The agent considered for a bit longer and then nodded.
Liddie could not imagine how Vern would react.
Minnie didn’t seem to care.
Chapter 40
Breakfast was over. The remnants of fried eggs and bacon grease congealed on empty plates as they lingered over a last cup of coffee. Margretta pulled a piece of paper out of her apron pocket, smoothed it out, and slid it across the table. Her hand trembled as she lifted her arthritis-bent fingers, leaving the paper beside Liddie’s plate.
“What’s this?” Liddie picked up the slip. It took several seconds before the reality of what she was looking at sank in—a bank draft made out to her. For five thousand dollars.
“Mama?” Liddie didn’t know what to make of it.
“It’s from G. W., too.” Margretta nodded with a satisfied smile.
An image of her father standing with his hand on her mother’s shoulder flashed into Liddie’s mind as vividly as though he were still alive. Her eyes burned, and she blinked back an urge to cry. “Joe, look.” She handed him the check.
“It’s what’s fair,” Margretta said. “Vern has the farm. I was waiting for you to settle down to give you your share.” She nodded to Joe. “You want to buy this place. Now you can. Or at least start to.”
Liddie wondered if the check was her mother’s way of saying she approved of the choices she’d made. She and Joe had so much happy news this summer. Their beautiful baby. Joe’s draft deferment. Now this money. “Thank you, Mama.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
Joe stared intently at the check. His voice was husky when he spoke. “Thank you, Margretta.” He handed the check back to Liddie and went to look out the window, his hands stuffed in his back pockets.
Liddie looked at him, puzzled. He always called Margretta “Mama.” She didn’t know what was wrong, but she didn’t want her mother to think they were ungrateful. “This is cause for a celebration,” she said. “I’m going to make something special for dessert.” She checked on Rose, who slept soundly after her morning feeding, then went to the cupboard and pulled out the mixing bowl, flour, and sugar.
Later that afternoon, Liddie sought out Joe in the barn, their private place since Mama had come to live with them. When he saw her, he stopped cleaning out the calf pen.
She leaned against the feedbox. “I’ve never seen that much money at once.”
“Me either.” Joe took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “What are you going to do with it?”
“What am I going to do with it? Mama gave it to us.”
“It’s your inheritance.”
His tone confirmed her fear. He had taken offense.
“Mama wants us to use it to buy the farm. That’s what she said. Papa would have wanted that, too.” She traced a fingertip along the smooth edge of a crescent-shaped groove in the top of the feedbox. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy.”
He pulled the pitchfork out of the straw, then jammed it back again. “She doesn’t think I can take care of you and Rose.”
“Oh, Joe! That’s not true. Why would you think that?”
He didn’t respond.
“This is because the check was made out to me and not to the both of us.”
He jabbed the pitchfork into the straw again. “At first sight, it hurt.”
Liddie left the feedbox, took the pitchfork out of his hand, and propped it against the wall. She put her hands on his cheeks. “She didn’t mean that.” He tried to turn his face away, but she didn’t let go. “Look at me. I know she didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Liddie, I want to be able to give you everything.”
“We have everything already, without this money. With the money, we can own the farm sooner. Like she said.”
“Because she said it doesn’t mean that’s what you have to do. You could save it. Or spend it on something you want. We can keep on renting and buy when we get enough money together. Like we planned.” Joe strode to the barn door.
Liddie watched him stand looking out at the fields, but didn’t follow. He needed time to think; so did she. Unexpectedly, she felt sad; right now the money seemed more a curse than a blessing. When she saw Joe run his fingers through his hair, she knew he’d come to a conclusion.
“I expect your ma and pa talked about this before he died,” he said when he returned to her. “Your ma is doing what she and G. W. agreed. No reason for me to take offense.”
“So you’re not upset?”
“I don’t take it personal.” Joe reached down and scratched the neck of a yellow tabby cat winding between his legs. “But if we didn’t put it down on the farm, what would you buy? If you could buy anything?”
She searched her memory. The only material thing she’d ever wanted badly in her whole life had been a doll, and like a miracle, the doll she’d desired had appeared under the tree at Christmas. She’d grown up having what she needed, blessed with a wealth of love and contentment. Because her family provided her everything, she’d never imagined otherwise. She laughed. “It’s hard!”
Joe looked skeptical. “Didn’t you ever imagine having all the money in the world?” He took her hand. “Let’s walk.” He led her through the barnyard out to the hay field.
She racked her brain for things she wanted. Did it signal a dearth of imagination that nothing grand came to mind?
Until she lived in town, she’d never thought about the cost of things at all. As a child, she seldom saw money change hands. Her room and board in Maquoketa was her first inkling, and though Mama and Vern had managed that until she could cover her own expenses, she had been proud to pay for things with her own earnings. Working and earning enough to fend for herself had been rewarding in their own right.
Now the cost of running a farm was abundantly clear. Her experience at the studio prepared her to keep the farm’s books, and she was proud Joe trusted her with that responsibility. Because she was the one to add the numbers at the end of the month, the cost of things was always in her mind, and many nights, she sat up totaling the monthly expenses.
