their house.
A man stepped out wearing a dark suit and polished shoes that did not belong on their dusty road.
Two other men came with him carrying folders.
Ruth stood in the doorway wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
Ellis came down from the porch slowly.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
The man smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“My name is Reginald Witmore,” he said.
I believe you own this property.
Ellis did not move.
My family owns it.
That’s why I’m here.
