"You've got something interesting here," he began. "I'll give you that. But interesting doesn't mean profitable."
"I've never said it did."
"These trees won't pay off your mortgage. And I hear your father still owes the co-op from when he bought seed three years ago. That sort of thing can be difficult when a family starts borrowing against another family member's property."
Clara straightened. "My father's accounts are his business. They're not secured by my grandmother's land."
Blackwell smiled without warmth. "Money has a way of finding the whole family."
She set down the measuring string. "What do you want, Mr. Blackwell?"
"I want to make you a fair offer. Cash. More than the bank will get at auction. Enough to pay off the mortgage, settle whatever little things need settling, and still put money toward that school in Indianapolis. You can walk away before the next flood or the next drought makes the decision for you."
Clara thought of Evelyn standing in the field with her basket and Arthur hauling mud from a ditch that would not hold. She thought, too, of the bank's ninety-day extension and the small cash reserve that was shrinking no matter how carefully she lived. Blackwell was not wrong that a tree could not pay a bill merely by growing. But he was using the truth of her financial trouble to make his proposed answer sound inevitable.
"How much?" she asked.
He looked faintly surprised. "I had my attorney draw up figures. I'd need to see the updated balance from the bank before we settle."
"Then put the whole offer in writing and leave it with Mr. Finch. Include any rights you expect over Miller's Creek and the road. I'll read it."
His expression changed. "You think I'm trying to cheat you?"
"I think I'm nineteen, the land is worth something to you, and you know more about buying farms than I do. I want the offer written down."
For a moment she expected him to raise his voice. Instead he removed his hat, wiped his forehead, and looked past her at the willow rows. The tallest had begun to sway in the hot wind. Their leaves looked strangely fresh against the yellowing grass beyond them. Blackwell's eyes settled on the creek, which still held a narrow thread of water despite the drought.
"Your grandmother drove a hard bargain," he said finally.
"I know."
"You're making a mistake, Clara. Maybe these sticks will be worth a photograph in the county paper. But winter comes, and with winter comes the payment on your note. I won't keep making generous offers forever."
"Then I won't count on one."
He left with a cloud of dust behind his pickup. Clara watched him turn onto the county road and felt her confidence drain away in his absence. It had been easier to answer him while he stood in front of her than to return to the ledger afterward and see how little money remained. She hated that he could frighten her while saying things she had already told herself. For the rest of the afternoon she worked in the orchard, picking damaged early apples for preserves, until her hands stopped shaking.