“Still think three dollars was cheap?”
She glared.
He laughed.
The first serious money arrived by telephone.
A craft cidery owner offered five thousand dollars for the right to harvest whatever fruit appeared that fall from the oldest block.
The girl almost agreed.
Five thousand dollars could buy fencing.
Tree guards.
Tools.
Soil amendments.
Professional pruning.
She called the horticulture specialist.
The specialist said:
“No.”
The girl frowned.
“You didn't even think.”
“I thought before you called.”
“Why no?”
“You don't know what you have.”
“That's why he wants it.”
“Exactly.”
The young woman stared.
“He knows more than me?”
“He knows enough to speculate.”
“Could five thousand be good?”
“Could be excellent.”
“Could be terrible.”
“There it is again.”
The specialist laughed.
“Welcome to agriculture.”
A nursery offered seven thousand for exclusive scionwood access.
A collector offered ten thousand for several trees if he could legally move them.
Move them.
The girl nearly hung up.
“You want to dig up trees that have been here maybe eighty years?”
“If survivable.”
“No.”
“I'll pay—”
“No.”
He increased the offer.
She still refused.
Her father listened afterward.
“You didn't ask how much.”
“Didn't matter.”
He smiled.
“That answer costs money sometimes.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Then came the developer.
The same representative who had raised the bid from one dollar to two at the county sale called.
He sounded more respectful now.
“I may have underestimated the parcel.”
The girl sat at the kitchen table.
“You think?”
He laughed carefully.
“Our company would like to make an offer.”
“Why?”
“Investment.”
“What kind?”
“Possibly residential.”
The girl looked out the window toward the ridge.
“How much?”
“Seventy-five thousand.”
She stopped breathing.
He repeated.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
For land she bought for three.
Her hand tightened around the phone.
“When do you need an answer?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
That immediately bothered her.
“Why?”
“Market conditions.”
She heard her father’s voice in her memory.
If the offer is fair today, it is fair tomorrow.
“I need longer.”
“Our offer may change.”
“Then change it.”
She hung up.
Her mother stared.
“What?”
“Seventy-five thousand.”
Her mother sat.
Her father stopped midway through removing his boots.
The younger brother shouted from the hallway:
“Sell it.”
Everyone ignored him.
The father asked:
“What do you want?”
The girl laughed nervously.
“I want someone else to decide.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
“You bought it.”
“You carry the result.”
“That is cruel.”
“That is ownership.”
Her mother asked:
“What would you do with seventy-five?”
The girl began listing things.
Replace the old barn roof.
Pay down family debt if her parents accepted.
Set aside college money.
Buy better fencing.
Maybe buy better land.
Her mother asked:
“Better for what?”