Chapter 1: The Land Split

When I was a kid, our town split up land based on how many people were in each family. One afternoon, Derek Chen showed up on our porch and said, "Mr. Keller, I swear, my dad’s alive. He’s in rough shape and can’t leave the house. Could you let me sign for the land on his behalf?"

Our little town in rural Indiana was the kind of place where everyone knew everybody else’s business—sometimes too well. I still remember the smell of fresh-cut grass on the breeze, faded American flags on every porch, and folks pausing their mowing just to watch when anything unusual happened. The land split was the biggest deal of the year, bigger than the Fourth of July parade, because it meant the difference between making it through winter or coming up short.

Grandpa puffed on his corncob pipe, looking Derek up and down. "Derek, I know your dad’s not doing well. Just a few days ago, he got mauled by a wild hog. He should be resting, not going out. But this time, we’re splitting up the best farmland. The person has to show up and sign in front of everyone. If not, folks won’t accept it."

He rocked back in his old porch chair, the wooden boards groaning beneath him, his gaze serious under the brim of his battered John Deere cap. Around here, rules were as much about keeping the peace as keeping records. If you didn’t sign in front of everyone, word would spread faster than wildfire at the diner and the hardware store. Nobody would believe you really had a claim.

Derek looked miserable, pleading, "Mr. Keller, the doctor says my dad can’t get wind on his wounds—he’s gotta stay inside to heal. If he goes out, it could get infected, and he might not make it. Please, just help us this once. My family’s hurting. We really need some good land to get by."

His voice cracked, the desperation clear in his eyes. Every word hung in the muggy summer air, thick with the smell of earth and worry. Behind him, an old pickup idled in the drive, and I saw his little sister peeking out from behind the curtain, her face pale with worry.

Grandpa furrowed his brow and sighed. "Derek, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but folks won’t go for it. Remember Old Man Lewis from the next town? Both his parents died, but to get more land, he put off their funerals and tricked the town out of a few extra acres. If everyone starts doing that, how can we split things up fair?"

The story of Old Man Lewis was local legend, told over coffee at the church basement or at the feed store. Grandpa shook his head, the memory sour. Around here, justice ran deep—sealed by handshakes and unwritten rules.

As soon as Grandpa finished, Derek’s face darkened. He said, "Mr. Keller, I swear, my dad’s alive. I’d never do what Old Man Lewis did."

Derek’s jaw tightened, his eyes shining with hurt pride. A couple crows called from the cornfield, breaking the tense silence. Every word hit Derek like a slap.

Grandpa nodded. "I know you’re not trying to pull something. But if your dad doesn’t show up to sign, folks won’t have it."

He said it gently, almost regretfully, like he wished things could be different. The porch light flickered as a cloud passed, and for a second, everything felt colder.

Derek’s eyes darted, still troubled. He said, "Mr. Keller, please, you gotta help us think of something. Dad’s treatment costs money. We need this land to get by."

His words tumbled out, heavy with worry—about doctor bills, groceries, and whether they’d make it if they lost out. Healthcare around here didn’t help families like Derek’s much.

Grandpa took another drag on his pipe and sighed. "How about this: I’ll hold the land for you. When your dad’s well enough, have him sign in front of everyone, and it’s yours."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making the offer as fair as he could. Grandpa always tried to find some patch of common ground, even when the soil was rocky.

Derek frowned, unhappy. "Mr. Keller, can’t you just make an exception? You know how bad my dad’s health is."

His voice was barely a whisper. The screen door banged in the wind, and for a moment, the only sound was a tractor far off in the fields.

"I know," Grandpa replied. "But splitting land is a big deal. I can’t decide it alone."

He glanced at the road, where the mail truck rumbled past. Here, every decision was public—and permanent.

Derek’s face hardened, his eyes flashing. "Fine, Mr. Keller. I won’t make trouble for you. Tomorrow, I’ll bring my dad to the land split."

He sounded defiant, but it was all bluff—a kid with no cards left to play. I felt a shiver, even in the heat.

"Derek, there’s no need to rush. I’ll save the land for you. When your dad’s able, just have him sign," Grandpa said.

He tried to sound calm, but there was worry in his eyes. Sometimes, kindness didn’t fix things.

Derek replied, cold as ice, "If that’s all, I’ll go now."

His words hung in the air, brittle as a January frost. He turned, boots crunching on gravel, and didn’t look back.

With that, Derek left.

The yard felt emptier with him gone. The screen door rattled in the wind, and somewhere, a dog barked at nothing. Grandpa’s shoulders slumped, the weight of being the town’s decision-maker pressing down.

Grandpa sighed, helpless. "What a mess."

He rubbed his forehead with callused fingers, watching Derek’s back as he walked away. The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the porch. I could tell he wished there was a way to fix it all without hurting anyone.