Gloria squinted at the labels on the drawing. Eleanor had thoughtful suggestions for sorting the chickens more efficiently and creating more room for easy egg collection. Her math, showing how many birds the Grabills owned in various categories, carefully redistributed the thinned-down flock with the new square footage in mind.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Gloria said.
Eleanor shrugged one shoulder. “My pa was a poultry farmer. He was always glad for the help.”
“He taught you well,” Gloria said. “Can I keep this drawing?”
“Yes, of course.”
Gloria creased it into quarters. “I saw you went out with Lillian and Minerva today.”
“They really need the help.”
Gloria had no doubt of that.
“I’m not asking for much,” Eleanor said. “Just enough for what I need.”
“You can stay with us as long as you need to,” Gloria said.
“You’re all very kind, but if I don’t get to Indiana soon, my cousin will wonder what became of me.”
Gloria was inclined to believe there really was a cousin in Indiana. “You can’t walk all the way to Indiana.”
“I’ve been foolish, but not that foolish. I just need enough for a train ticket. I don’t think they’ll even charge for Toddy.” Eleanor took in a deep breath and pushed it out with deliberation. “I’d better go check on him.”
Eleanor left, and Gloria stood in the cylinder of light cast by the lantern in her hand.
This changed everything. She would have to make sure Minerva sold enough chickens to ensure Eleanor got to Indiana.
CHAPTER 45
From the front window, Minerva watched Ernie park the truck.
He’d been out all morning bartering for something or other. Fruit, unidentified spare parts, odds and ends of lumber, beef jerky—he seemed to accept whatever folks had to offer. Once he came home with a ham. Minerva had been suspicious of its origins, but they ate it. The two-dozen cans with no labels were beyond Minerva’s tolerance. Rose was amused by the notion of opening mystery cans for supper, but Minerva gave the whole lot to the hands to do with as they wished.
If people would pay for Ernie’s mechanical help with even a small bit of cash—if he would expect them to—the constraints under which he wanted Minerva to live might loosen. But Ernie wanted to help everyone.
Everyone but Minerva.
He paused at the crates still in the yard, bent to put his hands on his knees, and read the various labels stamped onto the wood. This was more than Minerva had done. She could not afford to get attached to the contents or picture what she might have done with the shed. At least once a month Ernie prodded her to clean out the boys’ room. They were men now and had made their choice. He could use the room for keeping his records. Ernie couldn’t be sure the boys would never come home. She might have stored their things in that shed.
Instead, the belongings Raymond and Richard had left behind were crammed into the narrow closet—school papers, sports trophies, flannel shirts long outgrown, boots with soles so worn Minerva could have poked a hole through with one finger. It was the stuff of childhood conflated with evidence of nascent adulthood, and Minerva was not ready to dispose of any of it.
Ernie abandoned the crates and circled the house to come in the back door, as he always did. Minerva swallowed the clot of grief in her throat. It was not as though they did not speak to each other since Ernie’s fierce demand that she get rid of the shed. They exchanged household information as they always had, and Ernie told her whether he would be in the fields with the hands or off the farm. Minerva tried to prepare his favorite foods, and he thanked her. But their words circled, vulture-like, flapping predatory doom into the space between them.
Minerva listened as Ernie cleaned up. The sounds were always the same because the sequence of his movements was always the same—washing up, drying his hands, removing his boots if they were muddy. The length of time it took for him to appear in the front room was predictable with precision. Minerva turned her head toward the swinging door.
“Those crates are not watertight,” Ernie said. “You need to get them out of the yard.”
Minerva said nothing.
“Min, that shed is not staying. You may as well make your peace.”
Peace. Such an ill-spoken word for the circumstances.
“No one has any more cash than we do,” Minerva said.
“Thanks to you, Sears, Roebuck has our cash.”
It was unlike Ernie to rub Minerva’s face in the dilemma.
She wheeled, marched to the table, reached into her skirt pocket, and slapped down a stack of bills and scattered a handful of coins.
“Where did you get that?” Ernie asked.
“I earned it,” Minerva snapped. “Consider it a down payment on my debt. You may keep an account book, if you like.” What she had produced was a small fraction of the cost of the shed, but it might be enough to silence Ernie for the time being.
Ernie picked up the bills.
“You didn’t think I could do it,” Minerva said. “I’m not completely worthless.”
“How did you earn this?”
“If you must know, I have gone into business. And I’ve sold the shed. It is still here because transportation has not yet been arranged. I offered your services.”
She told him all of it. Negotiating with Gloria. Being paid in chickens—which she pointed out was no different than the bartering he did. Finding butchers, food stores, and individuals willing to buy the poultry and eggs. Promising Eleanor a small slice. Covering the cost of the gasoline she used.
Ernie was stunned.
“You’ll get your money,” Minerva said. “I only need some time.”
“I’m impressed,” Ernie said.
He should be. Minerva dropped into her favorite chair.
“Min.”
