September Song by William Humphrey

bank.”
    It was just what he wanted to hear. Or wanted Janet to hear. Which was why he had invited the agent to stay for supper, unless his wife was expecting him. He was not married.
    â€œAnd afterwards,” the man said, “you can move down to Florida and lie in the sun all day long. No more spraying bugs through the night. No more worries over the weather. You’ve earned your rest.”
    â€œI don’t speak Spanish,” he said. “Or Yiddish.”
    Janet refilled their guest’s plate. He had a bachelor’s appreciation of good home cooking, and he had walked up a hearty appetite today. She had shown him over the property, at her father’s request. The place had been surveyed, by link and chain, some 200 years ago. That had always been good enough, until now. Never in all that while had there been a dispute over the lines between the Bennetts and any of their adjoining neighbors. Having Janet pace off the boundaries would bring home to her as nothing else had the threat of losing it. Now the man attacked his second helpings no less enthusiastically than the first. But the elder Bennetts and Pete pushed away their unfinished plates.
    Apples. First crop we had a record of. And that pioneer farm family lost heavily on it. They too were forced from their orchard. In apple farming you won a round now and then but you lost as many or more. Why do it then? Why play the game with the deck stacked against you? For the satisfaction of taking on a sure-fire winner, nothing less than nature herself, the elements. Brought out the grit in you. A contest worthy of a man. Coming off second best was not bad when your opponent was the unbeatable all-time champ. If they’d had it to do over again Adam and Eve would have done it. Apple farmers were like that. Born, not made. You inherited it. Maybe through a strain from that original couple. And because your forebears had endured its hardships for your sake you owed it to them to endure what they had endured. They expected that of you, no less. What was it that kept us from flying off into outer space? And how was that discovered? Ah, if only an apple would fall on Janet’s head, teach her the law of gravity, and tie her down to her native soil!
    It mystified him how, his blood fueling her, she could tramp over the property with the real estate dealer and every prospective buyer he brought out and not comprehend what a prize she was letting go. By now the agent could have shown the place himself, so many times had they gone together over it, but she insisted on accompanying every party. Offers were made but on the agent’s advice, or so he pretended, he was accepting none because they kept going up all the time. Yet even this did not increase the worth of her property to Janet. It did to him. It made it all the harder to sell.
    â€œYou realize, Pete,” he said across the breakfast table one morning during this period, “that with the disappearance of orchards hereabouts, combined with the increase in population, which is to say the market, the price of locally grown apples is sure to soar. Instead of succumbing to offers to sell, now is the time for farmers to hold on. I know it’s what I would do if only I were younger, or had somebody to carry on after me. This place is going to be a gold mine, with somebody in charge who knows the business. The day will come when apples are individually wrapped in foil like chocolates. I may not live to see it, but it can’t be far off.
    â€œSo now, what are we going to be doing today? You’re the manager.”
    â€œMore of the same. Planting trees.”
    â€œPlanting trees!” said Molly to Janet. “If those two don’t take the cake. The place is up for sale, and they’re still planting trees.”
    â€œThis building boom we’re in is a bubble that could go bust overnight. Overnight. Then what’s left? Farmland. Got you a place with no mortgage to