The actual offer to Henderson required more courage than the six-dollar purchase. Six dollars could be lost in a moment, leaving humiliation and a practical lesson behind. A farm was different, because the obligation could follow a person for years, reach into the family home, and turn every failed season into a question about whether the whole enterprise had been foolish from the beginning. Vera spent three nights comparing what she could pay immediately with what she could pay under a modest purchase agreement, then asked Mr. Pritchard to review her calculations without asking him whether he approved of her ambition.
He read the figures in silence. The Henderson asking price was nine hundred dollars for the acreage, barn, and aging house, lower than the property might have brought in prosperous years because the drought and the owner's absence had left few buyers willing to take the risk. Vera proposed a down payment, secured partly by current egg income and partly by a conditional advance against breeding stock already under discussion with the college. The balance would be paid from scheduled installments, with an early-payment option if the breeding program succeeded. Mr. Pritchard studied the contract terms, then told her that the problem was not the price but the months when every bill would arrive before the birds were old enough to earn it.
"That's the part I want you to tell me," Vera said. "Where does the plan break if things go wrong?"
He looked up, surprised by the question. "Most people come in hoping I'll tell them the plan can't break."
"Then most people haven't lost enough money to know better."
The co-op manager marked three risks in red pencil: feed costs, delayed university payment, and repairs to the Henderson house that might be more expensive than they appeared. He recommended keeping a portion of the expected income uncommitted and securing the professor's written purchasing terms before Vera signed anything binding. She thanked him for the caution and went home to rewrite the proposal. It was the first time in a long while she had asked another person to find weaknesses in an idea she loved, and the experience left her stronger rather than diminished.
Ed Henderson replied to her initial letter from California with a short note saying he would consider a farm buyer who intended to work the ground rather than speculate on its future price. His handwriting was uneven and hurried, and the letter carried the peculiar sadness of a man trying to dispose of the place where his best years had been spent. Vera wrote back explaining who she was, that her father had known him, and that she hoped to bring the barns and fields back into use. She did not mention rarity, university interest, or the possibility that twelve odd chickens might change what she could afford. She wanted him to understand the property would become a farm again, not a story people could repeat in town.