“Starting today,” Daddy said, “my rent goes straight into my own bank account. Not Darla’s. Mine. I’ll write the number down for you.” Ronnie nodded slowly. “Yes sir.” Then Daddy narrowed his eyes. “Ronnie, has my daughter asked you for anything else?” Ronnie turned his cap around in his hands. He looked at me, then at the corner post, then back at Daddy.

“She asked me last spring if I’d be interested in buying the place,” he said quietly. “Said you’d agreed to sell, since you’d never farm it again. She quoted me a price, Virgil. About half what it’s worth.” Daddy’s knuckles went white on the post. “And what did you tell her?” Ronnie swallowed. “I told her I’d think about it. She said she’d have the papers ready by Christmas.”