Chapter 18

Zeke bounced down the stairs. He was hungry. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. One-twenty-seven. He chuckled. “Wow, time flies when you have a Jesus moment.”

In the kitchen, he pulled out fixings for a sandwich and stared out the window as he ate at the sink. Watching ... waiting ... for what? Why did he feel such anticipation?

Rosa.

He longed to speak to her again. To apologize. It seemed like he always upset her and he really didn’t mean to do that. He pushed the last bite into his mouth and washed it down with a long drink from a water bottle. He turned around, spotted the envelope on the counter, and sighed through his nose.

Nope. Not yet.

He pushed himself away from the cabinet. A quick look at the security panel told him it was clear to open the back door. He stepped off the stone trail and approached the old wishing well.

“You need to leave her alone,” Hoffman’s baritone voice resonated from the woods.

Opaque, thick mist thwarted Zeke’s view of the man.

Otto Hoffman’s smoke-gray silhouette stood six or seven paces deep in the trees and moved slowly toward the edge of the woods.

Zeke swallowed and squared his shoulders.

“She is not your concern.” Hoffman’s voice echoed among the trees. He now appeared to be three paces away and to Zeke’s right. “You stay away from her.”

Zeke’s spine stiffened. He planted his feet firmly on the turf, forcing his face into an expressionless mask. He turned toward his aggressor. He wasn’t there.

“Stay away from this well” Hoffman stood outside of the tree line. “ ... these woods.”

Zeke’s heart pounded. His breath vibrated with the pulse. The mist was causing this. It had to be. Still, fear crawled all over him.

“This well, these woods, are my property.” Zeke strained to speak calmly. Anger was bullying its way into his gut. He pushed it back and held it at bay. Hoffman knew these woods. He knew how to manipulate himself in the mist. It had to be a trick, an illusion. Still, how could anybody move like that?

“And Rosa? She your property, too?” He stood mere inches from Zeke’s right side. He crossed his meaty arms in front of his barrel chest.

Zeke turned to face him. “No, of course not.”

Why did the question make him feel—exposed?

“Not your land. Not yet,” Hoffman retorted, still standing at Zeke’s right.

“No, you’re right, Mr. Hoffman.” Zeke stared at his accuser. “I haven’t accepted the inheritance yet. However, if I accept, this will be my property and I can go anywhere I want. You, Mr. Hoffman, will be in my emp—”

“What’s this if you accept the inheritance? Landowner died. You’re his heir. What’s your problem boy?”

Why was he having this conversation? Who was this man to tell him he had no right to walk the grounds? Besides, none of this was any of his business. Then again, it was his business. Zeke’s decision impacted Hoffman. His breath offended Zeke’s olfactory. He resisted cringing and said, “My problem, Mr. Hoffman ... is the crazy conditions attached to it.”

“What conditions?” Hoffman stepped through the veil of mist at the tree line.

How did he get back among the trees? Zeke turned to face him. A weird sensation trickled down his back like ants. He stiffened to suppress the shiver.

“That’s not your concern.” He fought to suppress the smile even though he relished being able to turn the tables.

Hoffman lowered his chin. The scowl deepened the age-worn lines on his large face.

“What is your concern, Mr. Hoffman,” Zeke continued, “is this. Your employment status should not change. It seems you have done an excellent job keeping up the grounds. You are welcome to stay on here if you want.”

The mist behind the huge man churned. Its grey opacity grew whiter and less transparent. The air cooled to a bone-chilling temperature. Was Hoffman’s anger causing the change?

Zeke tore his eyes from the phenomenon and forced himself to remain where he stood. “You can continue to work for me, Mr. Hoffman.”

Hoffman stood inches from Zeke’s face. He chuckled but wasn’t smiling. “I’ve been here a long time. No city-slicker kid is going to come in here and tell me what I can and what I cannot do. Especially, not you. The true heir left here years ago. Simply walked away. Maybe you ought to do the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” Zeke stepped back but stood tall.

“Luther was not the landowner’s son.” Hoffman spit on the ground as if he were warding off a curse.

“Yes. He was,” Zeke said. “He was adopted, but...”

“Humpf.” Hoffman drew his mouth up tight. “Adopted. Law. Lawyers, making things the way they want them to be. Not how they really are. Lawyers are how this land got ruined in the first place. I will not deny it, we Deutsch ... uh.” Anger laced his words, converting them into more German than English. “Germans did our share of taking advantage, too. We knew how to landwirtschaft ... w-work the land. We dug out an existence, barely more.

“Men like William Clayton knew how to work the law. They made things the way they wanted them to be. And now you come in here and whine about this inheritance. You know nothing. So much blood and tears have been shed to build this place, this land. You have not earned the right to be here, boy. Go home!” The words bounced from tree trunk to tree trunk. “Wherever you are from, go home. Let the people who earned this land live here.”

Zeke squinted his eyes, struggling to decipher. “You talkin’ about the Indians? Why would you be concerned about them?”

“What happened to the Indians is not my concern. My interests are in the Deutsche menschen.”

“The German people?” Zeke asked.

Hoffman nodded. “We gave up everything to come here. We worked our hearts and souls into this land. We deserve more than ... more than we got from these grundbesitzer”—he closed his eyes and shook his head—”landowners. If anybody has earned the right to own this land, it’s my people.” Pounding his large chest, his glare narrowed. “I—we’ve farmed this land for over a century.”

“Look, I may not have earned this land, as you say, but Luther obviously did. And he wants to give it to me. I can’t help what my family did or the decisions they made. But I can accept what’s rightfully mine—through them, from them. I can accept the responsibility of this house, this land, and this community.” Zeke’s voice sounded stronger than he actually felt. This big man intimidated him, by sheer size alone, but he knew this was a territorial thing. He had to hold his ground and win his position as superior alpha male. He just hoped Hoffman couldn’t hear his heart pounding the way Zeke could hear it against his eardrums.