of Amish migrating to another place, but if there was plenty of land, why not? There were lots of others who felt the same way he did.
And then another thought struck him, and it brought a tear to his eye.
Martha.
Mexico was a dry place! In Mexico, his Martha might be able to get better!
This was too good to be true, too perfect. Opening the pamphlet he read the finer print on the inside, skipping and scanning in a feverish search for hard facts.
Ten dollars an acre , it said. Cheap. There had to be a catch. Probably desert land, where they would all starve.
Green pasture. Elevation six thousand feet, spring-like weather year round, long planting season. Warm days, cool nights.
Green pasture. Caleb looked up with a kind of wonder in his eyes, and his lips worked silently over words from the Heilige Schrift , words in High German so ingrained he could not remember a time when he didn’t know them.
“ Er weidet mich auf einer grünen Aue. ”
He maketh me to lie down in a green pasture .
Flipping over to the back of the brochure, his forefinger traced a line to the bottom, where he found what he was looking for.
Laredo Land Brokers, Ltd.
Laredo, Texas
Local agent: Avery Fiedler
Morgan-Fiedler Real Estate
109 Main St.
Kidron, Ohio
Less than two blocks away. Caleb headed down Main Street with a fire in his heart and a purpose in his stride, the pamphlet clenched tight in his fist. Only when he laid his hand on the doorknob of the Morgan-Fiedler Real Estate offices did he look back up the street and remember that in his haste he had simply walked off and left his friend in the hardware store.
Avery Fiedler was not what Caleb expected in a real-estate agent, a man who sat behind a desk and made his living by selling other people’s homes. He was a tidy, clean-shaven little man in a three-piece wool suit, but despite his prim appearance and his office job, Fiedler gave a firm handshake. The office was neat and clean too, the desktop clear but for a blotter and inkstand. The walls were mostly covered with maps of the surrounding countryside dotted with stickpins, marking, Caleb assumed, the properties Morgan-Fiedler represented.
“What can I do for you?” Avery asked. He asked this quietly, sincerely, without the proud, brassy tone Caleb had come to expect from salesmen.
Caleb held out the brochure. “Can you tell me about this?”
Avery took the pamphlet from his hand and opened it.
“I sure can. A Mr. Marlon Harris, from Laredo, came by here on his way to Canada last week and left this with me. I figured the best thing to do was post it at the hardware store where some Amish farmer might see it.” He smiled at Caleb, and it seemed a very genuine smile. “It appears I was right.”
“This Paradise Valley,” Caleb said, “have you seen it?”
“Oh no, I haven’t been to Mexico, but Mr. Harris said he went down there and looked it over. He had nothing but good things to say about it. There’s a road right down the middle of the property, longways. Lots of road frontage on both sides. Perfect climate. Even though it’s south of the border, it’s not too hot because it’s so high up, but not too high to grow crops. Mountains on three sides and good black dirt, he said. Volcanic origin, if I understood him right. He said you could grow just about anything there if you knew how to irrigate. If there’s a drawback to the place, I guess that would be it – there’s not much surface water. No creeks or rivers on the land at all.”
“How much rain do they get?”
“Enough, I suppose. All I know is it’s not desert. From what I understand the really arid country is in the lowlands, not the mountains. Right now this parcel belongs to some Mexican cattle baron who used to use it for pasture, and Mr. Harris said it was greener than anything around Laredo. Big ranch called Hacienda El Prado.”
“Why would this Harris fella come all the way to Ohio to try and sell a piece of Mexico when he lives right
And then another thought struck him, and it brought a tear to his eye.
Martha.
Mexico was a dry place! In Mexico, his Martha might be able to get better!
This was too good to be true, too perfect. Opening the pamphlet he read the finer print on the inside, skipping and scanning in a feverish search for hard facts.
Ten dollars an acre , it said. Cheap. There had to be a catch. Probably desert land, where they would all starve.
Green pasture. Elevation six thousand feet, spring-like weather year round, long planting season. Warm days, cool nights.
Green pasture. Caleb looked up with a kind of wonder in his eyes, and his lips worked silently over words from the Heilige Schrift , words in High German so ingrained he could not remember a time when he didn’t know them.
“ Er weidet mich auf einer grünen Aue. ”
He maketh me to lie down in a green pasture .
Flipping over to the back of the brochure, his forefinger traced a line to the bottom, where he found what he was looking for.
Laredo Land Brokers, Ltd.
Laredo, Texas
Local agent: Avery Fiedler
Morgan-Fiedler Real Estate
109 Main St.
Kidron, Ohio
Less than two blocks away. Caleb headed down Main Street with a fire in his heart and a purpose in his stride, the pamphlet clenched tight in his fist. Only when he laid his hand on the doorknob of the Morgan-Fiedler Real Estate offices did he look back up the street and remember that in his haste he had simply walked off and left his friend in the hardware store.
Avery Fiedler was not what Caleb expected in a real-estate agent, a man who sat behind a desk and made his living by selling other people’s homes. He was a tidy, clean-shaven little man in a three-piece wool suit, but despite his prim appearance and his office job, Fiedler gave a firm handshake. The office was neat and clean too, the desktop clear but for a blotter and inkstand. The walls were mostly covered with maps of the surrounding countryside dotted with stickpins, marking, Caleb assumed, the properties Morgan-Fiedler represented.
“What can I do for you?” Avery asked. He asked this quietly, sincerely, without the proud, brassy tone Caleb had come to expect from salesmen.
Caleb held out the brochure. “Can you tell me about this?”
Avery took the pamphlet from his hand and opened it.
“I sure can. A Mr. Marlon Harris, from Laredo, came by here on his way to Canada last week and left this with me. I figured the best thing to do was post it at the hardware store where some Amish farmer might see it.” He smiled at Caleb, and it seemed a very genuine smile. “It appears I was right.”
“This Paradise Valley,” Caleb said, “have you seen it?”
“Oh no, I haven’t been to Mexico, but Mr. Harris said he went down there and looked it over. He had nothing but good things to say about it. There’s a road right down the middle of the property, longways. Lots of road frontage on both sides. Perfect climate. Even though it’s south of the border, it’s not too hot because it’s so high up, but not too high to grow crops. Mountains on three sides and good black dirt, he said. Volcanic origin, if I understood him right. He said you could grow just about anything there if you knew how to irrigate. If there’s a drawback to the place, I guess that would be it – there’s not much surface water. No creeks or rivers on the land at all.”
“How much rain do they get?”
“Enough, I suppose. All I know is it’s not desert. From what I understand the really arid country is in the lowlands, not the mountains. Right now this parcel belongs to some Mexican cattle baron who used to use it for pasture, and Mr. Harris said it was greener than anything around Laredo. Big ranch called Hacienda El Prado.”
“Why would this Harris fella come all the way to Ohio to try and sell a piece of Mexico when he lives right
Similar Books
