Spencerville

in the toolshed.”
    “Okay. We’ll keep an eye on things until you get back.”
    “Thanks for everything. Good luck with the revolution.”
    They all embraced again, then the Porters left, and Keith watched them drive off, reasonably certain he’d see them again in better times.
     
    *  *  *
     
    At about ten A.M. , Keith was on a ladder, replacing the rusted hinges on the door of the haymow. Working outdoors had cleared his mind, and he felt better.
    He heard the sound of tires on the gravel and turned to see a gray Ford Taurus coming up the long drive, a cloud of dust trailing it.
    Keith couldn’t imagine who it was, but it might be Annie. Then again, it might not be. He came down off the ladder in time to pick up his Glock 9mm from atop the toolbox, stick it in his waistband, and throw his shirt on over it. He walked toward the house as the driver’s-side door of the car opened.
    A man of about his own height and age, with sandy hair and wearing a blue suit, got out and looked around, then the man saw Keith and waved, “Howdy! This the Landry farm?”
    Keith continued walking toward the man who came to meet him.
    The man said, “Fine spread you got here, son. I’m fixin’ to buy you out, or run you out. All you sod-busters got to clear out for my cattle.”
    Keith came up to the man. “This is Ohio, Charlie. We don’t talk that way.”
    “I thought this was Kansas. How the hell are you?”
    They shook hands, then embraced briefly and patted each other’s backs.
    Charlie Adair, of Washington, D.C., and the National Security Council, had been Keith Landry’s immediate civilian superior and Keith’s sometimes good friend. Keith wondered what he was doing here and guessed it was some administrative thing, paperwork to be signed, or maybe just a physical check to see that Keith was where he said he was, how he lived, that sort of thing. But somehow, Keith knew this wasn’t so.
    Charlie Adair asked, “How have you been, Keith?”
    “Fine until two minutes ago. What’s up?”
    “Oh, I just came by to say hello.”
    “Hi.”
    Charlie looked around. “You were born here?”
    “Yup.”
    “Was it a good place to grow up?”
    “It was.”
    “You get cyclones here?”
    “At least once a week. You just missed one. There’s a tornado later today if you’re still around.”
    Adair smiled, then asked, “So, you settled in?”
    “I am.”
    “What’s a place like this worth?”
    “I don’t know… four hundred acres, house, building, a little equipment… maybe four hundred thousand.”
    “No kidding? That’s pretty good. But outside of D.C., in Virginia, those gentlemen’s farms go for a million.”
    Keith didn’t think Charlie Adair came to Spencer County to talk about the price of land. Keith asked him, “You just fly in?”
    “Yeah, took an early morning flight to Columbus and rented a car. Nice drive. I found you without too many problems. Police knew right where you were.”
    “This is a real small place.”
    “I see that.” Adair observed, “You got some good tan. Lost some weight.”
    “Lot of outdoor work on a farm.”
    “I guess.” Adair stretched. “Hey, can we take a walk? Long flight and long drive.”
    “Sure. I’ll show you around.”
    They walked around the farmyard, and Charlie feigned an interest in everything, while Keith feigned an interest in showing it to him. Charlie asked, “This all yours?”
    “No. It belongs to my parents.”
    “Will you inherit it?”
    “I have a brother and sister, and we don’t have primogeniture in this country, so we’ll have to make a decision someday.”
    “In other words, if one of you wanted to farm the place, that person would buy out the other two.”
    “That’s what sometimes happens. Used to happen. Now the heirs usually sell out to a big concern and take the money and run.”
    “Too bad. That’s what’s killing the family farms. Plus estate taxes.”
    “No estate taxes on farms if you keep it in the family.”
    “Really? Hey, that’s something those assholes in Congress did right.”
    “Yeah, that’s a short list.”
    They went into the cornfields and walked between the rows. Charlie said, “This is where my cornflakes come from.”
    “If you’re a cow. This is called field corn. You feed it to cattle, they get fat, you kill them, and they become hamburgers.”
    “You mean I can’t eat this?”
    “People eat sweet corn. The farmers plant a little of that, but it’s mostly harvested by hand around