“It is encouraging to see so many concerned citizens here this evening,” one of the board members said with a twinkle in his eye. Dirk Bailey was one of the few who could care less about Spencer Dumas or his company. His warnings to the others about leaving sleeping dogs lie went unheeded, and as he gazed out on those gathered, he looked as if he was going to enjoy the results of that. Deep laugh lines were etched in his weather-beaten skin, a result of many hard years farming his own acreage before his sons took over. With his bolo tie and cowboy hat he looked more like he hailed from Texas than northeastern Pennsylvania.
Another member of the board, Lance Williams, cleared his throat. He was a large man, dressed in casual slacks and a designer sweater, no doubt purchased for him by his wife on one of her 5th Avenue shopping sprees. Unlike Dirk Bailey, Lance Williams’ hands were smooth and manicured, a result of his VP position at a Dumas subsidiary. It paid to marry into the Dumas family.
“Yes. Especially when this particular meeting was not on the public schedule.” Lance Williams muttered the words, clearly forgetting that his microphone was turned on.
“The only item on the agenda for this evening is to vote on the motion to rezone certain sections of the county and allow our tax board to reassess any affected properties as soon as possible.”
“How many properties are affected?” a disembodied voice asked from the back of the room.
“For those of you not familiar with the protocol for these meetings, questions or comments must be first recognized by the Board,” the Secretary said icily, shooting another irritated glance toward the back.
At least two dozen hands shot into the air, but the Chairman ignored all of them. It was Shane who stood up. “I wish to speak on the matter.”
“And you are?”
“Shane Callaghan.”
The chairman’s lips grew into an even thinner line.
“Proceed.”
“As I understand it, you are looking to rezone the Flynn property because it has not been used for agricultural purposes. Is that correct?”
“It is not our intent to target a single property, Mr. Callaghan,” Lance Williams said with a forced smile that did not reach his eyes. “We seek to make the tax base more equitable for everyone. The zoning ordinance is very clear on this.” He looked out into the audience, hoping to see some agreeable nods, finding none.
“Yes, it is,” Shane said in his calm, quiet tones. Shane didn’t have to raise his voice or use a microphone to be heard. When he spoke, people couldn’t help but listen. “It clearly states that the land be used for agricultural purposes. Nowhere does it state that such purpose must be for profit.”
On the raised dais, a few members of the board shifted on their seats. “Excuse me?”
“Maggie Flynn has been using the land for agricultural purposes. She cultivates organic herbs for home remedies, which she provides to several members of the community on a regular basis free of charge. She allows the local elementary schools to make use of her land for educational purposes, hosting field trips every fall. She opens the orchards up to the locals of Pine Ridge so that they might pick from them, again without charge. She donates untold bushels of produce to the local shelters and charitable organizations throughout the year.”
Lance Williams shuffled a few papers. “None of that appears in our documentation, Mr. Callaghan.”
“Obviously. That is why there are over one hundred constituents present here this evening, willing to provide testimony.”
The Board members exchanged glances. “How many of you wish to speak on this issue?” the speaker asked. Nearly every person in the audience stood or raised their hand.
Far in the back, Spencer Dumas slipped away, smiling to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maggie unplugged the land line and turned off her cell phone; she couldn’t stand the incessant ringing any longer. Her answering machine was full, the voicemail maxed out. She closed the curtains and locked the doors. If it had been dark she would have turned out the lights, but the brilliant early summer sunshine prevented her from hiding in the shadows.
She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the scarred top, running her fingers over the wood worn smooth as glass over the years, relishing the feel of each nick and gouge. How much of this would she lose? She would probably end up selling everything just to try and make a dent in the balloon payment she knew was forthcoming. It would only be a matter of time now.
The County Board had met last night; she just couldn’t bring herself to go. Instead she huddled beneath her grandmother’s quilt with a cup of hot cocoa, George snuggled by her side. Michael had insisted on going, and encouraged her to go, too, but said he understood why she didn’t want to.
Tears filled her eyes again. She loved him so much it hurt. Telling him she couldn’t marry him had nearly destroyed her. But after the initial resistance he just held her with that implacable calm, promising her that everything would work out. She wished she shared his faith.