Beauty for Ashes Page 0,112
if you want to sell that land to Stevens.”
“I don’t want to sell it, but I have four other mouths to feed. Besides, you said the land is worthless.”
“No, I said a farmer might not need it for crops. Rumor has it that plans to build a resort here just might work out. That Blakely fellow from Baltimore is keen on the idea. If he decides to build, that land will be worth ten times what it is today . . .”
She saw him hesitate. “But?”
“It might be years before the resort is actually built. Wat Stevens is no fool, though. He knows what that land will be worth then.” He steepled his fingers and smiled up at her. “Sounds to me as if you can’t afford to wait. You need cash right now.”
“Yes. Desperately. I can’t earn enough baking bread.”
“Stevens can afford to buy that land and hold on to it. If the resort comes in, he can sell it off and make a tidy profit. If it doesn’t, he’s still sitting on some of the finest farmland in the county. When this depression ends, he’ll double his yield. If it was me, I’d ask ten dollars an acre. Firm.”
“Ten dollars?” It was a fortune.
“He can afford it. Don’t let him tell you any different.” His voice softened. “I’m real sorry about that jewelry.”
She left the bank and headed for the Stevens farm. Situated on a winding dirt road halfway between town and the lumber mill, it lay in a broad valley bordering the river. A series of wooden fences marked the boundaries and led upward to the Stevenses’ log farmhouse.
Carrie halted the wagon in the side yard and climbed down. The smell of burning fields teased her nose. In the distance, Wat Stevens walked behind a team of plodding horses, plowing up a cloud of black dust.
She rounded the house. Mrs. Stevens, a faded woman in a brown dress and a threadbare blue apron, was out back slopping hogs. They grunted and rooted in the long wooden trough near the barn. A line of laundry flapped in the March wind.
“Carrie Daly.” Mrs. Stevens set the slop bucket aside and pushed her sunbonnet off her head. “Ain’t seen you in a coon’s age. What brings you clear out here?”
“I need to speak to your husband. If he can spare the time.”
“What about?”
“Last year he asked my brother about buying some land.”
“Then maybe your brother ought to be the one doing the talking.”
“My brother is dead.”
The woman frowned. “Henry Bell is dead? How in the world—”
“An accident in the rail yard.” Briefly Carrie filled her in. “We didn’t know about it until Christmas.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all.” She shook her head. “Living way out here, we’re the last to know anything. I sure am sorry to hear it.”
She put her fingers in her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle that reverberated across the valley. Wat halted the team and looked up. His wife motioned him over.
He took off his hat and wiped his face with a crumpled bandanna. “Miz Daly.”
“Henry Bell went and got himself killed in Chicago,” Wat’s wife informed him. “It happened clear back in December, and we must be the last people in the county to know about it. I declare, Wat Stevens, you have got to do something to get us another preacher. Without church on Sundays, we don’t hear about anything.”
Wat squinted at Carrie. “That’s real bad news, all right. But you didn’t come all this way just to tell us about it.”
“I’m going in the house to get us something to drink,” Mrs. Stevens said. “My mouth is dry as dirt.”
Carrie watched her go. Her own mouth felt dry too. Bargaining with Wat Stevens would not be easy. But there was no sense in beating around the bush. “Last year you were interested in buying the twenty acres we own down by Owl Creek. Now that my brother is gone, the farm is too much for me to handle. I’m wondering if you’re still interested.”
“Maybe.” He leaned against a fence post, crossed his ankles, and studied her through narrowed eyes. “How much you askin’ for it?”
“Twelve dollars an acre.”
“Twelve . . . what on earth have you been swilling? There ain’t a tract of land in this whole county worth that kind of money.”
“Maybe not now, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the resort coming to town.”
“I’ve heard maybe there’s a resort coming to town. That’s a big difference.”
“But suppose it does happen?