Understanding dawned in Vincent’s eyes.
“You’re not planning to just go through the courts.”
“Courts are for people with time,” I said. “Vincent, I have a better idea.”
That night, in the floral-papered comfort of Rose Hill Bed and Breakfast, I made my first call. Not to my children. They could wonder where I was, whether I’d reached town or collapsed on the roadside. My call was to Harold Winters, the regional manager of Pennsylvania Trust Bank, where Canton Family Orchards had done business for decades.
“Mrs. Canton, I’m so sorry about your husband,” he said.
“Thank you, Harold. I’m calling because I’ve discovered some concerning transactions, and I need your help to protect what’s left of our business.”
My second call was to Martin Adams, the agricultural extension agent who’d worked with us for fifteen years.
“Naomi, I was at the funeral but didn’t get to speak with you,” he said.
