He waited warily for her face to sag in disappointment or tighten in frustrated anger, but it did neither. Instead, she said in her usual snap-to-it tone, “Very well then. Can I trust you to hire the Realtor and auctioneers? I don’t want to be robbed blind by a bunch of unnecessary fees.”

“Mrs. Ketchem, that means buying out your brother-in-law’s half interest would cost ten thousand dollars. Or more.”

“I can divide twenty by two, Norman Madsen.”

“But-how can you afford that?”

She leaned back into the leather chair, so that her eyes seemed sunk in shadows. “I told you I have a nest egg. I’ve invested well over the years.”

He made one last effort to save her from her own folly. “Even so, if you deplete it to buy out David Ketchem’s share in the farm and then turn around and give it away to the town, you’ll be left with no other income stream but your Social Security. I have to point out that as a single woman-”

“Widow,” she said. Her dark eyes beetled into his. He actually felt a narrow thread of sweat erupt on his upper lip. His father had stressed how important that title was to her. The fattest folder in the redwell contained the records of Madsen and Madsen’s efforts to have the maybe not-so-late but certainly run-off Jonathon Ketchem declared legally dead.

“Of course,” he said. “Without your, ah, late husband’s support, you need to take even more care than usual for your old age.”

She blinked her eyes slowly, as if acknowledging his rolling over and showing belly. “I don’t need much. If I buy out David’s half of the farm, there will still be enough to keep me until I’m a hundred. If it’s the good Lord’s judgment that I live so long.” Her voice didn’t sound as if great old age would be a blessing.