Don’t call me that.
“Min, I’m sorry I lost my temper the other day. I can see you’re making a good faith effort.”
It was more than good faith. She deserved credit beyond a platitude.
“Solving this matter will not solve the bigger problem,” Ernie said. “We’re going to have a difficult winter, Min. We have to pull together.”
“We’ll get through.” Her voice croaked.
“Maybe you should hang on to some of the chickens.”
“It’s a temporary business,” Minerva said. He should have understood that. Once she recouped the cost of the shed—or most of it—the matter would be closed.
“You’re getting chickens from Gloria,” Ernie said. “Rose is learning how to look after them. That’s a good start.”
Start of what? She met his gaze.
“If Gloria has time to run a poultry business and look after the livestock they sell,” Ernie said, “it seems to me that keeping a few chickens ourselves shouldn’t be much trouble.”
Minerva stared at the ceiling.
“I need you to do this, Min.”
Silence draped the chasm between husband and wife.
When did Betsy take up this habit of running through the house? Polly’s mother had never tolerated the habit with any of her children before this. If eight children had indulged, the house would have been in constant chaos. Betsy’s distinctive gait blustered through the house, bare feet slapping wood floors in the rhythm of a child’s eagerness. She had been home from school for more than two hours and should have settled down by now.
Polly laid down the knife she was using to chop onions for supper and stepped into the front room in time to see Betsy tumble onto the sofa between Alice and Sylvia, nearly spilling the contents of the sewing basket they were sharing while they quilted nine-inch squares.
“I heard a secret today.” Betsy giggled.
“If you tell us, it won’t be a secret,” Alice said.
“It must not be a true secret,” Betsy said, “because Lydia Wyse told it where everyone could hear.”
Alice and Sylvia stilled their needles, and Polly her feet.
“Is it about her sister?” Sylvia asked.
Betsy nodded. “Lydia says Ruth is going to wed as soon as the harvest is in.”
So Polly had been right about the abundance of celery the Wyses had grown this year. Over the next few weeks, at least two or three other couples were likely to announce their intentions. Polly had her suspicions who they would be, but she couldn’t be certain.
“Can you keep a real secret?” Sylvia leaned her head in toward Betsy, who nodded. “I think Lena might have something to announce, too.”
Polly took a step back. Lena! If she’d confided in Sylvia and not Polly, it could only be for one reason. Polly thudded across the front room and out the front door, trying to think where Lena was supposed to be.
The poultry shed. No, the stable. At this time, she would be checking on the feed and water for the horses that had labored in the fields during the day. Polly’s foot pinched at the pace, but she did not slow.
She burst into the stable. Lena looked up from a feed bucket.
“I wish you every happiness,” she said, choking.
“Who told you?” Lena set down the bucket.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me yourself.” How many people already knew? How many already pitied Polly for the heartbreak they knew was coming?
“We only just decided,” Lena said. “He hasn’t even spoken to Daed yet.”
“You don’t have to be so careful on my account.” Tears burned in Polly’s eyes, but she refused them. “You both deserve to be happy, and if this is Gottes wille, then it’s the right thing for all of us.”
“Of course I hope the family will be happy,” Lena said, a smile creeping across her face. “It’s been hard not to talk about it.”
Lena’s face blurred behind the tears that heated Polly’s eyes. She turned away. “I have to get back to the vegetables.”
Henry didn’t get out of the way fast enough. Polly nearly knocked him off balance as she barged out of the stable.
“How long have you been there?” Polly’s chest heaved. Henry had never seen her face so red.
“A few minutes,” he said.
“I suppose you heard it all, then.”
“You have it wrong, Polly.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been blind for too long. I’ve been as silly about Thomas as you were about Coralie.”
“No, Polly.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was unkind. I shouldn’t take my disappointment out on you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Lena can do all the things I can’t do. Piecrust. Animals. Gardening. And she has the good sense to keep her feet out of the way of a sickle.”
“Polly,” Henry said, “talk to Thomas. I’ll take you over in my car, if you like.”
“I think I’ve had enough embarrassment for one day. For the whole week. The whole year.”
“You’ll feel better if you talk to him.”
“The time for talking is past.”
Henry reached to touch Polly’s shoulder, but she brushed him off.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this.” She expelled air. “I love Lena and I love …”
“You love Thomas.”
“So I will love seeing them happy together. Eventually. Just don’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”
Polly pivoted toward the house. Henry let her go.
If Polly wouldn’t listen to him, Thomas would have to.
The knock came during evening devotions. Polly had hardly heard a word her daed had said, but the interruption was a relief. Daed was not likely to leave someone standing on the porch.
“I see that once again the Lord is telling me I have become longwinded,” he said. “Amen.”
Lena jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Polly reached for Toddy. If she offered to take him upstairs to bed, she could politely excuse herself. Lena was too eager to answer the door. Polly did not want to see Thomas’s face in the doorframe.
