Radclyffe - Homestead

Clay, barely able to see through the deluge, crept down the winding drive to Pete Townsend’s farm with the windshield wipers on as high as they would go. She slowed next to the rambling white clapboard farmhouse, trying to discern if anyone was up yet. From the front the place seemed quiet, but a window in the barn was alight. When she reached the first of half a dozen long, low cow barns, she pulled to a stop, jumped out, and ran through the downpour to the big sliding doors. Easing inside, she wiped the rain from her eyes and looked around. As she’d anticipated, the barn was modern and expensive-looking. Townsend, unlike Tess, raised beef cows, and most of his stockier, heavier-coated cattle were probably outside in the pastures. A few cows with young calves occupied several of the stalls. At the far end of the building, a man in a yellow slicker forked hay into a wheelbarrow. Walking down the center aisle, she called, “Mr. Townsend, it’s Clay Sutter.”

Townsend leaned on his pitchfork and watched her approach, his big florid face appraising. “Not much of a morning to be out.”

Clay pulled her wet shirt away from her shoulders. “I agree with you there.” She laughed. “And since I was in the neighborhood enjoying the day, I thought I’d come by. Sorry I’m early.”

“No problem. I can’t do much but kill time until this rain lets up, anyhow.” He hung the pitchfork on a hook. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping we could discuss the shale project—find some neutral ground.”

“Not sure there is any, but why don’t we walk up to the house. I could use some coffee. You?”

“That would be most welcome.”

She hunched under the short overhang outside while he took care of closing up the barn, and then they both sprinted across the wide drive to the back door of the farmhouse. Inside the large country kitchen with its wood-burning stove, massive wood trestle table that would easily seat twelve, and eight-burner commercial-grade cookstove, she stamped the water from her boots and nodded to a blonde frying eggs and bacon at the stove.

“I’m just going to get a dry shirt,” Pete said and disappeared.

The blonde, who looked to be a decade or more younger than Pete, smiled at Clay, her expression questioning.

“Sorry to barge in,” Clay said. “Pete didn’t tell me you were in the middle of breakfast. I’ll come back later—”

“No need to go unless you’re not hungry,” the woman said with a warm smile. She put down the spatula, wiped her hands on a brightly colored dish towel, and held out her hand. “I’m Mary Townsend. Pete’s wife.”

“Clay Sutter.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Ah. I missed the Grange meeting—one of the kids was sick. But I’ve heard about you.”

“I’m sure you have.” Clay grinned wryly. “I hope I can improve on the impression.”

Mary laughed. “Oh, no need to work at that. Mostly folks said you were respectful and seemed reasonable. High praise.”

“Well, then, I’m happy.”

Pete walked in and handed Clay a hand towel. “Thought you could use this.”

Clay toweled her hair and wiped her hands. “Thanks. Listen, I really can come back—”

“I told Ms. Sutter I had plenty to spare,” Mary said.

“Always do.” Pete gestured Clay toward the table. “Sit down. If I don’t have help eating it, I’ll just do it all myself.”

“Well then, it smells great and I’m starving.” Clay had learned quickly that negotiating with people out in the field bore no resemblance to boardroom power games. And she’d learned that timing was critical—strong-arming locals never worked. So she’d take things at Pete’s pace and enjoy a home-cooked meal. And maybe for a few minutes she wouldn’t think of Tess. The hollow ache in her stomach wasn’t hunger—and no meal, no matter how fine, was going to fill it. Only Tess’s forgiveness and a little bit of welcome in her eyes would do that.

Pete sat down at the head of the big wooden table and Clay sat beside him. Mary set plates piled with bacon, ham, potatoes, and eggs in the center and slid into a chair across from Clay. A teenage girl who seemed too old to be Mary’s and a boy who looked to be about nine joined them. The girl smiled shyly at Clay and spent the rest of breakfast reading on an electronic device she propped against her plate. The boy rattled on about baseball tryouts at summer camp, and Clay mostly enjoyed the casual conversation that kept her mind off Tess for entire seconds at a time.

Any time there was a lull in the conversation, she was back in the bedroom with Tess beside her, closer than she’d ever dreamed of being to anyone. The intimacy they’d shared had been nothing like what she’d experienced as a teenager. Tess was every bit as special now as then, but the moments they’d shared the night before had been emblazoned with the reality of loss and the wonder of rediscovery. And then the rain had come and washed the slate bare again, leaving yet another chapter to be written. If only she knew where to begin.