They talked often about buying the farm, but it was difficult to see how they’d ever have enough to make it happen. To even think of spending this money on anything other than the farm felt wrong.
“It’s a game,” Joe persisted when they stood at the top of the rise. “Come on. What’s one thing you’d like?”
She recalled her days with Mrs. Tinker. “Maybe a new sewing machine. I could make new clothes for all of us.”
“Something bigger. Just for fun.”
“That would be fun! You know I love to sew,” she insisted. “Okay. How about a new cookstove?”
“You are so practical.”
A breeze blew strands of hair across her face, and she snagged them, tucking the wayward locks behind her ear. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the dusty warm smell of autumn. She opened her eyes to see Joe watching her, smiling.
“All right,” she said. “A darkroom.” She hastened to add, “But that’s a really big thing. I know it’s too much.”
“Now you’re talking!” he said with such enthusiasm it surprised her. “That’s something to dream about.”
“What about you?” She threw the challenge back to him. “What would you spend it on if you could have anything?”
“Another trip like our honeymoon. A horse I could race and stand at stud. A car. A home where you and I and our babies can be happy. And this farm.”
He rattled off the list so fast, Liddie laughed. “You’ve already been thinking.” Then his comments caught up with her. “You’d build us a new house?” she asked.
“I want to give you things.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. You make me happy. This place makes me happy.”
She looked across the f
ields. With that much money, she could have anything she could think of: new furniture, new clothes, a new cookstove. But the cradle Joe had built for Rose was perfect. There was nothing wrong with the cookstove they had now, nothing that a little persistence didn’t manage. The dresses she had were fine. She had what she needed right in front of her.
She looked intently into Joe’s eyes. “You’re serious? I can do anything I want with this money?”
“It’s your money, Liebchen.”
“All right, then.” She laid the palm of her hand on his cheek. “I want this farm.”
Joe wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her up, and twirled her in a circle until they collapsed on the ground laughing.
“Mein Liebchen,” he said, and kissed her in the way that made her forget about everything but him. “I’ll talk to Gib.”
Chapter 41
Liddie watched the buckboard come up the lane. Vern was bringing Minnie and Pearl to spend the day while he and Joe went into town. Joe planned to talk with the banker about a mortgage on the farm. The money was in the bank, waiting for the details to be worked out.
“I wonder what the temperature will be like today?” she muttered. The late-October weather had been warm of late, but as far as Liddie could see, the Treadway household had been decidedly chilly ever since Minnie had brought Pearl home from the church. Minnie was back to her old self, color back in her cheeks and as lively as ever. But since that day—four solid weeks ago—according to Minnie, Vern hadn’t spoken a single word to his wife.
As Minnie told it, she’d finessed his silence during Mrs. Wilstock’s visit with coffee, cake, and a tour of their well-kept home. She laughed off Liddie’s concerns. “I talk with Pearl about everything from laundry to the cooking, and she babbles right along. I also talk to Vern. I don’t pay any mind that he doesn’t talk back. He’ll come around.”
It was a contest of wills in the Treadway house, that was for sure. As Vern tied up the horses, Minnie called out, “Hi, Liddie. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” The cheerfulness of her words matched the tone of her voice.
Liddie went to help with Pearl, but Minnie warned her off with a little shake of her head. To Liddie’s surprise, Vern reached up to take the baby and held Minnie’s hand as she stepped down.
Vern did not hand the baby back to Minnie. Instead, he held Pearl in his arms as though he’d been doing it since she was born. “Morning, Liddie,” he said.
“Look how happy you are today.” Liddie tickled Pearl under the chin. Her comment could just as easily have been addressed to Vern.
“How’s Ma?” he asked.
“She’s good. She’s in the kitchen.” Liddie stared after him as he went to the house.
Minnie lifted her sewing basket out of the buckboard. “I told you,” she said.
“And it only took a month,” Liddie observed with dry humor as they followed Vern into the house.
As soon as the men left for town, the women settled down around the kitchen table with knitting needles and balls of yarn. The neighborhood women had committed to knitting two pairs of socks to send with every county man going to the war. The knitting pattern was so familiar by now, the women barely looked as their needles clicked away.
“Tell us how you did it,” Liddie urged.
“It was all you, wasn’t it, sweetie?” Minnie kissed the top of Pearl’s head as the baby pawed at her mother’s yarn. “A couple of days ago, we were having breakfast. I put the high chair between Vern and me so he could help her with her food. Which he never did.” Minnie glanced at Margretta, then continued. “He can be such a mule. He never even looked in her direction.
“Anyway, I went to get something in the living room. I heard a spoon hit the floor, and I sneaked close enough to peek back in.
“There was Pearl straining over the arm of her chair toward her spoon. At first she babbled. Pretty soon, she screwed up her little face, and big tears started to run down her cheeks. He tried not to look at her, but he never could ignore a woman in distress. He picked up the spoon and went to put it on her tray, but she grabbed his finger and held on. As soon as she had hold of him, she stopped crying. Then he wiped a tear off her cheek with his finger. It was the first time he touched her.”
