“Pete was coming over to talk “business,” he said, and Ruth was behind in everything. The woodpile she and Tim and Joey had heaped up against the winter was damp and there were only a few dry sticks in the cellar for the woodstove. The raccoons had attacked the corn again—none of Tim’s makeshift scarecrows worked. But at least the hay cutting was complete, and the hay done up in their round bales. She was at her desk paying bills—or portions of bills; there was never enough money for full paymen...t. Dues to Agri-Mark, repairs for the corn chopper, the baler; grain prices up. Taxes due in November and fire insurance coming up in October. The lawyer’s fee for the divorce—although she’d made Pete pay for most of that; after all, he’d initiated it. Pete’s ownership of half the farmland meant more negotiating, manipulating, but it was the only way she could make out until the hemp, the Christmas trees—or whatever else she’d diversify with—paid off a little. Well, she’d let him see the bills.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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