True Places(58)

Whit and Iris drove in silence out of the city limits of Charlottesville toward Hampstead Farms, passing a string of car dealerships, big-box stores, and strip malls in the process of becoming upscale shopping centers. Just when the urban development seemed to be thinning, it cropped up again. Charlottesville was expanding rapidly, meeting the demand an upscale university town with an extremely livable climate would always have. Some people saw the constant construction and infiltration of open space as a scourge in need of curbing, but Whit knew growth meant strength. The city planners were keeping hold of the reins and ensuring there was plenty of green space. People might not want to live in a forest, but they definitely wanted their views to consist of more nature than concrete.

He pulled off the main road onto a private gravel drive. Fields dotted with the first wildflowers stretched for acres on both sides, rolling gently toward the woods in the far distance. They approached a brick farmhouse. Even at a distance the weedy landscaping and cracking paint on the trim were obvious.

“That’s Hampstead House. The farm has three hundred acres, with these open fields making up about a third of it.” Whit pulled into a parking area beside the house where four men gathered around a truck and an SUV—the surveyors plus Gillings, a money guy who was doing his due diligence. “I’ve got to talk to these fellows for a few minutes; then I’ll show you around.”

“Okay.”

If Iris were one of his kids, he wouldn’t have given a thought to what she would do while she waited. Her phone would already be out. With Iris, he wasn’t sure he ought to let her wander the farm on her own. Suzanne would flip out if she knew, and he couldn’t risk Iris going on walkabout, not with Gillings there. “You okay just waiting here?”

“Yes.”

The surveyors needed only a nod from Whit to begin work. Gillings, on the other hand, didn’t seem eager to return to his office anytime soon. Whit extricated himself from the conversation as soon as he could without seeming rude and returned to Iris. She was staring out the windshield.

He opened her door. “Let me show you what I’m doing here, okay?”

They bypassed the house, behind which the surveyors had set up a transit, and followed a worn path that hugged the fence line. Whit explained the plan for this tract of land: six clusters of large, stately homes on three to five acres apiece, separated by open field, some of which would be turned into community facilities: pools, tennis courts, meeting centers, recreation facilities. He indicated the placement of the homes, twenty-four in all.

“That’s Phase One. Hopefully we break ground this summer. Phase Two is harder to see because it’s going to involve leveling some of this.” He swept his hand to indicate the dense forest in front of them. “We’ll leave a good portion of it. People like to have trees around them.”

Iris had been walking quickly, as she always did, but now she slowed. “If they like trees, why are you getting rid of them?”

“Because they like new houses more.”

“Where are the people living now?”

“In other houses.”

“Why don’t they stay there?”

“Some just want a newer house, but most want a bigger one.”

“Are these houses going to be bigger than yours?”

Whit laughed. “Yes, a lot bigger.”

Iris shook her head. “I really don’t understand.” She pointed at the old house. “What about that one?”

“The farmer used to live there. He farmed all this land. But he couldn’t make money anymore doing that, so he sold it to us.”

“So people with houses already could have bigger ones.”

“Yup.”

“What about the food?”

“The food?”

“If the farm doesn’t grow anything anymore, where will that food come from?”

Whit paused. He knew the answer, or at least thought he did. The food came from bigger farms farther away, in the Midwest, in California, and in other countries, like Brazil. He ran through an explanation in his head that included cutting down the Amazon rain forest to grow beef cattle that could easily be grown on the land under his feet, and decided not to go down that road. Real estate was his wheelhouse, not food politics, so he went in a different direction.

“Farming has become more efficient, so we don’t need as much land as we used to.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but it was plausible.

From the look on Iris’s face, she wasn’t buying it. Not the particular argument about the disappearance of small farms, but the larger argument, the one they had been making to her since she first walked into their home. This world is better than the one you left. You were missing out. Whit firmly believed the argument was correct, but he got bogged down in justifying the particulars in making the case to Iris. Perhaps this was why she wasn’t absorbing and accepting her new culture as readily as she might have. She would see the advantages eventually, get used to the rest, and learn to ignore the contradictions and compromises like everyone else.

Whit regarded Iris. Those big purple-blue eyes full of innocence and wisdom confused him. He was a man who did what he had to do to get where he wanted to go. She was a girl wishing only to stay in one place.

He checked his watch. “Let’s keep walking.”

She nodded, and they headed off across the field.