“I don’t want anyone dividing that meadow after we’re gone,” he said.
We signed the documents at a notary’s office in Livingston. The next morning, Luke placed the envelope on the passenger seat of his truck. He planned to deliver it to the land trust on his way into town.
He never made it.
The highway patrol said black ice had caused his truck to leave the road. In the days that followed, I could think only about Luke. I assumed the envelope had been lost with the other belongings damaged in the crash. Now I needed to find out whether the land trust had ever received it.
At seven the following morning, I called Carolyn Voigt, the director. She knew Luke and me from our meetings regarding the easement. When I asked about the envelope, she fell silent.
“No,” she said gently. “It never reached us.”
I looked at the copy of the signed deed. The easement and my ownership were separate matters, but losing those documents would delay the protection Luke had wanted for the land.
“Has anyone else asked you about it?” I said.
Carolyn hesitated. “Last Thursday, a man called to ask whether your easement had ever been recorded. He said he was Luke’s family.”
