One evening in November, a woman named Elise Garner called Harlan. She was Cornerstone's chief credit officer and had been asked to oversee an internal review after the bank's risk committee learned that the drainage dispute might affect more than one of its loans. Elise did not offer the farm a gift or a promise that the foreclosure threat would disappear. She asked for a meeting between counsel and the bank's independent review team to discuss whether the Puit valuation was complete and whether the planned remedies should be paused while the contested damage was examined.
Harlan asked whether the bank was acknowledging fault. Elise said it was not. She did, however, confirm that the bank did not want to make a decision on collateral whose value might be affected by a disputed construction project it had also helped finance. Harlan told her that was a sensible starting point, then asked for the statement in writing.
At the farmhouse, Warren listened to the news with suspicion. "Gerald's boss wants to be reasonable now that they think I might have something they want," he said. Casey reminded him that a pause was not a settlement, but it was better than an advancing deadline with no conversation. He was willing to accept that much and no more.
The family spent Thanksgiving in a house that smelled of roast turkey, cornbread, and a faint dampness rising from the basement on cold days. Joan came with her husband and their teenage son, who wanted to know why the flooded field had so many birds and whether he could photograph them. Warren told him to ask Casey and stay on the safe paths. It was the first time he had directed someone toward the water without immediately describing everything the flood had cost.
After the meal, Casey's cousin showed Warren a picture of a heron standing among the cattails. The bird looked impossibly elegant against the dark water, its long neck reflected in a pool that had once been planted in soybeans. Warren studied the photograph without comment. Then he asked whether the young man had taken it from the old north fence, because the angle looked right to him.
"Yeah," his grandson answered. "Casey showed me where to stand."
Warren nodded. He wanted to say the picture was beautiful and found himself unable to say it without feeling disloyal to the crop he had lost. Martha would have found the hesitation ridiculous. She had loved the birds that followed the tractor, even when Warren complained that they meant the field was too wet to work.
That evening, after everyone else went upstairs, Joan found her father by the kitchen window. He was watching the reflection of the porch light in the dark glass. She asked whether he had thought about the possibility of Casey taking a formal role in the farm business rather than continuing as an unpaid visitor. Warren said she had not asked, and Joan told him that was exactly why he should bring it up.