Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

“Tomorrow at nine.

If we miss that window, Daniel’s lender sets the pace.”

I folded the slip into my coat pocket.

“Then I’ll have the money tonight.”

At two fifteen I stood in the machinery yard with my breath showing.

Walt Simms from the next farm walked around my second John Deere with his hands in his pockets.

“She needs a new seat,” he said.

“She needs a new owner,” I said.