But it wasn’t Thomas. The voice was another’s, and Polly turned to look. The man looked vaguely familiar, but his name would not form in her mind. Words she could remember. Numbers rarely failed her. When she saw something once, it was as if an English photograph was filed in her mind. But names? This was her weakness, the truth that kept her pride in check.
Or perhaps she had never known this man’s name. He was not from their congregation.
Lena knew him. She must have been expecting him and told him just when her father was likely to conclude the evening’s prayer. The blush in her cheeks and the sheen in her eyes were all the evidence Polly needed.
Henry was right. She had gotten it wrong.
“Daed,” Lena said, “you remember Johann Stutzman from the Somerset district, don’t you?”
Daed nodded slowly. “You came to help with your cousin’s barn raising. He wouldn’t let anyone work on the roof without your permission.”
Johann Stutzman. Polly had not known his name, but his face fell into place, and she remembered his robust laugh. Lena had been there with pie and lemonade, laughing, too. That was months ago, on the heels of a departing winter. How had Lena kept a secret all this time?
Polly’s sisters were more hospitable than she was, perhaps because they were less stunned. Sylvia brought coffee. Nancy carried in cake. Even Eleanor fetched Toddy from Polly’s arms and presented him to Johann for admiration. Polly lurked at the edge of the room.
Johann’s hand trembled when he balanced a coffee cup on a saucer, and Lena swiftly removed it from his grasp. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair.
“I apologize for arriving at this hour,” he said. “But I am visiting my cousin overnight and did not want to miss the opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” Daed put his hands on his knees and leaned forward in his chair.
The light in her father’s eye startled Polly.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Grabill,” Johann said. “I have come because I have developed a deep and abiding affection for your daughter. We would both like your permission to marry.”
Daed leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his belly, eyes gleaming.
Polly walked out through the kitchen and onto the back porch. Lena wanted to marry this man.
And Polly had made an utter fool of herself again.
CHAPTER 46
Three crows lined up on the largest crate. Minerva shooed them away and hoped they did not leave behind droppings between the slats. If she could get the hands to load the crates in the back of the truck, Minerva would drive the shed to Gloria’s, where her sons could unload it. The shed belonged to them now.
Perhaps tomorrow. Today she had chickens to deliver to a farmer twenty miles away who had no compunction about slaughtering them himself or finding enough margin in price to sell the layers off to another farm. Gloria’s chickens could be all over Lancaster County before Minerva sorted out her debt and could forget she had ever ordered that shed.
Ernie had gone out to the fields on foot, leaving Minerva the truck. She hadn’t even had to make up an excuse for why she needed it—not after last night. As long as Minerva brought home cash every day, Ernie would ask no questions.
She sighed at the crates—her bodily response every time she sighted them or walked past—and opened the truck door. Rose had been too impatient to wait for a ride and had left ninety minutes ago for the Grabills’, where Gloria was keeping her promise to teach Minerva’s daughter about chickens.
The hapless man at the end of the long driveway gave Minerva pause. He should move on. They couldn’t take on another mouth to feed, and at this time of year there was barely enough work on the farm to occupy Ernie and three hands, even if they weren’t being paid. She started the truck.
The man lifted a hand to wave, and shock shot through her.
Richard.
She stared as he ambled toward her.<
br />
Yes, Richard!
Minerva shut off the engine and got out. She waited with one hand on the hood of the car, not trusting her teary balance.
Then he stood before her.
“I never should have left,” he said.
His face, thin and sallow, hosted the shimmering black eyes into which Minerva had fallen the day he was born.
“I was a fool,” he said. “I kept thinking there should be an easier way than scraping by on a farm, but I was wrong.”
Minerva put a hand against one stubbly cheek. “You’re home.”
Richard covered her hand with his. “If you’ll have me back.”
Of course Minerva would have him back. Of course she would feed another mouth if it was Richard’s.
“And Raymond?” she said, her heart surging toward the possibility that her family would be whole again. Ernie might be less welcoming.
“Raymond’s all right, Mother,” Richard said. “He’s still in Chicago at the meat packing plant. They would have taken me on, too, but I thought I wanted something else. Something better. So I went farther west. I’ve come to my senses now. But you don’t have to worry about Raymond. I saw him a few days ago.”
“You saw Raymond?”
“He’s the one who bought my train ticket home.”
Minerva had always known Raymond would settle and Richard would founder. Still, it was good to know her boys had been together only a few days ago.
Richard’s feet shifted with his nervous laugh. “He said he would take the cost of the ticket out of my hide if he got wind I went anywhere but straight home. He’ll probably write to you to make sure I did.”
“Come in the house,” Minerva said. “Are you hungry?”
“You were getting ready to go somewhere.”
The chickens. Minerva had promised delivery today.
“I do have to go,” she said, “but I want you settled first.”
She could stay long enough to fix a plate of food and put out clean towels. And for Richard’s sake, she might have to drive out to the field and warn Ernie.
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