“I’m not here to fight,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
“I brought something.” I held up the envelope. “Can I sit?”
He gestured to the couch. I sat, and set the envelope on the coffee table between us.
“The hay’s back,” I said. “You know that. Arlen and Gene returned it. They told me what you said. That I was selling out.”
“Karen ”
“I’d like to finish.” I kept my voice calm, the schoolteacher voice, the voice that had held thirty eight-year-olds for twenty years. “You told two good men a lie, and they believed it because they trusted you, and because it was easier to believe than not. You told them I wanted to sell. I didn’t. I never did. And you knew it.”
His eyes were fixed on his hands.
“I could have called the sheriff,” I said. “Ben wanted me to. I thought about it. You committed a crime, Dwayne. It’s called theft, and in Nebraska it’s a felony at that value.”
“I know.”
“But I didn’t. And I want you to understand why.”
He raised his head.
“It wasn’t for you,” I said. “It was for Tom.”
His face crumpled.
“He left something for you,” I said. “I found it in a box, buried in the north eighty, along with a letter. I’ve read it a dozen times. I wasn’t going to show it to you. I thought you didn’t deserve it.” I slid the envelope across the table. “But Tom wanted you to have this, and I think I owe it to him.”
Dwayne didn’t touch it. He just stared at the envelope with an expression I’d never seen on him, helpless, stripped, a child’s face on a man’s body.
“What is it?”
“The last page of the letter. He wrote it to me, but there’s a part for you.” I swallowed. “Read it.”
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