entire balance of our cash reserve for the winter machinery overhaul. We had built that balance over four years of quiet saving, ten dollars at a time from every load of hogs sold at the scale.
I folded the yellow slip once and put it into the side pocket of my coat.
By nine fifteen I was standing in the main hallway of the Fayette County courthouse. The marble floor smelled of floor wax and wet wool coats, and the sound of electric typewriters echoed down from the treasurer’s counter upstairs.
Rachel stood behind the high oak counter in the land records office, sorting a fresh stack of deed filings into heavy canvas binders. She adjusted her reading glasses with her thumb and looked at me over the top of the metal rim.
“You look like you did not sleep much, Brenda,” she said. Her voice was crisp and clipped,