“More coffee?” Mary Townsend asked.

Clay jolted, realizing Mary had asked her the same question a few seconds before. “Yes, thanks. Sorry.”

Mary smiled softly. “No need to apologize. You sure you don’t want more eggs?”

“No, I’ve already eaten well past my limit,” Clay said. “But it was so good I had to. Can I help you clean up?”

“Absolutely not.” Mary laughed. “The last thing I need is you two anywhere around, disrupting my system. Take your coffee and go somewhere else, both of you.”

Pete laughed, looking chagrined and a little bit pleased at being ordered around by his wife. He signaled for Clay to follow him, and she grabbed her coffee cup and followed through the beautifully restored farmhouse to what she took to be Pete’s office.

The room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the drive was lined with bookcases on two walls and sported a modern wet bar in one corner and a big oak desk that commanded the center of the room. Pete gestured to a comfortable-looking captain’s chair in front of the desk while he sat behind it.

Clay sat, crossed her legs, and balanced her coffee cup on her knee. Townsend had closed the door behind them. Maybe his business arrangements were something he didn’t discuss with his wife in general, or maybe this discussion was something he particularly wanted to remain private. She regarded him steadily, waiting for him to open the conversation.

He sipped his coffee and studied her in turn. Finally, he said, “I imagine things would be a lot easier for you and your company if you had the support of the major landholders.”

“It’s always nice for the locals to be behind us. It’s important to NorthAm that we not disrupt the lives or the livelihood of the community.”

“I guess things have been a little rocky starting out.”

Clay said nothing. He was going somewhere and she figured she would just let him get there.

“When do you expect to be done with your assessments—up at Tess’s and elsewhere?”

“Shouldn’t be much longer. Some of the initial work was done by the advance team. We’re making progress at the Hansen parcel and almost finished at Tess’s. It’ll be another week before I can pinpoint the most likely areas for productive drilling.”

“Still looking at our three places?”

Clay smiled. “Well, I’m not actually looking at yours yet, since you haven’t given me permission.”

Townsend took a sip of coffee and set his cup down on a stone coaster. He leaned back in the big leather chair behind his big oak desk, looking just like every CEO she’d ever had the pleasure of jousting with.

“What if I told you I could bring the community around to supporting NorthAm. If I pushed to accept what you needed to do hereabouts, that would carry a lot of weight.” He smiled. “I might even be able to help out with those permits that seem to be hung up in red tape somewhere.”

Pete had influence, apparently. As one of the county’s largest landowners, that was no surprise. Clay nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Well, we certainly would welcome the support.”

He smiled thinly.

Clay waited. She wasn’t about to make the offer.

“Double the per-acre price for drilling rights,” Pete said.

“That assumes I even want to drill here.”

“You sign the preliminary agreement, you can bring your rigs in here and punch whatever holes you need to.” Pete shrugged. “I’m betting you’ll find what you want.”

“What about your concerns for your water and livestock?”

“That’s why I’ve got insurance.”

His offer to sell his rights at an inflated price wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t the first landowner to hold out for what he hoped would be a better deal than his neighbors had negotiated. She was authorized to pay what she wanted for rights, using her best judgment as to the potential value. Townsend’s land bordered half of Tess’s, and with his rights secured, she could probably avoid direct drilling on Tess’s farm. She named a figure a little bit under her top limit. He appeared to think it over, then countered higher as she’d expected he would.

They went back and forth a few times until Clay got tired of the wrangling. “That’s the best I can do. If I have to, I’ll drill elsewhere and set charges to open veins that will drain your gas without touching an inch of your land.”

“I think that price will work,” he finally said, a hard glint in his eyes.

Clay was glad she’d gotten breakfast first. She had a feeling she’d be going hungry otherwise. Townsend had held out and she didn’t blame him, but he was wrong to think she could be pushed into making a bad deal. She couldn’t be pushed if she was willing to walk away, and she always was. “I’ll have the attorneys draw up the paperwork. I’d like to move my equipment in as soon as we have a signed agreement. That’ll take a couple days.”