Chapter 128

"Uncle Walter, I only have three hundred dollars. How many pigs do you think I can get with that? My two boys can help gather fodder, but I've never raised pigs before—I'll need your advice." Luna Whitaker twisted the hem of her dress, her voice growing quieter. Her heart pounded. Raising pigs seemed simple, but her parents had once lost an entire litter to swine fever.

Old Walter Wallace puffed on his pipe, eyes narrowed. The Wallace family's pig-rearing skills were renowned in the region—why would he share them so easily?

Seeing this, Luna's sister, Luna White, tugged at her sleeve. "Uncle Walter, we're not asking to learn your trade. We just need help picking two sturdy pigs. My sister's raising three kids alone—she just wants to earn enough to feed them." She deliberately softened her tone on the words "learn your trade."

Old Walter's expression eased. "Ryan, show them the pens." He jerked his chin toward the shirtless young man beside him. "And explain the prices."

The man grunted in acknowledgment and turned away. Luna White noticed with amusement that Ryan's ears had turned faintly pink.

The pigpen was far more impressive than they'd imagined—brick walls, concrete floors, even neatly dug drainage ditches. Just as Luna White marveled at it, she caught Ryan stealing a glance at her sister, nervously twisting his own shirt hem.

"These are the piglets." Ryan pointed to the lively young pigs. "White ones are docile—they'll reach two hundred pounds in five months. Black ones are hardier but wilder." His words grew unexpectedly fluent. "For beginners, five would keep you busy. If you plan long-term, best to keep a boar for breeding..."

Luna Whitaker listened intently, nodding now and then. But worry creased her brow when she thought of their ramshackle pen. "Our place isn't ideal—I'm afraid we'll struggle..."

"It's fine!" Ryan blurted, startling both sisters. Flushing, he added, "I—I can teach you. Ask anytime." Then, quieter: "Dad guards his methods, but neighbors help neighbors."

Luna White raised an eyebrow. Who knew this shy man had such sense?

Back in the yard, Old Walter was chatting with Mayor George Clark. "Decided?" Walter exhaled a smoke ring.

"Five, please." Luna Whitaker pulled out crumpled bills. "A hundred dollars—count it."

Walter waved her off. "Should be a hundred ten, but for your father's sake, we'll call it even." He turned to his son. "Deliver them this afternoon. Show them the ropes."

As they left, Luna White looped arms with her godfather. Only when they were out of earshot did Old Walter mutter, "Since when is George Clark so helpful? Can't even manage his own affairs..."

Ryan, busy herding pigs, didn't look up. "Luna's the first college student from our village."

In the backyard, five piglets squealed. Ryan furtively pulled a paper packet from his pocket—but footsteps made him shove it back.

"Dad? Shouldn't you be napping?"

Old Walter ambled over, hands behind his back. "Couldn't sleep." He squinted at his son. "What're you sneaking around for?"

"N-nothing!" Beads of sweat formed on Ryan's forehead as he loaded the piglets onto the cart. Watching it rumble away, he stomped his foot in frustration—that ancestral digestive tonic never made it into the feed.