Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
She twirled her silver ring again, her knuckles red from the cold mountain air.
“He says they will file papers in Colorado if we do not show them a signed agreement by the middle of May,” she whispered.
“Bula, I spent my entire life saving for this place,” I said.
“We are your family,” she said, turning her face to me.
Her eyes were rimmed with red.
“If you do not help him, they are going to take everything we have left,” she said.
“I cannot give away the only thing I own,” I said.
“It is just a signature,” Bula said, her voice rising. “It does not change who lives here.”
“It changes who has the right to sell it,” I said.
She looked down at the floorboards, her shoulders dropping.
“He said you would say that,” she whispered.
“What else did he say?” I asked.
She did not answer, but she did not look at me either.
The wind began to press against the green metal roof around seven, making the dry cedar logs hum.
