My Husband Forged My Signature to Steal $186,400 Against My Farm—He Never Expected Me to Fight Back and Take Back Control of My Life
PART 3
He looked toward the front window. That’s when he noticed the pasture. The gate was open.
A temporary fence ran along the old property line, and there were goats everywhere. White ones, brown ones, spotted ones. Some were grazing near the old oak tree, while a few little ones were bouncing around like they owned the place.
Alden’s face turned red. “What in the devil is that?” “Goats.” “I CAN SEE THAT!”
He marched to the window. “Why are there goats on my pasture?”
I almost laughed. “Your pasture?” He turned around slowly. “What?”
I stood up and walked to the kitchen drawer. “Before you get upset, Alden, there’s something you need to read.” I pulled out a manila envelope.
Inside was a certified copy of my deed, a signed pasture lease agreement with Miriam Yoder, and a notice from the bank confirming that my pension deposit had been redirected to an account under my sole control.
I placed the papers on the table. Alden looked at the envelope. Then he looked at me.
“What is this?” “Something special. Just like I promised.”
He opened it. The first paper was the deed.
He barely glanced at it.
The second was the pasture lease.
He read the first paragraph, then slammed it down.
“You rented out my land?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the window.
“Those goats are on MY PROPERTY!”
I didn’t raise my voice.
“Read the deed, Alden.”
He picked it up again.
His eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
He read it a second time.
“What’s this supposed to mean?”
“It means the farmhouse and all forty acres belong to me. They’ve belonged to me since 1981.”
He looked at me as if I’d slapped him.
“We’ve been married forty-five years!”
“Yes, we have.”
“That makes it mine!”
“No, Alden. It makes us married. It doesn’t change whose name is on the deed.”
He threw the paper onto the table.
“Who put these ideas in your head? Miriam?”
I shook my head.
“No. You did.”
He frowned.
“What?”
I reached for the bank notice.
“You told me whoever brought home the paycheck called the shots. You waved that check in my face and told me I had to listen because you earned the money.”
He crossed his arms.
“That’s right.”
“So I decided to take responsibility for the money that belongs to me.”
He snatched the bank notice.
His eyes narrowed.
“Where’s your pension going?”
“My new account.”
“Which bank?”
“Same bank.”
“Give me the account number.”
“No.”
He stared.
For forty-five years, I’d given him every password, every statement, every little piece of financial information he’d ever asked for.
He’d never had to ask twice.
But this time, I simply said no.
“You don’t get to tell me no,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Apparently, I do.”
He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it.
“Joanne, you’re making a terrible mistake. You’re an old woman who’s been home alone too long. You don’t understand how the world works.”
I looked down at my hands.
They weren’t shaking.
That surprised me.
For most of my life, Alden could make my hands shake with just a sigh.
I had spent decades trying to keep him pleased. I learned which subjects to avoid, which bills not to mention, and how to recognize the sound of his truck coming up the driveway.
I knew when he wanted coffee.
I knew when he wanted silence.
I knew when he wanted me to agree with something I didn’t believe.
But I was sixty-eight years old.
And suddenly, I was tired of being afraid of a man who thought a paycheck gave him ownership of another human being.
“You’re right about one thing,” I said.
He looked pleased.
“What?”
“I don’t understand how the world works when a husband thinks his wife is his employee.”
His expression changed.
Then he picked up the lease agreement.
“How much?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
“How much what?”
“How much are those Yoders paying you?”
“Three hundred and fifty dollars a month.”
He laughed.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars? You gave away forty acres for three hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Just the front pasture. They maintain the fencing, water troughs, and grass. They also carry their own liability insurance.”
He shook his head.
“You’re a fool.”
“Maybe.”
“You should’ve asked me first.”
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“That’s exactly what I used to do.”
He grabbed his paycheck from his jacket pocket and slapped it against the table.
“This is what pays for this house!”
I looked at the check.
Then I looked at the deed.
“No, Alden. My daddy paid for this house long before you ever walked through the door.”
He went quiet.
I could hear the goats outside.
One of them let out a little bleat.
Alden pointed at me.
“You call Miriam right now and tell her to get those animals off my land.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I’ll call the sheriff.”
“You’re welcome to.”
He stared at me.
I picked up my coffee cup and carried it to the sink.
Behind me, he muttered something about women getting too big for their britches.
I didn’t answer.
For the first time in forty-five years, I wasn’t interested in winning an argument.
I was interested in keeping my life.
Alden didn’t sleep in our bedroom that night.
He spent the first hour pacing the living room and calling his sisters.
I knew because the walls in that old farmhouse were thin.
His older sister, Brenda, was the first one to answer.
I heard him tell her that I’d lost my mind.
Then he called Linda.
Then his youngest sister, Carol.
By the time he finished, I had apparently become an ungrateful wife who had been manipulated by the Yoders.
At around ten, Brenda called me.
I picked up.
“Hello, Brenda.”
“What have you done to my brother?”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Good evening to you, too.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Joanne. Alden says you’ve rented out his property and moved your money behind his back.”
I glanced at the deed on the table.
“His property?”
“Well, it’s the family property!”
