, "and I don't see what makes it so special. Not even a road
in."
    The mayor's secretary stopped by shortly after. "My husband's going to be really
disappointed. He loves to camp up there come elk season. I'll bet whoever buys the place
from Jethro won't be so hospitable."
    "I doubt NWT would welcome hunters either," Madeline said. "Erik said they
operate their preserves like wildlife refuges." Good God! She was doing the "Erik says"
thing too.
    There was another letter from Erik waiting when she got home. It was totally
impersonal, entirely concerned with the meadow. "...understand you've been his friend for
a long time. I was hoping you could convince Mr. Zenger to postpone a decision on
Wounded Bear Meadow for a reasonable time--perhaps until September--so we can
explore some other avenues of funding."
    He hadn't even signed his letter. She knew his indecipherable scrawl from a short
note requesting some information while he'd been in town. This neat, almost childlike
signature was almost certainly his secretary.
    * * *