Daniel smiled, though a little of his old worry returned. "You sound certain."
"I was certain the chicks were worth looking at in March. I wasn't certain they'd make money, and I'm not certain of that now. I'm certain enough of what I've seen to keep doing the work."
He looked at her for a long moment. "I think that's why I've been coming here," he said quietly.
She felt herself grow very still. "For the chickens?"
"Not for the chickens. Not only for the work."
A gust moved through the dry grasses between them, carrying the cold smell of winter. Daniel put one hand on the fence rail and appeared to search for words that would not sound like another man offering to take charge of her life. "I keep trying to make myself useful because being useful is easier than telling you I want to be here," he said. "I've been careful about the wrong things."
Vera looked at the fence, the worn wood polished by two years of hands resting on it, and at the man whose visits had become as familiar as the seasons. She could feel the urge to retreat into a discussion of nesting boxes or feed costs, any subject with measurements and limits. But she was tired of protecting herself so thoroughly that other people could never reach her. She lifted her eyes and let herself answer what he had actually said.
"Come to supper Saturday," she told him. "And bring your soil records from the north forty. If I'm going to plan a bigger feed operation, I need to know what that ground can do."
Daniel laughed, relief passing over his face. "Both farms?"
"Both farms," she said. "We can begin with the land and see where the conversation goes."
Winter made its opinion of Vera's plans clear almost immediately. The first heavy wind after Christmas drove powdery snow beneath the barn door and left a drift as high as the bottom rail of the north fence. Vera found the youngest birds pressed close together in the brooder, their small voices sharp with discomfort despite the warmth of the lamp. She spent the morning reinforcing the door, replacing damp bedding, and carrying warm water in a covered pail so it would not freeze before the birds drank. By noon her fingers were numb, her hair held the smell of smoke, and the paper on which she had estimated the year's income seemed like a foolish thing to have written at all.
The second hatch had produced enough healthy chicks to justify the experiment, though fewer than the maximum she had penciled into the notebook. The blue-white coloring appeared in a substantial share of the offspring, and their early growth remained promising, but she noted one weak bird and two that seemed