© 2020 by Katie Powner
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2810-6
Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Susan Zucker
Author is represented by WordServe Literary Agency.
To my dad
I still miss you.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ad
Back Cover
CHAPTER
ONE
April 2019
Greenville, Washington
Cow manure spewed from the burst pipe and rained down on him like retribution. With a tight-lipped growl, Gerrit Laninga rolled up a flannel sleeve and exposed a clean bit of skin to wipe the muck from his eyes. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his last day on the farm. But . . . well, it was fitting.
The sun had already passed its zenith. He’d better hurry if he was going to make it to Jim’s office in time to sign the papers. If he didn’t value his old Dodge so much, he’d be tempted to drive to the meeting exactly like this. Covered in crap. That would give Nicholsen an idea of how Gerrit felt about him and his so-called “deal of a lifetime.” And an idea of what Nicholsen was getting himself into with this godforsaken piece of property.
Gerrit trudged across the field with unwilling steps, the wind drying the manure so that it cracked and crumbled off him as he walked. After sixty-three years, he’d gotten so he hardly noticed the cow smell anymore—most of the time. But even he wrinkled his nose at the stench coming from him now. “Smells like money,” he’d heard other farmers say. But he’d never made a dime off this place.
The farm was supposed to stay in his family forever. He’d meant to retire at the ripe old age of a hundred and be buried in the back forty under a cottonwood tree. But after last winter? Neither his old bones nor his bank account was going to make it through another year. Which he mentioned to the vet, who mentioned it to Grant Nicholsen down the road, who swooped in with an offer Gerrit couldn’t refuse before sunrise the following day.
After cleaning up and changing his clothes in the office behind the milking parlor, Gerrit climbed in the Dodge and sat with his arms resting on the wheel. In a couple of hours, Nicholsen’s crew would show up for the afternoon milking, and the farm would hum with steady progress, but for now it was quiet and still. Holsteins flicked lazy tails at fat black flies. Barn cats bathed themselves in the sun. The breeze blew bits of sawdust from the top of the pile.
Everything about this place felt like home and reminded him of his failures. He hated it, but he loved it. It was death, but it was the only life he’d ever known.
For the first time, he was glad Luke was dead.
GERRIT SHIFTED ON the fancy leather chair and stared at the manure under his fingernails. He still stunk. And his back was killing him.
Beside him to his left, his older brother’s widow, Luisa, sat with the same sort of steady grace Luke had always had. She was surely no more surprised to be waiting on Jakob than he was. Gerrit had been waiting on Jakob most of his life.
“You’ve got manure in your hair, Gerrit,” Luisa whispered, her Italian accent still strong even after thirty years in the States.
He ran a hand through his untamed brownish-gray mane. A dried clump of manure fell onto the lush beige carpet.
From behind his massive oak desk, Jim Dyk cleared his throat. “Okay then. Any idea where your brother might be?”
Gerrit shrugged. “Check the nearest casino.”
“We can’t wait much longer.” Jim tapped his desk three times with a pen. “Nicholsen is anxious to—”
“Nicholsen can put a—”
“Gerrit.” Luisa’s rebuke was just sharp enough. “This was your decision. Don’t take it out on Jim.”
He grunted. He could take it out on whoever he wanted, but he forced his shoulders to relax. He wouldn’t cause a scene in front of Luisa. She didn’t deserve that, not after everything he’d put her through already. Yet he’d seen the smug look on Nicholsen’s face as Gerrit passed him and his lawyer on the way into Jim’s office, and part of him relished the fact that Nicholsen had to wait.
The door swung open with a thud. Jakob shuffled into the room looking twice his age and scrutinized Gerrit with bleary eyes.
Gerrit glared back. “Where you been?”
Jakob took the seat on Luisa’s other side in silence, pulling his bright blue windbreaker tightly around him.
Luisa patted his knee. “Good to see you, Jakob.”
Jakob nodded.
“All right.” Jim straightened the papers in front of him. “Time to get down to business. We covered all the details at our last meeting, so I just need you to warm up your writing fingers. There are a lot of papers to sign here.”
Jakob leaned forward. “And what if I don’t?”
Gerrit stiffened. “Then you can take over the farm all by yourself and run it into the ground.” He wanted to add a few more choice words but held back for Luisa’s sake. Jakob shouldn’t even be here. Didn’t deserve a penny. But their father had made sure years ago that
