Minerva could not imagine the circumstances under which she would be glad for eight bushels of fruit. She picked up a peach.
“It’s not even very good fruit,” she said, turning a bruise toward Ernie.
“That’s why we got eight instead of six. You can sort it.”
“I don’t have a dozen jars, let alone a hundred.”
Ernie grinned and reached into the truck again. “He threw those in. Harding’s widowed, and his married daughter cans everything he needs.”
“Then she should have the jars.”
“Lucky for you, he gave them to me.”
“I still don’t know how to can fruit.”
“Lucky for you, Gloria does.”
If he said “Lucky for you” one more time, she would stomp on his toe.
CHAPTER 32
Minerva stared at the mounds of fruit. Eight bushels and a hundred quart jars did not leave much space on the small back porch. The hands would have to take their food elsewhere—but not in the house.
“This is not going to work,” she said.
“My mother canned,” Ernie said. “Did you know that? All the mothers canned in those days.”
“Mine didn’t.”
“That’s because you lived in town. There was no room for a garden. I meant on the farms.”
“If my mother wanted a can of beans,” Minerva said, “she went to the general store and bought it. It’s a lot less work.” As soon as electricity came to the farms, Minerva intended to buy a freezer and enjoy the Birds Eye line of frozen foods.
“I suppose lots of folks bought store beans.” Ernie sat on the top step and pulled a sleeve through the sweat beading on his forehead. “But there’s something about knowing that the food you eat comes from your own land.”
“If everyone felt that way, no one would buy your corn silage to feed their cattle. Then where would we be?”
Ernie stilled as he gazed across their property. “Maybe the Amish have it right. The Grabills can more than feed themselves on what they grow, and they trade for most everything else they need. We put everything we have into a cash crop. The machinery. The new acres. Irrigation ditches. What do we have to show for it?”
Standing behind him, Minerva’s throat thickened. It wasn’t like Ernie to get discouraged any more than it was like him to be as angry as he was of late.
He was frightened. She had not seen it until now.
“We bought the used tractor in 1928 and the extra acres in 1929,” she said. “No one could have known the stock market would crash.”
Ernie held out a hand and wiggled his fingers in truce. Minerva swallowed and laid her palm in his, letting him pull her down on the step beside him.
“Min, have you been out to our fields lately?”
Minerva rarely went to the fields anymore, except to take Ernie and the hands sandwiches at the height of the harvest seasons. Raymond and Richard used to spend all day in the fields with their father, and in those days Minerva enjoyed walking out just to watch them work. It wasn’t the same with the boys gone.
“We’ll get the corn in,” Ernie said, “but it won’t be worth near as much as we hoped. Even with the ditches, there wasn’t enough water when we needed it most. The irrigation well is practically dry. The drought has done us in, Min.”
Although the drought had been in the headlines all summer, Ernie hadn’t said a word about the well.
“But you go out and work every day,” Minerva said. “You and Jonesy and Collins.” And now Homer. They came home every evening drenched in sweat, their skin browned deeper every day.
“It’s backbreaking work.” Ernie picked up a pebble and tossed it ten yards out. “We’re just trying to save what we can. Every day I have to decide where to direct what little water the irrigation system puts out. At least we don’t have to worry about the silage being too wet to harvest. But I’m not sure we’ll make enough to satisfy the bank, even if Louis Dillard is your mother’s cousin.”
“You never said.” Minerva put a hand on Ernie’s knee.
“A man likes to think he can still take care of his family.” Ernie rubbed a hand across both eyes. “Do you know that I wish I had put in an orchard twenty years ago?”
“No.” Something else he’d never mentioned.
“All the advice was to concentrate on getting a bigger and bigger yield from the same acres. That’s what a modern farm is supposed to do to keep the bank at bay and give us a good life. But an orchard, Min. An orchard says something. It stands up tall and shouts that we plan to still be here in twenty years when saplings have grown into mature trees we can count on.”
Ernie was not one for making speeches. Minerva soaked up his words, craving their true meaning.
“Is that why you’ve brought home all this fruit?” she said.
“I brought home hope, Min. Hope for this winter. Hope for another planting. Hope that the land will still be ours this time next year.”
Minerva blew out her breath. “I canceled all my orders. I sent things back. I understand I should not have gone into the emergency money.”
Ernie nodded and lifted his eyes. “Here comes Rose. She looks happy.”
Minerva had to agree. She might never get used to seeing her stunning daughter in overalls, but the beam Rose offered her parents made the afternoon shimmer. As she crossed the yard, she pulled the kerchief from her head and shook her hair free just the way she had done as a little girl.
When she reached the porch, Rose’s eyes gleamed. “What’s all this?”
Minerva moistened her lips. “Your father has been wheeling and dealing. He thinks canning might be a good idea.”
Rose picked up a quart jar. “I’ve always wanted to learn to can.”
“I didn’t know that,” Minerva said.
“Will you teach me?”
Laughter escaped Minerva. “I’m afraid I would be a poor teacher, considering I never learned either.”
