“Why?”
“Shape and fifteen percent woody core.”
Frank stopped.
“Who tested?”
“Vernon County Cannery.”
“Sugar?”
“I don't know.”
“Moisture?”
“No.”
“Rot?”
“Minimal.”
Frank looked toward the secretary.
Then back.
“What variety?”
Mariabel told him.
He held out his hand.
“You bring samples?”
She had.
He took the bag.
“I can test.”
“When?”
“Couple days.”
“How much if they're usable?”
Frank smiled.
“Slow down.”
“How much?”
“Depends on solids.”
“Approximately.”
He looked at her.
“You negotiate everything?”
“Yes.”
“Ten dollars a ton.”
Mariabel's face did not move.
Inside, arithmetic exploded.
Ten dollars a ton.
Six hundred dollars.
For a sixty-dollar purchase.
Before trucking.
Before sorting.
Before spoilage.
Still.
Frank saw something.
“Don't get excited.”
“I’m not.”
“You look excited.”
“Second person this week.”
He laughed.
“We call you.”
Mariabel drove home.
She told nobody.
Especially Harlon.
She did not want to watch him become optimistic.
Optimism in farming was expensive.
Two days passed.
No call.
On the third morning, Frank phoned.
“Mariabel?”
“Yes.”
“Samples are interesting.”
“How?”
“Solids are high.”
“Meaning?”
“Good flavor after drying.”
“What about woody core?”
“Doesn't matter once milled.”
Mariabel gripped the receiver tighter.
“Can you buy?”
“Maybe twenty tons.”
“At ten?”
“Eight.”
“You said ten.”
“I said depends.”
“Then twelve.”
Frank laughed.
“Eight.”
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Ten.”
Silence.
“You're difficult.”
“So are carrots.”
Frank sighed.
“Ten.”
Mariabel looked at the notebook.
Two hundred dollars for twenty tons.
Not life-changing.
But proof.
Proof had value.
“When can you take them?”
“Next week.”
“I need something in writing.”
Frank laughed again.
“You think I'm going to steal your carrots?”
“No.”
“I think paper remembers better than people.”
The contract arrived by mail.
Mariabel placed it beneath a salt shaker on the kitchen table and stared at it for nearly an hour.
Twenty tons.
Ten dollars per ton.
Quality subject to inspection.
Harlon arrived that evening.
Mariabel slid the paper toward him.
He read it.
Then read it again.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?”
“They're buying carrots?”
“Yes.”
“The garbage carrots?”
“Our carrots.”
Harlon looked up.