Getting two hardheaded people to agree had been a feat in itself, but getting fifteen Adams County residents with conflicting agendas to budge an inch toward a compromise had proven to be more than Dana Markham could handle.
“If you could all please just quiet down for a moment, I can better explain.” Dana leaned over the packed table and waved her hands in the air, an expression of something akin to despair crossing her delicate features.
Mitch took in the angry red faces and frustrated postures of those seated around him. Most he recognized—Al and Stephanie Jenkins, owners of a cattle operation and several acres near Hart’s Hollow Farm, local mechanic Terrance Smith, and Peach Grove Elementary teacher Elena Martinez were all familiar faces. As was Peach Grove’s mayor, Bud Watson, who sat beside Charles and Iris.
“Now, I’m just not going along with anything other than our original plan.” Bud sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his generous belly. “The residents of Peach Grove want a bypass, and I’m here to see that they get it.”
“That’s not true.” Terrance stabbed the table with a blunt fingertip. “This resident doesn’t. The majority of my customers are ones driving through town on long commutes, looking for quick fixes to their vehicles along the way. I can’t count how many tires I’ve replaced on semis. They’re my biggest business.”
“And our worst nightmare, Terrance.” Elena tucked a dark curl behind her ear, eyes narrowing. “Do you have any idea how many close calls we’ve had during the school year? Those trucks are too big for these small roads—especially on stretches by our bus stops. A five-year-old child is easily overlooked on a sharp curve from the limited vantage point those drivers have.” She shook her head. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“Not to mention the increase we’ve had in noise and car accidents,” Charles said. “Within the past six months alone, wrecks have tripled at the corner of Main Street and Canterbury Lane.” He motioned toward Mitch. “You just blew back into town, Mitch. What do you think? Traffic gotten worse since you were last here?”
No doubt. Had it not been for Kristen’s quick reflexes earlier, that damn transfer truck would’ve run her, Emmy, and the kids right over.
Mitch dragged a hand over the back of his neck and glanced at Emmy. She sat beside him, blue eyes narrowed up at him. Kristen sat on the other side of Emmy, her hands curling over the armrests of the chair he’d borrowed for her from a neighboring room, her gaze apprehensive.
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As a matter of fact, traffic wasn’t the only thing that had gotten worse—so had Emmy and her defiant refusal to face reality. He’d been back in town for only a weekend and in this meeting for half an hour, but it was clear the majority of Adams County residents disagreed with Emmy in regard to the bypass. And he was beginning to regret his decision not to return to New York. Staying for an extended summer would only encourage her, and at the moment, he had no clue what he’d hoped to accomplish by calling Brad as he had on the spur of the moment. What in the world had he been thinking?
“Well . . . I can’t say it’s gotten any better.” Mitch blew out a heavy sigh as Emmy stared him down. “One of those semis you mentioned almost took Emmy’s truck out on the way in.”
Emmy glared. “Now, that was just one of those things. Happens from time to time when you drive.”
“That may be so.” Mitch frowned. “But if it hadn’t been for Kristen’s quick response, things would’ve turned out very differently. Traffic has gotten a lot worse during my last visits, Emmy. I won’t downplay that to help you win an argument.”
Emmy’s angry stare bored into Mitch. He dragged a hand through his hair, his neck tingling under her scrutiny.
“There.” Charles nodded. “You see?”
“So what y’all are saying is that we reroute all that trouble through people’s backyards?” Al asked. “Chop down trees kids climb? Bulldoze through herds of cattle? Pave over streams and unblemished land?”
“Nothing that dramatic, but something has to be done.” Charles’s voice rose. “The roads in Peach Grove have become congested to the point that traffic is a danger to pedestrians and drivers alike. And with the new cyber security facility expanding in Augusta, just thirty miles up the highway, through traffic is only going to increase. Are we supposed to just sit by and watch it get worse? We’re talking about people’s welfare and quality of life here, Al.”
“So am I, but I’m also talking about conservation,” Al said. “Those woods you’re proposing we mow down are home to deer, foxes, turkeys, rabbits, squirrels, you name it. Rural communities like ours are some of the few places where people can still enjoy nature unspoiled in their backyards. And those trees aren’t just shelter for wildlife. They produce the oxygen that fills your lungs.” Chin trembling, Al reached out and covered his wife’s hand with his own. “I’m talking about people’s welfare and quality of life, too. Stephanie and I have raised cattle on my family’s land for years. It’s our livelihood. I was born in the same house we raised my kids in. Our neighbors just received the Centennial Family Farm Award, which means their farm has been in their line for over one hundred years, and their land is on the map to be paved. You want to be the one to take their heritage from them?”
Charles sighed. “Our intention is not to take anything away from anyone, but we have to face the fact that things have changed. We have too many small farms going more and more into debt every year, using up land that could be utilized in other ways to better serve our communities and economy. Corporate farms have been successful in neighboring counties, and there’s talk of vertical farming and even autonomous farms being possibilities. Adams County will never grow or attract new business if we don’t expand. It’s time to face that reality and initiate improvements. We’re just looking to the future. Progressing.”
“By throwing out the old and bringing in the new, huh?” Emmy asked.
Mitch tensed.
“You’ve forgotten something, though,” Emmy continued, locking eyes with Charles. “Our farms may be small, but together, they make a difference.” She looked at Al. “Those barbecue ribs they serve at the Dutch Restaurant, where do they come from?”
“My cattle,” Al said, pride in his eyes.
“And the blueberries they use for the sweet rolls?” Emmy asked, glancing at the other end of the table. “Where do they get those?”
“My mother’s land.” A young woman, around nineteen or twenty, lifted her chin. Bright lights from the projector glinted off moisture in her brown eyes. “Well, mine now. Me and my sister are scheduled to deliver another load next week.”
Mitch studied her familiar features. “Are you Susan Yarrow’s daughter? Jenny?”
She nodded. “Mama passed away last year, so it’s just me and Nancy running the place now. Nancy has one more year of high school before she’ll be able to work full-time. I just have to keep the place afloat for this year and the next. Then things will get better.” Voice shaking, she sniffed and squared her shoulders. “The crops are good so far, and if we get to keep our land, we’re gonna make it.”
“Of course you are,” Emmy said, voice husky.
“You’re a strong woman and a dang good farmer, Jenny. Your mama would be proud.” She glanced around at each person sitting at the table. “Now, I ain’t here to stir up trouble or hold the county back from progress. But I’m old enough and stubborn enough to have earned my say. All I’m asking is that you think about what that asphalt will be cutting through if the bypass is built. It’ll cut through woods, creeks, and crops. Peaceful land. And the soil . . .” She spread her hands. “That soil is a bridge between our past and our future. It holds our history, artifacts, and fossils. I mean, they’ve found pieces of prehistoric pottery in a cornfield up in North Georgia. Who knows what’s waiting to be found here? It ain’t a big stretch to think Adams County has treasures of its own.”