“Mrs. Grabill can teach us,” Rose suggested. “We’ll learn together.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Ernie said.
“I’ll ask her,” Rose said. “I can do the work if she first shows me how.”
An image flitted through Minerva’s mind. Ernie wanted the fruit canned, and Rose wanted to do it. One choice would make them both happy, and Minerva could avoid the fruit stains on her fingers.
But Rose wanted to learn together. Minerva could give her that as well.
“No,” Minerva said, surprising herself. “I’ll speak to Gloria.”
Not once during the three-hour church service at the Rupps’ had Thomas glanced across the aisle to where Polly sat. Not once. Polly drew small comfort from the observation that neither had Thomas’s eyes searched for Lena, who sat beside Polly. In the commotion that came after worship, while the men turned benches into tables and the women arranged food, Polly sat on an overturned barrel. Constrained by the need for both crutches again, she could do nothing but watch.
After the meal, she took her time moving toward the Grabill buggy. Still Thomas said nothing. They had pulled off the Rupp farm without so much as a wave from Thomas across the yard.
The buggy came to a halt outside the Grabill stable. Polly’s youngest sisters and her parents climbed down first, leaving Polly ample room to maneuver to the ground without bumping her foot.
“Thomas was busy today,” Mamm said.
As Polly balanced against the buggy, her weight on her good foot, Mamm handed her the crutches.
Polly tucked the crutches under her armpits and let them bear her weight without meeting her mother’s eyes. Thomas was busy because he chose to be. Anyone could see that. He at least could have asked about her foot. A dozen others had.
Her mother gestured that they should proceed toward the porch. “I remember when Yost was this way. Anyone could see the way he and Rebecca looked at each other, and then he started working harder than anyone else in the field. The next thing we knew, they were engaged. Paul did the sa
me with Bea.”
Polly stopped and turned her face toward her mother. This was the Sabbath. Thomas was not working hard in the field.
“Don’t wait on Thomas,” her mother said. “Keep yourself busy, and the time will pass. A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains.”
Polly swung her crutches forward. Her mother was not making sense—or she was making too much sense. Did Mamm see what was going on? Lena was giving Thomas doubts. Time heals, everyone said. But Polly was not interested in platitudes and proverbs.
Lena. How could she do this? Her own sister!
“Henry’s on the porch,” Polly muttered.
“Keep him company,” her mother said. “You can still enjoy the day.”
That seemed a doubtful proposition to Polly, but she clunked up the steps and sank into a chair beside Henry.
“How was church?” she asked. “You’ve been three weeks in a row.”
“I’m starting to learn a few names other than the Swains.” Henry drew his thumb through the condensation coating his glass of lemonade. “People are friendly.”
Polly chuckled. “Curious about the city boy—and a government agent.”
Henry smiled and shrugged one shoulder.
“If you don’t visit the Amish congregation soon, you might miss your chance.”
“I have no doubt curiosity would abound there as well,” Henry said.
“In both directions.” Polly leaned back in her chair, judging Henry’s mood. “Of course, the Lutherans have Rose. It’s easy to see why you would go back.”
Henry startled. “Rose is … lovely … to everyone.”
This was true. But Henry must have seen the look in Rose’s eyes the previous afternoon at the well. That smile was meant for him.
“I was thinking of going to Philadelphia for a weekend,” Henry said. He could manage it after his next pay arrived.
Polly twisted her lips. “To see Coralie?”
“Among other things.”
He didn’t explain what the other things were. Polly doubted Coralie left room for anything else. But Coralie was there, and Henry and Rose were here, so Polly wouldn’t give up hope yet.
“Sounds like a buggy coming,” Henry said.
He was right. At least his ears were getting used to Amish ways. Henry wouldn’t know one buggy from another, but Polly did. The buggy coming down the hill was the one Thomas drove. She sat forward in the chair, uncertain whether to go inside now or await the humiliation of hearing Thomas ask for Lena.
Lena had stayed after church to go walking with a group of friends. Thomas should have been with them, yet here he was, looping his reins around a fence post and then striding toward the porch.
“Hello, Thomas,” Henry said.
“A beautiful Lord’s Day.” Thomas climbed the steps and leaned against the porch railing.
Polly’s heart thumped so loudly it echoed through her ears.
“This is the day the Lord hath made,” Henry said.
Go ahead. Ask for Lena. Get it over with. Polly forced her hunched shoulders to relax.
Henry stood up. “I promised myself a stroll through the orchards. I’ll leave you two to visit.”
It would be a short visit. As soon as Thomas found out Lena was not home, he would either leave or go looking for Yost.
Just get it over with. Polly almost wished Henry hadn’t left. It would be easier to be polite with another person there.
Thomas cleared his throat. “How’s your foot?”
Now he was interested in her foot?
“I heard that you hurt it again.”
You can say it. Lena told you.
“Not seriously,” she said. “I’m getting around well.”
“Good.” Thomas nodded. “I hope it feels well enough that I could drive you to the Singing tonight. And home, too, of course.”
