“Historic properties.”
“Maybe he’ll at least tell you whether you’re crazy.”
“That seems to be everybody’s main concern.”
“Margaret.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Dale did not answer the first call.
Margaret left a message.
Then another three days later.
Nothing.
So she wrote a letter.
Actual paper.
Three photographs.
A copy of the geological survey from the farm appraisal.
A short explanation.
My family has forty-two acres of exposed limestone and surface fieldstone in Harden County.
The farm is under financial pressure.
I am looking for an honest assessment of whether the stone has architectural or restoration value.
I am not asking for charity.
If it is worthless, tell me.
If it is not, I would like to know why.
She mailed it.
Three weeks passed.
Margaret began packing the pantry.
Not because she had surrendered.
Because pretending foreclosure was impossible would not stop it.
She wrapped Grandma Ruth’s dishes.
Labeled boxes.
Called Jessica about storage.
Then the phone rang.
“Mrs. Foster?”
“Yes.”
“Dale Warner.”
Margaret sat.
“I got your letter.”
“I assumed you threw it away.”
“Almost.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
Dale laughed.
“Then I looked at the pictures.”
Silence.
“I’d like to see the farm.”
He arrived four days later.
The first thing he did was ignore the house.
He went directly to the north pasture.
For nearly an hour, he barely spoke.
He crouched beside outcrops.
Knocked stone with a small hammer.
Sprayed water across surfaces.
Examined fractures.
Measured beds.
Used a hand lens on fossil patterns.
Margaret finally asked:
“Well?”
Dale stood.
“How long has your family been fighting this?”
“The rocks?”
“Yes.”
“Seventy years.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because some of this is beautiful.”
Margaret thought he was being kind.
Then he started talking faster.
“This is old limestone.”
“Dense.”
“Good color.”
“Natural weathering.”
“Look here.”
He showed her an exposed face.
“See the little white sections?”
“Yes.”
“Fossil fragments.”
“Crinoids.”
“Shell material.”
“Architects love that in heritage work because no two faces look manufactured.”
Margaret frowned.
“You can buy limestone anywhere.”
“You can buy stone anywhere.”
Dale corrected.
“Character is harder.”
He opened his tablet.
Photographs.
Restored farmhouses.
Estate walls.
Fireplace surrounds.
Historic foundations.
Garden structures.
A church façade.
“Some clients want new stone that looks new.”
“I don’t work much for those clients.”
“My market wants material that looks like it belongs.”
“Stone with weathering.”
“History.”
“Variation.”
He looked across the field.
“You have that.”
“How much is it worth?”
“Don’t know.”
Margaret’s shoulders fell slightly.
Dale held up a hand.
“Not yet.”
“I need testing.”
“Volume.”