Not for himself.
For forty-three families who had worked the land across three generations.
“It means the farm belongs to the people who kept it alive,” Luis said.
Marcus stared at him.
“You stole it.”
Luis’s expression did not change.
“We bought it.”
“With money she gave you?”
“No. With financing from the cooperative bank, member investments, and a conservation grant.”
Rachel shook her head rapidly.
“No. Mom would never sell to employees instead of her own children.”
I met her eyes.
“I offered you both the opportunity.”
She went still.
“What?”
“Three years ago. I sent each of you a letter.”
Marcus laughed.
“I never got a letter.”
“You signed for yours.”
He stopped laughing.
I remembered that day clearly.
I had written to both of them after a difficult harvest. My knees were failing. My back ached every evening. I no longer had the strength to manage nearly eight hundred acres.