“The Singing?”
“I wanted to be sure you could get there,” Thomas said. “If you feel up to going with me, that is.”
Polly reminded herself to blink. Thomas had taken her home from Singings many times, but he had never fetched her first.
“What about Lena?” The words slipped out before she meant them to.
“Lena?”
“I thought you might want to go with her.” Why did you say that? You’re ruining everything.
Thomas’s face took on a stricken shape.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lena lately,” Polly said softly. More than with me.
Thomas took three steps across the porch and perched on the edge of the chair Henry had vacated beside her.
“Polly, I can’t think of anyone but you.”
Her chest tight, Polly waited.
“I’m just not sure we would be well matched,” Thomas said.
Air rushed out of her.
“I could try harder,” she said. “I won’t always be as clumsy as I am now. It can’t be that hard to learn whether a hen is still laying. And all the rest. I’ll learn it all.”
Thomas looked off the porch in a panoramic arc. Polly plopped her hands in her lap and gripped her own wrists. Blathering would not help anything.
Abruptly, Thomas leaned over and kissed her.
It was not the first time, but she nearly had forgotten the taste of him.
Just as abruptly, Thomas leaned back into his own chair.
“Thomas.” Polly clasped the arms of her chair. If she could just keep from bumbling on the farm, they might yet talk of a wedding when the harvest was over.
Metal clattering against metal off the end of the porch made them both jump.
“It sounds like someone is trying to carry off the whole stack of pails.” Polly pushed to her feet.
“I’ll go look,” Thomas said.
“I’m coming,” Polly said.
“Be sensible.” Thomas was already halfway down the steps. “It might just be an animal.”
Polly shook her head. An animal didn’t take Betsy’s lunch bucket or Thomas’s cheese pie. She could swing through her crutches swiftly when she had a good reason. Only a few strides behind Thomas, she reached the toppled pile of pails at the corner of the porch.
“There.” Polly pointed at a moving swatch of brown fabric.
The dull fabric disappeared into the bushes.
“It’s a woman,” Polly said. Something slowed the stranger’s progress.
“I see her,” Thomas said, aiming toward an outbuilding.
The woman moved.
Thomas followed.
Polly kept up—nearly.
Gradually the gap closed.
The woman paused, and Polly heard the cry.
“She has a baby!” Polly called out.
The woman froze and turned her head toward Polly’s voice. Thomas was almost to her now. When she tried to resume flight, he lengthened his stride and intercepted her path.
The woman dropped the pail. “I’m sorry. It’s only a pail, but I’m sorry I took it.”
Polly conquered the final dozen yards. “Let us help you.” It was what her mother would have said.
“I’m fine.”
“I have enough little sisters to know the sound of a newborn,” Polly said. “And two nephews, too.”
Fear mingled with relief in the woman’s face.
“Are you with the man who was here a couple of days ago?” If Polly’s mother had known the man had a family, she never would have sent him to the Swains’ on his own. And she would have given him twice as many eggs.
“I’m on my own,” the woman said.
“Surely not all alone?” Thomas said.
“Well, the baby.”
“Come to the house,” Polly said. “We’ll help you.”
But the woman was already backing away, and when she had a clear path she began to run again. Thomas trotted after her, leaving Polly to pick up the discarded pail.
A moment later, he returned. “I lost her.”
When Gloria stepped out on the porch to
see what the commotion was, she wished she could pretend she had not seen Minerva rolling the Swain truck toward the house.
It was too late. Minerva was already waving.
For a moment, Gloria thought it must be Rose. Feigning a friendly wave was not like Minerva, but Rose would offer the greeting with sincerity. But Rose would never wear that hat. Gloria steeled herself. If Minerva was here with another scolding about Rose’s work on the farm, Gloria would invite Lillian out to the porch. That would chase Minerva off soon enough.
Minerva got out of the truck and stood at the bottom of the stairs. “May I speak to you?”
She didn’t sound angry, but Gloria tilted her head, wary. “Of course.”
Minerva was still in a church dress and those impractical high heels she insisted on wearing, but she climbed the steps.
“Would you like lemonade?” Gloria asked, gesturing toward the chair on the porch the least likely to snag Minerva’s dress.
“I don’t want to trouble you,” Minerva said.
“It’s no trouble.” Gloria had her fingers on the door handle.
“No, please,” Minerva said. “My question will trouble you enough.”
Gloria stepped away from the door. Minerva should not have come on the Sabbath if she knew her visit would be bothersome. Was she going to disturb every Sunday afternoon?
“Why are you here, Minerva?”
Minerva laid her hands on the purse in her lap. “This is difficult for me.”
“You’ve never had trouble being forthright.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Minerva’s spine straightened. “I’m here to ask you to teach me how to can fruit.”
The words scrambled in the air.
“I’m sorry?” Gloria said.
“Teach me to can, Gloria. I’ve never learned. Now I see the virtue of the skill.”
“I have very little time,” Gloria said. “Perhaps in a few weeks.”
Hope in the Land Page 22
