Forty acres and a handshake

The will was read at the Busy Bee Diner in Enosburg Falls, because her grandfather had never once set foot in a lawyer’s office and saw no reason to start after he died. Hazel sat in the corner booth in her good Boston coat while Mr. Leclair from the bank read it aloud over the sound of the milkshake machine.

Forty acres of sugar maple on the north slope. One sugarhouse, roof in need of attention. One Ford truck, do not let Hazel drive it. And a note at the bottom, in her grandfather’s square handwriting: The Tate boy taps the trees. That stays.

The Tate boy turned out to be thirty-four, six foot two and sitting at the counter eating pie. He lifted his fork at her like a toast. Hazel decided right then that she would have the whole place sold by April.