The River Widow(73)

The man extended his hand. “I’m Adam Connor, and this here’s”—he gestured toward the voluptuous flaxen-haired woman—“my wife, Cora.”

Adah shook his hand. “I’m Adah Branch. This is my farm.”

Adam Connor’s eyes flew open wide. “Your farm?”

His surprised look landed on Adah with a certain harshness, setting off all sorts of warnings in her head, but she remained calm. “Yes, my husband and I lived here before the flood. He drowned . . .”

Adam Connor blinked and said, “Oh . . . now I know who you are. So sorry for your tragedy, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Obviously these were nice people, and Adah didn’t want to be rude, but her mind was muddled with questions.

“How are you getting along?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Adah answered, but she had no urge to turn this into a social call. This chance meeting started to feel unsettling. Heat crept into her cheeks. She set down the pail on the porch planks and raked the hair out of her face with her fingers. “I’m sorry to have to ask, but I didn’t think anyone would be around. Why are you here?”

Again, Adam Connor looked surprised. “The place is for sale. Well, not officially yet, but word has gotten around. Me and my wife and baby been looking for the right place for some time now. We been out here before, and we was taking another look now. We sure are interested, even if it might flood from time to time. More than interested, if truth be told. But we still want to bargain a bit with old Buck. We can afford this one, but not many others. Most of the farms in our price range been underwater before, but—”

Adah’s face had knotted, and her breath halted. “For sale? It can’t be for sale. I own at least part of it, and I haven’t agreed to sell it.”

Adam Connor shifted his weight and stole a nervous glance at his wife. Then he looked back at Adah, and his voice lowered. “There must be a misunderstanding. Buck Branch done told us—”

“Buck Branch doesn’t own this farm. He’s my father-in-law.”

“Well, he told us he owns the place and he’s going to be selling it soon.”

Adah’s forehead puckered. “But that’s not the case. The farm was my husband’s, and I lived here for three years with him and his daughter. This was our home.”

Again, Adam Connor seemed uncomfortable but steady on his feet, meeting her gaze with a firm one of his own. “I’m sorry for all this confusion, ma’am, but I asked Buck Branch why he was the one doing the selling. I done known this place was your husband’s.” He glanced away and shook his head, then almost chuckled. “Ole Buck told me it was none of my business why he was doing the selling. Mumbled something about how he’d made things right. Then he showed me the deed. It looked new, and it sure as shootin’ said Buck Branch owns this place.”

Adah reached a hand toward the porch railing to steady herself. Could this be true? Had Buck managed to get someone in the courts to let him have the farm? Had he bribed someone? There was no telling what the truth was, and it didn’t matter. Either way, obviously Buck had figured out a way to get the entire farm away from her.

“Ma’am, do you need to sit down?” Adam Connor asked, his eyes swimming with concern.

His wife handed the baby to her husband, came toward Adah, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her hands were ruddy, square, and solid, but gentle. “Bless your heart . . . ,” she said.

Adah succumbed to the woman’s comforting touch; all the while her mind was a jumble of new knowledge and disbelief. “What you said about Buck . . .” Adah looked to Adam again. “Are you sure he told you he owned the farm?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. I’d heard the sad story of your husband’s death, and he told me he’s not quite ready to sell yet but was thinking he’d give it up soon. He invited us to come out here and take a look anytime.” He gestured toward the front door. “We’re ready to buy, but we’re waiting, like he asked. In the meantime, we been thinking about clearing things out a bit. Last time we talked to Buck, he told us he’d get rid of that ruint truck sitting here, and sure enough it’s gone.”

Tight worry all over her face, Cora Connor finally removed her hand from Adah’s shoulder and looked deeper into Adah’s eyes. She asked quite gently, “I take it you didn’t know the farm is in Buck Branch’s name.”

Adah’s brows drew together.

“Well, if that don’t smart . . . ,” Adam said through a beleaguered sigh.

Adah’s knees buckled as if she’d been struck.

“Come now. Sit down,” urged Cora and tried to steer Adah to sit on the porch steps.

But Adah couldn’t move. This was the last thing she’d been expecting. She’d expected to do some cleaning today and tell the Branches about it later that night, further cementing in their minds that she wasn’t interested in leaving these parts.

Instead she’d come at just the right time to run into these people and learn something very valuable. “I’ll be alright,” she said automatically.

“You don’t look so good. You look like you just seen a ghost,” said Cora.

A ghost? Yes, of course, a ghost: the ghost of her husband sliding around the corners of this house and the edges of this land, angry and swift. Here he had lived, worked, killed, and died. His presence still hovered and flew wildly about, and now he must have been laughing, Adah thought. That old sinister laugh of his echoed in her head. Adah clenched her fists. What terrible pain!