“Bless you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine! It’s just allergies, nothing to worry about.”
But inside she knew that she’d be sneezing on the hour if she took care of this dog. She decided it was worth it. For the dog. And for Tommy.
She reached down and picked the dog up and held her paws cradled to her chest. The dog blinked a couple of times, but then stretched and settled down.
“Thank you, Harper.”
“Ah-choo!”
“And bless you.”
“Thank you,” she said, laying the dog back in her box and pulling a tissue from her pocket to blow her nose.
The dog was still sleeping, and Harper thought it was best to let her. The box was too big for her to carry several blocks. And she didn’t want to ask Tommy for a ride since he was already serving customers.
She considered her options while she carried the dog back into the bar and to her table where she’d left her laptop and backpack. She pulled out a cloth tote that she always carried in case she needed an extra bag for her shopping. Then she placed the pup’s rear at the bottom of the bag, with her little face sticking out of the top, eyes wide open now.
“I think we’re set,” she said to Tommy.
“Hold on, I gotta take a photo of this.” Tommy grabbed his phone and took a few different angles. “You two are adorable.”
Harper latched on to that compliment and said goodbye to Tommy. They agreed to catch up later so she could say how everything was going when she got home.
Then Harper left the Sin Bin and carried her new charge down the street toward Maple Avenue, the bag gently hitting her hip with each step.
“What am I supposed to call you, little one?” Harper asked. She only got a blink in reply.
“We’ll have to come up with something better than that.” Harper sneezed, patted the dog’s head, and started for home.
Chapter 27
In the weeks following their dinner on the farm, Mary kept thinking about Joe Taylor and the pressures he and other farmers were under to sell their farms to the government. After she’d finished filing a brief one day, she called her partner who focused on property law. She knew Patricia Parker from a mentoring match breakfast the firm had held the year before. Since day one at the firm, she’d kept in touch with all the mentors through handwritten thank-you notes and the occasional friendly yet purposeful email to stay on their radar.
Patricia’s expertise was more in coastal cities and shore access than in farm country, but the general principles were the same. Mary prepared for the call with specific questions so as not to waste the partner’s time. She was especially interested in the precedents where the property owner had prevailed over the government.
“It’s notimpossibleto beat city hall, but it’s really tough.” Patricia told her what she’d look for in the case. “My advice is: Follow the money. You might find something at the end of that trail. Look for any discrepancies. If there’s anything that suggests the project isn’t on the up and up, like they’re hiding something, that can often be enough to make the threat of eminent domain go away.”
Mary made a note on her pad, “Follow the money,” and underlined it three times.
“And, Mary, you could always think about getting the media on the story. They tend to love these kinds of controversies, and I bet local news will be more sympathetic to the farmer than to the government. It’s worth a shot.”
“That’s an interesting idea. But Mr. Taylor is so private, it’s like he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s happening. I’ll talk to him about that, though. It’s a good idea.” She had what she needed to take the next step. “Thanks so much, Patricia. You’ve been a great help.”
“Call me if you get stuck. These fights can escalate quickly.”
MARY CONTINUED TOpoke around looking for clues as to whether there was anything fishy about the government plan to force the Taylors into selling the farm.
She searched for “Taylor Farm” to see what she could find. There were a lot of links to crop sales and records, and some articles in trade magazines like theWisconsin Agriculture Journal.
Joe Taylor takes farming seriously, but he laughs easily. The Taylor Farm has grown by five hundred acres under his care. They’ve added more crops and a few more dairy cows as well. The farm is a bit of a throwback and one that Joe intends to keep in his family. He’s been a county commissioner and the chairman of the Colby County Fair. His three boys all played football...
There was a link to a photograph of Mike, Jake, and Tommy. She clicked on it. They were in their high school football uniforms, their helmets under their right arms, hair mussed, and squinty faces in the bright sun. All-American kids.
She kept scrolling and found a link for “Sergeant Jake Taylor.” She clicked. There was a group shot of several Marines all gathered around an armored vehicle, posing for a photograph. “Al-Anbar—Iraq.” She zoomed in and picked him out right away. She knew he’d been in the military though he rarely mentioned his service and she hadn’t pressed.
Jake was smiling, looking right into the camera, with his head shaved. Sunglasses rested on his forehead. The dimple in his cheek clearly visible. He held his arms folded over his chest, his biceps bulged, and his legs were crossed at the ankle as he leaned on the tank’s door. He looked like a man who was right where he wanted to be. Even if it was in a war zone.