Turned toward the county road.
Gone.
Ben arrived six minutes later.
We checked the fence.
Nothing.
Gate untouched.
No footprints I could distinguish in the gravel.
“Could be reporters,” he said.
“Could be.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
Neither was I.
Saturday morning should have been opening day.
Instead, I woke to silence.
No traffic.
No hayrides.
No cider tents.
No eighteen hundred strangers wandering through my crop.
Just geese over the creek and the steady hum of the grain dryer.
At 8:17, Rachel called.
“Get dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
“Court clothes.”
“Why?”
“Bradley filed for an emergency temporary restraining order.”
“Against what? The corn’s already gone.”
“Against further interference with HOA access.”
I stopped pouring coffee.
“Access to what?”
“Your north field.”
“For what?”
“He won’t say.”
That brought back Trish’s sentence.
You think this is about a corn maze.
By 10:30, we were inside the Cedar County courthouse.
