"And are you going to sell?" "I don't know. Maybe it's the right thing for the boys." Isaac didn't answer right away. You're not going to say anything, she demanded.
About what? About me selling? It came out louder than she meant it to. Isaac let his eyes travel over the roof he'd rebuilt, over the garden, over the gravel road. It's your land, Miss Maggie.
That's it. She'd been expecting something else. She'd been expecting him to tell her not to sell, that this was her place, that she'd regret it. That's all you've got to say to me. Isaac picked the saw back up, but he didn't start cutting.
You spent a long time with a man telling you what you had to do, he said without raising his voice. I didn't come here to do the same thing. It's your decision. Whatever you choose, I'll respect it. The answer didn't settle anything.
Maggie walked back to the house irritated without quite knowing why. That night, watching her boys sleep, she thought maybe Travis was right. Maybe staying on this farm was just sentiment. Maybe security was worth more than her grandfather's memory, more than a vegetable garden, more than a bucket in the hallway every time it rained. She was almost convinced.
The next day, Travis came back full of talk, and then, as casually as anything, right in the middle of another sentence, he said it. "Oh, hey, where do you keep the papers for the farm, the deed, all that stuff? Just so I can get a head start with those folks, and speed things up when you decide." Maggie was filling a picture at the sink. She stopped with the faucet still running.
That was strange. Very strange. He hadn't even waited for her to say yes, and he already wanted the deed in his hands. They're put away, she said, shutting off the water. What's the rush?
No rush, Travis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Just don't want to waste the buyer's time. You know how it is? She changed the subject. But that night, after he'd gone, she took the metal lock box down from the top of the hall closet, pulled out the deed her grandfather had signed over to her, and hid it inside her grandmother's old recipe tin at the very back of the pantry.
She stood there in the dark for a long moment with her hand on the lid, not quite sure why her heart was racing. After that, Maggie started paying closer attention to Travis. He knew too much. The highway project, the name of the company, things somebody from out of town doesn't just happen to hear. He kept asking, casual as could be, whether anyone had contacted her directly, whether she'd signed anything.
With every question, his interest seemed stranger. One Saturday morning, Maggie drove into town to sell her jams at the farmers market, like she did every week. She was setting out jars on her table when Mr. Hollis, who owned the hardware and feed store and had known her since she was a little girl in pigtails, came over to buy a dozen eggs, and made conversation. "So, Maggie, you made up your mind on that offer yet?" He asked, picking through the egg cartons for the land, I mean.