“No.”
“Where did they get it?”
“That's what we're going to find out.”
Rebecca stood.
“The county will suspend the event authorization pending investigation.”
“Does that mean the tent has to come down?”
“Not automatically.”
Hollis smiled.
“That's fine.”
Rebecca looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because we have another document.”
He slid my agricultural schedule across the table.
Rebecca read it.
Her expression changed.
“This was filed before the event application.”
“Exactly,” Hollis said.
She looked at me.
“You really are scheduled to apply two thousand gallons?”
“Yes.”
“On Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“At six?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at Hollis.
“This is going to be complicated.”
“No,” I said.
“It isn't.”
Both looked at me.
I pointed at the schedule.
“It's farming.”
Rebecca gave a small smile.
“I understand.”
When I left the county office, my phone rang.
Karen.
I didn't answer.
She called again.
Then again.
Then a text arrived.
We need to talk.
I kept walking.
Another message.
You don't understand what you're doing.
I stopped.
Typed:
I understand exactly what I'm doing.
I deleted it.
Then I typed:
Talk to Hollis.
Sent.
Five minutes later, Hollis called.
“You shouldn't text her.”
“Why?”
“Because everything becomes evidence.”
“Then let her keep calling.”
“She'll probably record you.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“I know.”
I drove home.
The wedding crew was already working.
Except now there were fewer people.
The county had clearly contacted someone.
The florist truck was gone.
The catering trailer was gone.
The dance-floor crew was gone.
The tent remained.
So did the chairs.
So did the lights.
And so did Karen.
She was standing near the gazebo.
Waiting.
I got out of my truck.
She walked toward me.
“You went to the county.”
“Yes.”
“You're having the permit revoked.”
“Yes.”
“You're humiliating me.”
“No.”
“You are.”
I looked at her.
“You forged my signature.”
Her face changed.
“I didn't.”
“You submitted a lease with my signature.”
“I had authorization.”
“From whom?”
She didn't answer.
“Maggie?”
She looked away.
That was enough.
I felt something break inside me.
Not rage.
Something worse.
Disappointment.
“You used her name.”
Karen looked back.
“She told me I could.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“No.”
“You weren't there.”
“I was.”
“She wanted Emily to have this.”
“She wanted Emily to be happy.”
“She knew the field would be perfect.”
“She also knew this farm mattered.”
Karen's voice cracked.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
She hesitated.
Finally she said:
“Emily's father left.”
I said nothing.
“He left six months ago.”
I didn't know that.
Karen continued.
“He emptied accounts. He took money. He walked away. Emily's wedding became the one thing she had left that was hers.”
I looked at her.
“And you decided to take my land.”
“I decided to give my daughter something beautiful.”
“You could have asked.”
“I thought you'd say no.”
“That doesn't make stealing it right.”
She wiped her eyes.
“You've changed.”
“No.”
I looked at the west field.
“You changed.”
Then I walked inside.
That evening, Hollis called.
“Wyatt.”
“Yeah?”
“We found something.”
“What?”
“The original email used to request the permit.”
“Karen?”
“No.”
“Who?”
He paused.
“An event coordinator named Melissa Grant.”
“Who is she?”
“She works for Calder Events.”
“And?”
“She says Karen told her the land was available.”
I closed my eyes.
“And the signature?”
“Melissa says Karen sent her a scanned document.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Where did she get it?”
“She says Karen told her it came from Maggie's files.”
I didn't speak.
Hollis continued.
“We may have a problem.”
“What?”
“The wedding contract has a clause requiring the property owner to provide access for vendors.”
“So?”
“If they believed they had a valid lease, they may argue they acted in good faith.”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters legally.”
I looked outside.
The white tent stood under the moon.
“No,” I said.
“What?”
“It doesn't matter to me.”
Hollis sighed.
“I know.”
I watched the field.
Then I said:
“Saturday is still coming.”
By Friday afternoon, the wedding had become a war.
The county had suspended the event authorization.
The vendors had begun pulling out.
The tent company refused to dismantle the tent without payment.
The caterer demanded cancellation fees.
The photographer claimed he had a binding contract with Karen.
And Karen had hired an attorney.
Hollis told me not to speak publicly.
So I didn't.
Instead, I worked.
I repaired a gate.
Changed an oil filter.
Checked the manure tank.
Inspected the tractor.
Everything was ordinary.
That was the strange part.
The world around me was collapsing into arguments and contracts while the farm continued doing what farms always do.
Cattle needed feed.
Water lines needed checking.
Fences needed repairing.
The sky turned gray.
Then gold.
Then dark.
By Friday evening, the field was quiet.
Almost.
I walked toward the gazebo.
The wedding decorations were still there.
White flowers.
Ribbon.
A wooden sign.
EMILY & DANIEL
I touched the edge of the sign.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
I didn't know whether I was speaking to Emily or Maggie.
Maybe both.
A voice came from behind me.
“Uncle Wyatt?”
I turned.
Emily stood near the fence.
She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
No makeup.
No wedding dress.
She looked twenty years younger than she had the night before.
“Where's your mother?”
“At the hotel.”
“Why are you here?”
She looked toward the tent.
“I wanted to see it one last time.”
I nodded.
She walked closer.
“Are you really going to spread manure tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
She gave a small, disbelieving laugh.
“You're serious.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the ground.
“I used to love this place.”
“I know.”
“Mom said Aunt Maggie wanted me to get married here.”
I swallowed.
“Maggie loved you.”
“She did.”
“She would have wanted you to have a beautiful wedding.”
Emily nodded.
“But would she have wanted this?”
She looked at me.
I didn't answer.
Because the honest answer was complicated.
Maggie loved people.
But she loved honesty more.
And she loved the farm.
Emily understood.