Chapter 9 - The Return to Cedar Ridge
The spring of 2027 arrived with a sudden, green violence that turned the Wisconsin hills into fields of wild clover and dandelion gold.
The white farmhouse at Cedar Ridge sat beneath the morning sun, its porch freshly scrubbed, the brass key turning smoothly in the front door latch for the first time in six months. The office upstairs was empty, the smell of Travis’s bourbon replaced by the scent of fresh pine wax and the wild lilacs Grace had arranged on the windowsill.
Daniel Mercer stood in the middle of the kitchen, a cup of black coffee in his hand, watching his son Ethan back the gray baler out of the lower shed.
"He left the keys in the ignition, Dad," Ethan shouted over the rumble of the engine. "And he filled the diesel tank before he left for Illinois."
"He didn't leave them for us, Ethan," Daniel said, walking out onto the porch. "He left them for his own ledger. Now, you get that south section turned over before the rain comes tonight."
Grace stepped out of the house, wearing a simple cotton dress of light yellow. She wasn't walking with a cane anymore; her legs were steady, the long red scars across her knees now faded into silver tracks that she didn't bother to hide beneath long skirts. She looked out at the maples Daniel had planted twenty years ago—their leaves green, thick, and catching the early light.
"The ground looks good, Daniel," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"The ground looks like you, Grace," he said, setting his coffee down and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. "Strong. Persistent. Refusing to let the winter win."
A blue sedan pulled into the driveway, its tires kicking up the fresh gravel. George Vance, the bank manager, climbed out of the car carrying a leather folder stamped with the seal of the county court. He looked older than he had in the winter, his shoulders slightly bent beneath his gray suit coat.
"Daniel. Grace," George said, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps. He didn't offer his hand; he kept his fingers on the leather folder. "The final liquidation documents from the Madison court were processed at nine o'clock this morning. Travis Cole’s share of the corporation has been officially forfeit to satisfy the secondary damages for fraud."
He opened the folder and pushed a single sheet of paper across the railing.
It was the deed to Cedar Ridge Farm. It didn't list Apex Holdings LLC anymore. It listed two names, written in crisp, black legal script: Daniel and Grace Mercer, Joint Tenants with Right of Survivorship.
"The operating line is restored, Daniel," George said, his voice low. "The bank... the bank wants to offer you an interest-free extension on the spring seed loan to make up for the... the administrative errors of last winter."
Daniel looked at the paper, then looked at George Vance’s face. "The bank didn't make an error, George. You made a choice. You chose to look at the paper instead of the man who was plowing your fields. Now, you take your interest-free loan and you give it to the young couples down by the county line who are trying to start over. I’ll pay cash for my seed this year. My own cash."
George blinked, his face turning a dull, painful red. He nodded once, closed his folder, and walked back to his sedan without another word.
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As the car drove down the road, its dust settling into the green ditches, Noah Grant’s yellow tractor pulled up to the gate, its high horn blowing two long, joyful blasts that echoed through the valley.
"Hey, Daniel!" Noah shouted from the cab. "The clover’s up! The whole south section is turning white!"
