Ray looked at her.
“You don't trust him.”
Clara did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Ray removed his cap.
“Your father did.”
“My father was spending almost seventeen thousand dollars a year on soil and tree treatments when he died.”
“For eighty acres.”
“Yes.”
“Some of that normal.”
“Some.”
Ray waited.
Clara continued.
“Yield still dropped.”
“Weather.”
“For eight years?”
“Disease.”
“Which one?”
“Could be several.”
“Then why did treatment cost rise every year?”
Ray frowned.
“You think Wade cheated him?”
“I think I don't understand what happened.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
Clara put the notebook under one arm.
“And until I understand it, I am not continuing every recommendation just because that's what Dad did.”
Ray’s expression softened.
“Daniel wasn't stupid.”
“I didn't say he was.”
“Sounds like it.”
Clara stepped closer.
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“He was sick for eighteen months before he told anyone.”
Ray stopped.
“He worked while sick.”
“He signed whatever Wade recommended because he didn't have energy to investigate.”
“That isn't stupidity.”
Ray looked away.
Clara continued more quietly.
“It was survival.”
Ray nodded.
They stood there.
Hazel grunted from inside the fence.
Ray put his cap back on.
Then pointed toward Clara’s measuring stake near the path.
“You marked this?”
“Yes.”
“For?”
“Soil test point.”
Ray walked over.
He looked down.
Small wooden stake.
Number 17.
He kicked it flat.
Clara stared.
Ray smiled.
“There. Improved your system.”
She walked toward him.
“Put it back.”
“No.”
“Ray.”
He picked up her notebook from where she had set it on the tractor fender.
“Let’s see.”
Clara reached.
He moved it away.
“Give me that.”
Ray opened randomly.
Rows of handwritten measurements.
Moisture.
Temperature.
Ground cover.
Penetration resistance.
Pig days per section.
Rain.
Tree condition.
He shook his head.
“Daniel grew pecans.”
Clara grabbed for the notebook.
Ray tore out one loose sheet she had tucked inside.
Crumpled it.
Dropped it.
“He didn’t write a dissertation.”
Clara stared at the paper on the ground.
Anger rose so fast she felt heat behind her eyes.
Ray pointed toward the pigs.
“Your daddy grew pecans. You turned his orchard into a hog pen.”
Clara bent.
Picked up the page.
Unfolded it carefully.
Then stood.
“Done?”
Ray’s smile weakened.
Clara straightened the measuring stake.
Pushed it back into the soil.
Then looked at him.
“Good.”
She opened the paddock gate.
Pigs began moving toward the eastern section.
“Because that’s where they’re going next.”
Ray looked.
The weak trees.
“No.”
“Yes.”