Emma Blooms At Last Read Free

announced.
    â€œJah, Wyman, this is Reece Weaver, and we’ve gotta talk about some more up-front money,” the contractor said in a voice that rang around the barn’s rafters. “Started digging your foundation, and we’re gonna have to blast through solid bedrock, which jacks the price
waaay
up from what I quoted you last week. Got some issues with EPA and OSHA regulations that’ll cost a lot more, too, so that seven hundred thousand we figured on won’t nearly cover building your elevator now. Better gimme a call real quick-like.”
Click.
    Wyman’s heart thudded. He’d left Reece’s written estimate in the house—not that it would answer any of the questions spinning in his mind. Wouldn’t a commercial contractor know about environmental and safety regulations—and the possibility of hitting bedrock—before he’d written up his estimate? And why on earth had Reece gone into detail about money, when anyone in the family might have been listening, instead of waiting for him tocall back? As Wyman glanced around the shadowy barn, he was relieved that only the horses and mules had heard the contractor’s message. The seven hundred thousand dollars he’d spoken of—money from the sale of the Brubaker family farm as well as from the Clearwater elevator’s bank account—was all he could spend on a new facility. He’d kept money back to see his family of twelve through the coming year until his Bloomingdale elevator was bringing in some money . . . but Reece’s strident words made it clear that he intended to demand a significant price increase.
    Wyman pressed the number pads on the phone, hoping he and Reece could settle this matter immediately rather than playing telephone tag. After assuring Amanda that he could support her, her mother-in-law, Jemima, and their blended family of eight kids, he did
not
want any more details about money left on the phone, where she might hear them and start to worry. Finally, on the fourth ring, someone picked up.
    â€œJah, Weaver Construction Company,” a woman answered.
    â€œWyman Brubaker here, and I need to speak with Reece about—”
    â€œHe’s out on a job. I’ll take your message.”
    Wyman frowned. More than likely this was Reece’s wife, because the company had been a small family-owned business since Reece’s dat had started it more than thirty years ago. “He just called me not five minutes ago, asking me to call right back,” Wyman replied. “I’d rather not discuss the details of my elevator with—”
    â€œOh. You’re
that
Wyman Brubaker,” the woman interrupted. “I’ll page him, and he’ll call you back as soon as he can.”
Click.
    And what did she mean by snipping and snapping at him that way, as though he were an inconvenience rather than a customer? Wyman’s stomach tightened around his breakfast as he hung up. There was nothing to do but wait for Reece to call back, even asevery passing moment allowed him to think of things that didn’t set right about this situation—
    The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Jah? This is Wyman.”
    â€œReece Weaver. So you see where I’m coming from, far as your job costing more?” he demanded. “How about if I stop by, say, around noon? Another hundred thousand should cover the blasting and the—”
    â€œA hundred thousand dollars?”
Wyman closed his eyes and curled in around the phone, hoping his voice hadn’t carried outside the barn. It took him a moment to corral his stampeding thoughts. “I don’t understand why you didn’t know—
before
you started digging—about that bedrock, and why you didn’t call me—
before
you started digging—about maybe changing the location of the elevator,” he said in a low voice. “That’s a huge difference from the price you quoted in