The Harvest Was Mostly Rumors

How it begins

Esther Cole had never buried treasure, but she saw no reason to interrupt a useful conversation.

The men beside the packing shed believed the old orchard contained a chest of silver. They spoke quietly, as though the trees charged admission for listening.

She carried a basket past them and heard the price of the land rise by half.

At breakfast it had been worthless. At eleven, a man in a good hat had called it a speculative opportunity. By noon, someone suggested postponing the sale.

Esther set down the basket. Three weeks earlier she had asked the same men to postpone the sale until the fruit was picked. Apparently apples were less persuasive than imaginary coins.

Arthur Wells arrived on a bicycle with two canvas bags and a soil auger tied to the frame. He examined the orchard before greeting her. She appreciated the order.

'You asked for a report on the ground.'

'I did.'

'Not on what might be under it.'

She glanced toward the men. 'That depends how far under.'

He looked at her long enough to suggest he had already met three versions of the rumor on his way from the station.

'I passed a boy selling maps.'

'Enterprising.'

'He put the chest under the water tank.'

'That's where his father wanted to dig.'

Arthur untied the auger. His cuffs were clean, but his boots were not the boots of a man who judged land from a carriage.

Esther watched him press a handful of earth between his fingers. Beyond him, the pickers moved through the lower trees. Their wages would end with the sale. Her own room stood behind the packing shed. The good-hatted man had not included it in his estimate of what was being lost.

'Well?' she asked.

Arthur opened his hand.

'Good ground.'

She wished he had said it loudly enough to compete with silver.