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on the desk in front of him. “But the bottom line, Mr. Zook, is that you have a bad title. The homestead was sold to your family by a Mrs. Lucille Raber, but as it turns out, a portion of it wasn’t hers to sell. The piece of land in question had been given away by her husband before he died to their only son, Clayton. And because that son wasn’t a party to the sale, you folks never got legal title to his parcel.”
    Daed and I looked at each other and then back at the lawyer again.
    â€œHer thinking she could sell it to you along with the rest was probably just a mistake,” he concluded. “But, as it turns out, an important one.”
    Daed leaned forward in his chair. “Well, if it’s a mistake, we should be able to fix it.”
    â€œI’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mr. Zook. The only way to fix it is to get the current owner to sign it over to you—assuming that’s something he would even want to do.”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t he?” I asked, my tone sounding more irritated than I had intended. I tried for a calmer tone. “It’s not like he’s using it. And surely he would see that his mother just made an error.”
    The lawyer shrugged. “Yes, true. I imagine he’d take that into consideration. But, once he learns about this, he’s going to have a big decision on his hands.”
    I mulled over his words. Something about them made me uneasy. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Purcell?”
    He fiddled with the glasses on the desk. “My client wants that land, Mr. Zook. They fully intend to pursue the purchase and acquire it for themselves, if possible. It’s needed for Phase II of the resort.”
    He gestured toward the far side of the room, and I realized he wanted us to see a small creation that resembled an elaborate doll house sitting on top of a table. Daed and I stood and walked over to it to get a better look.
    â€œThat’s a model of the resort in miniature,” the lawyer explained. “As you can see, phase one includes the basic hotel and banquet facility, with an indoor pool and a restaurant. Once that’s complete, they’ll open for business while moving on to phase two, which will add an outdoor pool, an indoor/outdoor sports bar, four tennis courts, and a small spa facility.”
    We stared at the tableau in front of us, dumbfounded. It was all very impressive, but spilling over onto the land of lot twenty-three was the edge of a large pool and the indoor/outdoor sports bar, which would end up next to the tack shop.
    â€œLook how close that bar is to our building,” I said to Daed as I pointed toward the tiny structure. “We’ll practically be sitting in the restaurant area.”
    Sick at heart, we stared at it a moment longer and then returned to our seats.
    â€œLet’s not exaggerate,” the lawyer told us as we again sat facing him. “Zoning requires a twenty-foot setback from the property line. And of course they’ll use plenty of landscaping to delineate the borders.”
    â€œAs if that’ll make any difference,” I said. “Landscaping or not, how would you like to live twenty feet from an outdoor pool and sports bar?”
    I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I had visited a sports bar or two during my rumspringa , and though that had been a while ago, I could still remember what they had been like. Drunk fans screaming at television screens, fighting with each other, driving home while intoxicated. The memory made me feel exhausted. And deaf.
    Daed found his words before I could. “But the land is ours . My father paid for it. Deed or not, that was the buyer’s intent—and the seller’s—at the time of the sale. That has to count for something. Even if a mistake was made back then, we just need to correct the documentation.”
    The lawyer studied Daed for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Zook. It