He folded the letter carefully along its original crease. "You've thought about all of this."
"Since March," Vera said. "The only thing that's changed is that the numbers are beginning to belong to the world outside my notebook."
Daniel glanced west, beyond the fields and the low fence dividing her land from the Henderson property. Ed Henderson had left for California the previous autumn, joining relatives who promised work in a part of the country where the land at least received rain. His old farm lay mostly untended, with a decent barn, a tired house, and creek access better than anything Vera owned. The ground had rested while its owner searched for a different future, and in a drought-stricken county that had failed to find a buyer, it was the sort of property most people discussed only to explain why they could not afford it.
"What about the Henderson place?" Daniel asked.
Vera followed his gaze. "What about it?"
"If you had it, what would you do?"
She had considered the question often enough that the answer came without hesitation. "The creek would give me room for a small waterfowl operation, if I could manage it without stealing water from the rest of the farm. The barn's big enough for a larger flock, and I'd use the rested ground for feed crops where the soil will support them. The house would need work, but it could be let to somebody or used for storage until the operation grows."
Daniel looked at her. "You have plans for land you don't own."
"I have plans for the land in three counties if you want to hear them. Planning doesn't cost anything until you begin making promises you can't keep."
"How much is Henderson asking?"
Vera told him the amount. He whistled softly, not because it was high by the standards of good years but because any sum felt high when the county had endured another summer of drought. They went through the arithmetic together at the fence, comparing the college's possible payments, the winter egg income, the cost of a larger flock, and the money she would need for a down payment. They disagreed about the likely losses among young birds and about how much feed prices might rise, but after an hour both could see the faint shape of a workable proposal.
"You ought to make him an offer before somebody else notices the creek," Daniel said.
"I will, if the December hatch confirms what the first two have suggested. I can secure an agreement in January, but I won't promise the money until I've got a contract to support it."
"And if the hatch disappoints you?"
Vera watched a silver hen step onto the roost and settle her feathers. "Then I'll revise the plan, the way you've revised a few opinions lately. But I don't think the hatch will disappoint me."