April

Reno, Nevada

Brooklyn Myers sat on the narrow stretch of lawn beside the brick apartment building, watching her ten-year-old daughter. On this balmy Saturday afternoon, Alycia lay on her stomach in the grass while reading a book they'd checked out at the library that morning. Reading, thanks to the public library, was one habit that Brooklyn not only approved of but could afford to encourage. When a mother and child survived on a waitress's salary, toys and other gadgets were a luxury. As was most everything else.

A headache threatened, and Brooklyn closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. Thank goodness she didn't have to work today. She'd put in a lot of overtime in recent weeks and was in need of rest. Rest that always seemed just out of reach.

"Brooklyn?" Esther Peterman called from the second-story landing. "May I join you?"

Brooklyn looked toward the stairwell. "Of course."

The rail-thin woman f lashed one of her brave smiles before slowly heading down the final f light of stairs, a folded lawn chair clasped in one hand. She was only in her late forties, but she moved as if she were eighty.

Brooklyn's heart clenched at the sight. As far as she was concerned, Esther was — and had always been — a godsend. She couldn't begin to imagine how she and Alycia would have managed over the past decade without this kindly neighbor. Or how they were going to manage without her in the future.

Her temples throbbed, the headache full blown now.

Esther arrived at her side and unfolded the lawn chair. "What a beautiful day."

"I couldn't agree more." Brooklyn tilted her face toward the sun, hoping its warmth would ease the pain in her head — and in her heart.

When Esther spoke again, she sounded wistful. "I suppose San Diego will be just as lovely."

"I'm sure it will be. And you'll be with your family."

"Yes." Her friend drew a long breath and let it out on a sigh. "But they might as well be strangers. I haven't seen my cousins in years."

Brooklyn reached over and took hold of Esther's hand, gently squeezing it with her own. "I wish ...," she began, then let the rest go unsaid.

"I know, Brooklyn. I know."

Esther Peterman was the first person Brooklyn had met when she moved into this low-income apartment building over ten years ago. She'd been eighteen, pregnant, and all alone in a strange city. Chad Hallston, her husband of only a few months, had left Brooklyn soon after learning they were to have a baby. Esther and her husband, Joshua, had become the closest thing to family Brooklyn had ever known. But prostate cancer had taken Joshua, age sixty, three years earlier, and now bone cancer was taking Esther.

It seemed so unfair.

"God has this," Esther said softly. "I'll be all right, and so will the two of you."

Brooklyn swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Have you found someone to watch Alycia when you're at work?"

She shrugged, unwilling for Esther to take on that worry.

But honesty wouldn't allow her to leave it alone, and finally she shook her head.

"I'll keep praying." Esther spoke with confidence, although her voice was weak. "God knows what you need. He will provide."

Real faith was another blessing from Esther. Before meeting her, all Brooklyn had known were rules, restrictions, and God's wrath. She'd lived in expectation of the Almighty slapping her down whenever she displeased Him — which she had been guaranteed to do on a daily basis. That was the God Brooklyn had learned from her father. But Esther had introduced her to a God who loved her, to a Savior who had willingly died for her, to a Spirit who renewed her mind and gave her strength.

"It's going to be all right." Now it was Esther's turn to squeeze Brooklyn's hand. "You'll see."

From behind them came a male voice. "Hey. Are one of you ladies named Myers?"

Brooklyn twisted in her lawn chair. "I am."

"Got a delivery for you." He held up a legal-sized overnight envelope. "Need you to sign for it."

Brooklyn frowned, unable to imagine any reason for express mail. She wasn't behind on her rent or her cell phone bill. Her few friends lived right here in Reno, and she never shopped online.

"Are you sure it's for me?" she asked as she stood.

The young man, dressed in a cotton shirt and shorts, looked at the large envelope again. "Brooklyn Myers. M-ye-rs. Apartment 12B."

Alycia appeared at her side. "What've you got, Mom?"

"I don't know," she answered her daughter. Then to the deliveryman she said, "That's me." She walked toward the breezeway where he stood, Alycia following along.

He handed her the stylus, then held the device toward her. She scribbled her name on the small screen, hoping it wasn't required that it actually look like her signature.

"Here you go." He took back the stylus and replaced it with the envelope.

"Thank you." She watched him stride toward the parking lot.

"What is it, Mom?" Alycia asked again.

"I'm not sure. Just a lot of papers, it feels like."

"Oh." Disappointment laced the word before her daughter returned to the grass and her book.

Brooklyn's gaze lowered to the sender's address on the thick envelope. Hodges, Thurber, and Williams, Attorneys-at-Law, Miami, Florida. Why would some lawyer in Florida send her overnight mail? Her stomach clenched with sudden nervousness as she flipped the envelope over.

* * *

Thunder Creek, Idaho

Derek Johnson stopped at the northeast corner of his three-acre farm. Since buying the property six years earlier, he'd slowly cultivated more and more of it, changing the land from pasture to neat rows of vegetables. In addition, a small apple orchard — six trees planted by a previous owner — sat in the northwest corner of the property. Eventually, he planned to expand the orchard, adding more apple trees and other kinds of fruit as well. Maybe next year.

In the beginning he'd sold his produce on weekends from booths at farmers' markets or from the back of his pickup at popular spots along the highway. But for the last two growing seasons, after receiving his organic certification, he'd been able to sell direct to a couple of small-town grocery stores. It had definitely made his life easier and his income slightly more certain.

One of his favorite books on the subject of organic gardening for profit said it was possible, if done properly, to make a living of sixty thousand dollars or more per year on one and a half acres. Perhaps that was true, but as of yet he wasn't finding it that profitable. Besides, he wanted more than simply to make a living. He wanted to expand, to experiment, to offer the best produce available in this county and the ones surrounding it.

His gaze shifted to the neighboring land. All ten acres of the Hallston property lay in a tangle of weeds and bare ground. There was so much he'd be able to do with those additional acres once they were his. Another six months and he should have the down payment required by the bank.

"Lord willin' and the creek don't rise," he muttered to himself.

Impatience welled up inside him. What he wouldn't give to be able to buy that land now, to be able to expand his operation this growing season rather than next. He longed for the day he could quit working as a part-time sheriff 's deputy and call himself a full-time farmer. But both of those dreams were on hold for now.

He sighed,...