Then another.
Nora’s stomach tightened.
She expected criticism.
Instead, Carl said:
“Uniform.”
The second buyer nodded.
“Very.”
The third stepped closer.
“Who finished these?”
Nora answered:
“I did.”
He looked at her.
“What ration?”
There it was.
The question she knew would come.
“Mixed program.”
“Corn?”
“Some.”
“Byproduct.”
“What kind?”
Nora hesitated.
“Distillery grain.”
Carl turned.
“Wet?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Depends on stage.”
The men exchanged looks.
Nora could not read them.
Then Carl asked:
“They all been on it?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She answered.
He looked back at the cattle.
“Interesting.”
Nora hated that word.
Interesting could mean bad.
Interesting could mean suspicious.
Interesting could mean cheap.
The auction began.
Nora stood at the rail.
The first bid came.
Then another.
Carl raised.
Another buyer countered.
The price climbed.
Nora stopped breathing.
Not record prices.
Not ridiculous.
Strong.
Very strong.
By the final bid, Nora was gripping the rail hard enough to hurt her hand.
Sold.
The next group came.
Again.
Competition.
Again.
Strong.
Nora looked toward Carl.
He did not look at her.
He was calculating.
The cattle sold.
All of them.
At an average that exceeded Nora’s conservative projection enough to matter.
She walked toward the office afterward in a daze.
Ed Walker was waiting near the parking lot.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged.
“Buying.”
“You don't buy here.”
“Today I do.”
Nora stared.
Ed smiled.
“Heard the price.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
“You followed me.”
“I happened to be here.”
“You're sixty miles from home.”
“Coincidence.”
Nora laughed.
Ed looked serious.
“They did good.”
“Yes.”
“Very good.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“You were right.”
Nora stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“Don't make me repeat it.”
She took out her phone.
Ed pointed.
“Put that away.”
“Say it again.”
“No.”
She laughed harder.
For the first time since Matthew died, laughter came without guilt.
That surprised her more than the cattle prices.
The phone call arrived eleven days later.
Nora was beneath a tractor changing a hydraulic hose.
The farmhouse phone rang.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Then stopped.
Five minutes later it rang a third time.
Nora wiped her hands and ran inside.
“Hello?”
“Nora Tillman?”
“Yes.”
“This is Carl Mendel.”
The cattle buyer.
Nora straightened.
“Something wrong?”