After I Stopped Buying Their Corn, the Farmers Panicked Chapter 10

After I Stopped Buying Their Corn, the Farmers Panicked Chapter 10

A few weeks later, the verdict on Noah Reed came down. 

Directing others to commit arson was serious. Even though no 

major damage had been done, it was still a crime. He was 

sentenced to three years. 

The young man who’d once been all impulse and red–eyed 

fury ended up in prison, paying for his own stubbornness and 

his own madness. 

On the day of sentencing, only the old chairman and a few of the older farmers went to court. They watched Noah Reed get 

led away by the bailiffs. Their eyes were hollow. No reaction. 

The old chairman opened his mouth, but in the end he 

couldn’t get a word out. He just dragged the back of his rough 

hand hard across his face. 

Later, I heard that the remaining farmers in Reed Co–op, with 

Hank leading them, were starting the slow, hard work of 

pulling themselves back up. They cleared the rotting stalks out of the fields and switched to fast–growing vegetables that didn’t need a picky market. Some of them swallowed their pride and went back to the small local buyers they’d burned before, selling off some of the late–harvested corn that still looked sellable, at any price they could get. 

Life was tight. There was a lot of sighing, a lot of silence. 

Now and then, farmers from Parker Co–op would pass through and talk about the season’s harvest and the steady work they had going with me. When that happened, people from Reed Co–op would look over with complicated faces. There was 

envy, there was jealousy—but more than anything, there was 

deep regret. 

Time moved on. Soon another corn harvest came around. 

My ranch had expanded a little. The partnership with Parker Co–op had only gotten steadier and smoother. Their corn 

quality had improved a notch with some suggestions from me. 

Still not premium, but they kept their word, and the supply 

relationship had grown into something solid. 

Every time Martin saw me, he was beaming. 

“We owe you for this past year, Ms. Blake. Our co–op’s corn 

has been selling beautifully. People in your livestream said the 

cattle and sheep look downright happy eating it. We’ve got a 

lot of other ranchers coming to sign supply contracts with us 

now. The way this is going, we’ll really have some better days 

ahead.” 

A few days ago, they even sent over a thank–you plaque. 

On the opposite side of things, there was Hank. 

A while back, I unexpectedly saw him standing at my ranch 

gate. 

He looked a little better than he had the year before, but the worry hadn’t lifted from his face. He was carrying a small basket–fresh, plump tomatoes from his backyard. 

“Ms. Blake,” he said, awkwardly handing the basket over. “Grew these myself. Not worth much. Just thought I’d bring some by while they were fresh.” 

I took the basket and invited him in to sit. 

He waved a hand and stayed at the gate. He hesitated for a long moment before he spoke, his voice low. 

“Ms. Blake, I know we’ve got no right to ask anything more 

from you. Noah, inside–he got word out. Said he was wrong. Said he was sorry to you. Sorry to everyone.” 

He paused. His voice dropped further. 

“I just wanted to come tell you. The whole co–op understands now. Back then, you were trying to help us. We were the ones… we were the ones in the wrong. This year, we didn’t plant corn. Put in some other things. Life’s hard, but we’ll get through.” 

When he was done, it was as if he’d finished an important task. He let out a long breath, turned, and walked slowly away. 

Watching his stooped back and the basket of bright red 

tomatoes in my hands, I couldn’t say what I felt. 

Whether Noah Reed would ever truly come to understand what he’d done wrong in prison, and whether those farmers could rebuild their lives after a lesson this heavy–only time would 

tell. 

But at least, they had finally set down the arrogance they used 

to carry. They had finally seen reality clearly. They had finally 

tasted what their own choices had cost them. 

As for me this whole thing had already moved into the past. 

The road ahead was still long. I only needed to keep walking it 

with the people worth walking it with.