And maybe it was best the way things worked out, she thought. Garland Hood had struck her as a man who could not be trusted.

She remembered the late autumn afternoon he had first appeared at their home as she worked in the front yard, pruning back a damaged rosebush. Remembered how he looked: dressed in a business suit, a smile fixed on his face like the never-changing smile found in a photograph, driving a car shining with wax. He had announced he was from Atlanta, and had been visiting in the area, looking for a place for a getaway home. He had stayed in the yard, saying he wanted to talk to Boyd in private.

She had watched from the window as they spoke—friendly at first. And then whatever was being said had seemed to agitate Garland Hood and the smile that seemed to cling to his face had vanished and his voice had become loud enough to be heard inside the house, though she had not been able to make out the words. After a few minutes, he had walked away angrily from Boyd, turning at his car door to say the only words she had been able to understand: “You’re making a mistake, a big mistake.”

Boyd had laughed off the meeting, had told Eleanor it had to do with wanting to buy the farm.

“He’s like a politician,” Boyd had said. “Wants what he wants, but wants somebody to give it to him.” He had added, “He’ll be back, but I don’t want you talking to him. I’ll take care of it. He wants this place, he’d better bring money.”

Maybe she was keeping watch for the ghost of Garland Hood to drive up in his waxed car, still ready to haggle, she thought. Or maybe the watch was for anyone who showed up, the first person wandering by, out of the blue, looking as though he needed a place to own.

Maybe she would sell the farm for a dollar an acre to whoever that person was.

She had a sudden image of Noah Locke standing in Taylor Bowers’s store.

Maybe Noah Locke would like to own it.

A tired smile found her face. And where would Noah Locke get the money, even at a dollar an acre? If he bought it, he’d have to pay it off in fish. Noah Locke could have been a character in The Grapes of Wrath, as poor as he was. Could have been Noah Joad.

The smile stayed. She closed her eyes, could see a roomful of fish and Noah Locke grinning happily, holding the deed to the land.

If Noah ever owned the place, it would be because she gave it to him. That was for sure. She doubted if Noah had the money to buy a good meal.

She opened her eyes, checked the watch she wore on her wrist. It was a few minutes before midnight, yet she was not sleepy.

She stood, took another look at the yard and the woods. At night, it was a peaceful place, the way the trees seemed to fill in with darkness, their limbs drooping in sleep. She guessed it was the thing Noah liked about his travels, seeing how peaceful places could be in sleep.