Minnie nuzzled Pearl. “By the time I came back into the kitchen, he was feeding her cereal.” She smiled triumphantly.
“What did he say?” Liddie asked.
“Not a thing. And neither did I. We acted like him feeding her was as natural as the sun coming up in the morning. Didn’t we, Pearl?” Minnie turned the baby to face her. “Now your daddy can’t wait to have a meal with you, can he?” Pearl tried to put the brooch on Minnie’s dress in her mouth.
“I’m happy for you all,” Margretta said. “Vern will be a good father.”
“I knew he would. Once he let himself.”
Liddie stuck the ends of her knitting needles into the ball and squeezed Minnie’s hand. “I know I’m happy Rose has an older sister to play with.” She went to the cupboard for plates and forks. “Let’s have a piece of crumb cake to celebrate.”
“I hope you’ll take a picture of our family,” Minnie said.
“Pardon?”
“We’d like a picture of our family,” Minnie repeated. “And we’d like you to take it.”
Liddie felt a twinge in her chest. She hadn’t used her camera since the day she had put it away almost a year ago. What had once been so important to her and had sparked her imagination now lay buried in the sideboard drawer. Joe never said anything about the camera and neither did she. She expected he was happy she wasn’t wasting money on a hobby.
Liddie busied herself with the cake, keeping her back to Minnie lest her distress show on her face. “Oh, you should go to a studio. You’d want someone good to do it,” she said.
“Why, Liddie, I can’t believe you said that. Your photos are wonderful.”
“Were. Maybe. I haven’t picked up a camera in ages.”
“It can’t be more than a few months. And I seriously doubt you’ve forgotten how.” Minnie frowned at her. “What’s going on? What happened to the woman who was going to travel the world with her photography?”
Liddie laughed. “I’m a farmwife now. Not a photographer.”
Margretta stopped knitting and looked at her. “Can’t you be both?”
“It surprises me to hear you say that, Mama. As I recall, you were not particularly happy when I went to work for Mr. Littmann.”
“You have me there,” Margretta said.
“I don’t care how long it’s been,” Minnie said. “I want you to take our family pictures. We’ll pay you. And I want a picture of all of us with Margretta. We could even do it today.”
“No. We can’t.” Overwhelmed by the rush of emotions the conversation roused, Liddie was curt. “I don’t have film.”
“Oh.” Minnie’s enthusiasm deflated. “I wish we’d thought of that. Vern might have bought some while they’re in town. Or does it have to be ordered?” Her spark returned. “Could we get film and do it soon? Please say you’ll do it. Promise me. Okay?”
Liddie couldn’t help but smile at Minnie’s enthusiasm. In fact, the idea of having a camera in her hands made her feel unexpectedly buoyant. “Okay. But you don’t need to pay me.” She hesitated. “Maybe for the developing.”
“I wish I had a photo of Amelia’s family, too.” Margretta’s voice sounded ragged.
Minnie patted her hand. “What have you heard from them?”
“We got a letter last week. It’s in the desk. Liddie, get it so Minnie can read it.”
Liddie retrieved the letter, glad to let Minnie carry the conversation.
“How’s she doing with the twins?” Minnie asked. “She sure has her hands full.”
“She didn’t say. I hope she still has that neighbor girl staying with her.”
“She hasn’t mentioned in the last few letters.” Liddie put cake on the table and poured coffee. “Maybe still working for that neighbor.”
“I don’t expect she sits down often,” Minnie said. “Who’s this Sean she mentions?”
“Her neighbor Gertie’s boy,” Liddie said. “He was among the first American troops to go to France. He hadn’t been there two weeks and was killed.”
“Oh, how sad!”
Liddie caught Minnie’s gaze. The two were thankful their husbands had been deferred from service. But it was hard knowing so many men who had gone.
“With winter coming on, I expect the men will welcome warm feet.” Minnie picked up her needles.
Between knitting and babies and talking, the day passed pleasantly. Liddie was putting a fresh pot of coffee on the stove when they heard the sound of a motorcar driving up the lane.
“Who could that be?” Liddie wondered aloud.
“Someone must be lost,” Minnie suggested.
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Margretta said.
All three women were out on the porch in time to see Joe steer a car into the yard. Vern followed in the buckboard, some distance back.
Chapter 42
Joe swept an arm dramatically toward the automobile. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
“What in the world?” Liddie ran down the steps.
“Look at it, Liddie.” Joe took her by the arm and walked her around, pointing out the leather seats, the retractable top, the running lights.
Liddie stepped back to observe the motorcar. “When do you have to take it back?”
“We have plenty of time. Let’s take a ride.” He ran up the steps to get Margretta.
“You go ahead.” Margretta waved him off. “Someone has to mind the babies.”
He pecked her on the cheek. “You can go next time.” He led Liddie to the front seat. “Come sit up here with me. Vern, you and Minnie get the backseat.”
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