"Not particularly."
The answer came too quickly.
She noticed.
But she didn't press.
Instead, she asked for a written offer showing exactly which property rights he wanted.
The businessman seemed irritated.
"Why complicate it?"
"Because I want to understand what I'm selling."
He stared.
Then smiled.
"Your father used to say things like that."
The woman looked toward him.
For a moment, she almost smiled.
Then he added, "Didn't do him much good."
Her expression hardened.
She stepped backward.
"I think we're finished."
The buyer raised his hands.
"Don't get emotional."
She turned toward the barn.
"Please leave."
The man frowned.
Then returned to his pickup.
Before driving away, he called through the window.
"Offers don't stay open forever!"
The woman didn't answer.
She watched the truck disappear along the gravel lane.
Then she went into the house.
Opened her handbag.
And finally read her father's letter.
It began with an apology.
Not for restoring the ponds.
For allowing the ponds to become a wall between them.
I know I made you feel as though you had to choose between your own life and the farm.
The daughter stopped reading.
Her eyes filled.
She sat at the kitchen table.
Then continued.
That wasn't fair. I was afraid that if you left, the last parts of the life your mother and I built would disappear too.
Tears slipped onto the paper.
You were never responsible for keeping my memories alive. That was my job, and sometimes I let it become your burden.
She covered her mouth.
For years, she'd believed her father resented her for leaving.
Now she realized he understood more than he'd ever managed to say aloud.
The next paragraph made her cry harder.
I didn't restore the ponds because I wanted to trap you here. I did it because I wanted you to have a choice I could no longer give you any other way.
She paused.
A choice.
That was the opposite of what she'd believed.
Her father had spent years preparing the property not so she'd be forced to stay, but so she'd inherit something more valuable than a decaying business.
The letter continued.
If the water isn't ready, don't stock it. If the numbers don't work, don't pretend they do. And if somebody offers to buy, make them explain what they're actually buying.
The daughter thought of the land buyer.
His vague offers.
His refusal to discuss the property's future use.
Then she read the final lines.
There are records in the pump house that will help you understand why I kept going. Please have someone qualified review them before you decide anything.
The daughter stared.
The pump house.
She looked through the kitchen window.
It stood beside the largest pond.