"How long?" "Months. Maybe years. The government moves slowly, Mr. Callaway, even when it wants to move."
Ayah's shoulders sagged. Rhett felt his own hope deflating. "In the meantime," Brennan continued, "you two need to disappear. Coleman has friends in Washington too."
"The moment he knows you're here, you're in danger." "We didn't come all this way to hide," Ayah said. "You came to make a difference. You have."
"Now let me do my job while you stay alive to see it through." Brennan stood. "I have a property in upstate New York. A farm. Mostly unused."
"You can stay there. Work the land. Keep your heads down. When this is over, when it's safe, I'll send for you."
"And what do we do until then?" Rhett asked. "Just wait?" "You build a life. You take care of each other. You survive."
Brennan's expression softened slightly. "You've done something brave coming here. Don't waste it by getting yourselves killed before justice can be served." They left Washington three days later, carrying papers that identified them as John and Mary Fletcher, tenant farmers working land owned by Senator Brennan. The papers were solid enough to pass casual inspection, fragile enough to fall apart under real scrutiny.
The farm was exactly what Brennan had described. A hundred acres in a valley surrounded by low hills, with a stone house that had good bones but needed work. A barn that needed more work. And fields that hadn't been planted in years.
It reminded Rhett painfully of the canyon property he'd sold. But it was also different. Greener. Wetter.
Full of possibility instead of just stubborn survival. "What do you think?" he asked Ayah as they stood looking at the overgrown fields. "I think it's a lot of work." "That's not an answer."
She turned to him, and for the first time in months, she looked genuinely peaceful. "I think it could be home if we make it one." They spent the fall cleaning, repairing, preparing. Rhett fixed the barn roof.
Mended fences. Cleared brush. Ayah planted a garden. Not the desperate, hopeful planting of the canyon, but something bigger, more ambitious.
She used the seeds she'd saved, mixed with new ones she bought from a local farmer who didn't ask too many questions. They found a minister who married them on a cold October afternoon. No witnesses except the man's wife and a cat that watched from the windowsill. Rhett kissed Ayah in front of the fireplace in that stranger's house and thought about how far they'd come from the auction block in Domingo Springs.
"Mrs. Callaway," he said. "Mr. Callaway," she replied, smiling. Winter came hard and early. They spent the dark months inside, keeping the fire going, reading books Ayah bought from town, teaching each other things they'd never learned.
Ayah taught Rhett some of her language, the words her grandmother had taught her. Rhett taught Ayah to play cards, though she was better at it than he'd ever be. They talked about the future. About children, maybe.
About what they'd do when Coleman was arrested and Vickers shut down. About going back to the canyon someday. To the sacred places where Ayah's ancestors had left their marks. "Do you miss it?" Rhett asked one night.