Chapter 26 - A Company With More Than One Future
Financing resumed more slowly than the congratulations.
Our lender required updated financial statements, confirmation of the property resolution, and revised projections reflecting the contract we had lost.
Fair questions. Expensive timing.
Vic and Marcus reviewed everything with their own advisers. We adjusted the next ownership stage to match the company's capacity instead of forcing the business to perform optimism on paper.
I agreed to terms I could sustain.
They agreed to obligations they understood.
Nobody called the process romantic. I found it more moving than several weddings.
At the final meeting, Marcus asked to discuss the small garden strip behind the barn.
My shoulders tightened before I could help it.
He noticed.
“Actual discussion,” he said. “With questions.”
Vic slid a sketch across the table.
The old beds could return on a limited scale. A nearby vocational program needed supervised placements. Finch needed workers who understood irrigation, equipment care, and why accurate records mattered.
They proposed paid training with defined responsibilities, proper oversight, and a small produce garden maintained alongside the teaching space.
Ruth would have liked the plants.
She would have liked the word paid even more.
“What would it cost?” I asked.
Marcus had brought a budget.
I almost laughed with relief.
We didn't approve it immediately. We checked insurance, staffing, access, and the practical arrangements. The vocational program wanted clear expectations too.
By April, the plan was ready.
I offered a contribution from my own resources, separate from operating cash, and let the company decide whether the project made sense without it.
Vic called that an improvement in my manners.
I told him ownership had made him rude.
“Twenty-nine years of preparation,” he said.
Lucy helped label the seed trays before the first session. She spelled irrigation incorrectly, checked a reference, and rewrote the card without asking anyone to pretend the mistake wasn't there. June caught me watching and smiled. We carried the trays outside together, leaving space between them for growth rather than cramming every plant into the same shallow box.
The first training group arrived on a windy Monday.
Six people. Different ages. One recently out of school, one returning to work after caring for a parent, one determined to stop moving between jobs without learning anything he could carry forward.
Marcus welcomed them beside the equipment bay.
He didn't promise them a family.
He promised wages, training, clear rules, and someone they could ask before a mistake became dangerous.
That sounded better.
Trey came the second week as part of an arrangement with Frank's shop to demonstrate basic maintenance. He was paid for the session under ordinary terms. Vic approved the scope, not me.
I watched him begin.
“First thing,” he told the group. “If you don't know, say so.”
One trainee grinned.
“Even if the boss is listening?”
“Especially then.”
I stepped outside before anyone noticed my eyes.
June waited near the new beds with a tray of seedlings.
“Good lesson?”
“Hard-earned.”
We planted tomatoes beneath a sign Lucy had painted: RUTH'S GARDEN. ASK BEFORE YOU BORROW THE TOOLS.
There was no statue. No grand unveiling. Just a place where useful things could grow and people could learn without pretending affection excused poor work.
That afternoon, Marcus handed me the first training report.
Attendance. Tasks completed. Questions raised. Equipment needing attention.
It was the kind of document I would once have skimmed because it looked ordinary.
Now I read every line.
At the bottom, a trainee had asked whether a bent fence post needed replacing or simply resetting.
Marcus's note read: We inspected together. Reset. Check after next rain.
I took the report home.
June asked why I was smiling at paperwork.
“Because nobody guessed.”
She shook her head.
“You are an unusual man to date.”
“I've heard worse.”
She leaned across the kitchen table and kissed me.
May you like
For a moment, I forgot the report entirely.
That evening, I put it in a new folder labeled Training and left room behind it. Ruth's old cabinet no longer felt like a shrine I had to protect from change. It held her garden records, my current work, and space for people who would eventually need to find their own answers without calling either of us.
