He laughed, short and startled and rusty, with his hand over his eyes. When he took it away, his face was wet.
“I’m sorry, Annie. For laughing at the reading. For all of it. For forty years.” He swallowed. “I thought Dad was insulting you. I never once thought, what if he’s trusting her?”
I put my hand over his.
“He was,” I said. “He trusted both of us. He just did it in different ways.”
“What did he trust me with?”
I thought about it.
“The farm,” I said. “He trusted you to learn it.”
It’s been two years now.
Dale sold the back eighty in the end. Not to Paul Reinhardt, though Mr. Reinhardt called again once the easement was recorded and offered the full price. Dale sold it to a young couple from Alma, Maria and Luis Ortega, who had a toddler, a rented combine, and a beginning-farmer loan from the Farm Service Agency. They paid $5,900 an acre, $472,000 in all. It was less than Dale had hoped for and less than Reinhardt offered.
