right thing, Sam?” I asked.
“That’s up to you, honey,” he told me. “We can still go to Dewey’s and spend a couple of days deciding what to do next.”
We walked along in silence, and I almost gave up the idea of the farm. How could I ask a stranger a favor such as this? Especially when it concerned something so dear to her heart. It was easy for me to see how she could love the place; I wouldn’t want to part with it, if I were her. But, of course, she wouldn’t have to. We couldn’t buy it anyway. Maybe we could tenant for awhile, until she was ready to do something different. And by then, maybe we would’ve found something else, maybe something in the area.
We got a ride from an old couple who drove slower than Hammond’s farm wagon and said scarcely two words to us the whole way to Belle Rive. But when we stopped beside an ancient-looking church on the edge of town, the woman turned in her seat and gave me a quarter. “Get the kids somethin’, will you?” she said. And she and her husband drove away on the road toward Mt. Vernon. Sam would have liked to go on with them, I was sure.
I stood with the quarter in my hand and tears in my eyes, afraid of what I had come to the town to do.
“Are all the towns in Illinois this small?” Robert asked when the car was out of sight.
“Chicago’s bigger than Harrisburg,” Sam told him. “But I hear things are pretty hard up there.”
“Things are hard around here too,” Robert observed. “If people will eat a pig’s head.”
Little Sarah put her hand in my hand, her eyes on my tears. “Don’t be scared, Mama,” she whispered. “I bet there’s something real good to find in this town.”
I nodded to her but couldn’t say a word. I wanted to buy them peaches with the quarter. Just because they loved them so well. I stood wondering about finding a grocer in this town when I saw a sign not even a block away from us. “BOARDERS WELCOME.”
Sam had seen it too. “That’s probably it,” he said. “I’m not sure a town this size could have two boardinghouses.”
Once again I considered giving up my idea. But Sarah expected me to muster my courage and find the good so that I could tell her about it. I looked hard at Sam.
“Are you coming with me?”
He only shook his head. I could see the love in his eyes, all stirred in with his sadness. I handed him my bag with a nod. Might be better anyway, I thought, for a woman to be talking to a woman on this. At least, if that’s the way Sam wants it, that’s the way it’ll be.
TEN
Emma
I was sittin’ by the window in my room at Rita’s with an undone quilt bunched on my lap. Every day I tried to sew it a little more. Had to pull it up close to my face, though, to get the stitchin’ halfway right. I was working at it when I heard the knock outside, but I didn’t pay it no mind. There weren’t many folks come to see me.
Before long, I tied off and cut my thread, then pulled back Rita’s old lime curtains to get me a better look outside. An old willow tree not thirty feet from the glass took up ’bout all my view. We had one just like it out to the farm, till it come crashin’ down in the big storm that hit in 1918.
God musta put this willow where it was on purpose, so I could look out and remember all the picnics me and Willard had under the droopy shade of the other one. I remember missing it something awful when it fell. Would’ve planted another just like it, but Willard did the practical thing and put in an apple.
I sat there for a moment, dreamin’ on whether the apple tree had bloomed and how well it might do for fruit this year without the prunin’ it was sure to be needing. Didn’t take much to get me homesick, I guess.
I thought of how the jonquils would be pretty ’gainst the white of the house that time of year. But the violas was likely choked awful by the grass, bein’ along the garden’s edge the way they was. And the violas was precious, since they came clear
“That’s up to you, honey,” he told me. “We can still go to Dewey’s and spend a couple of days deciding what to do next.”
We walked along in silence, and I almost gave up the idea of the farm. How could I ask a stranger a favor such as this? Especially when it concerned something so dear to her heart. It was easy for me to see how she could love the place; I wouldn’t want to part with it, if I were her. But, of course, she wouldn’t have to. We couldn’t buy it anyway. Maybe we could tenant for awhile, until she was ready to do something different. And by then, maybe we would’ve found something else, maybe something in the area.
We got a ride from an old couple who drove slower than Hammond’s farm wagon and said scarcely two words to us the whole way to Belle Rive. But when we stopped beside an ancient-looking church on the edge of town, the woman turned in her seat and gave me a quarter. “Get the kids somethin’, will you?” she said. And she and her husband drove away on the road toward Mt. Vernon. Sam would have liked to go on with them, I was sure.
I stood with the quarter in my hand and tears in my eyes, afraid of what I had come to the town to do.
“Are all the towns in Illinois this small?” Robert asked when the car was out of sight.
“Chicago’s bigger than Harrisburg,” Sam told him. “But I hear things are pretty hard up there.”
“Things are hard around here too,” Robert observed. “If people will eat a pig’s head.”
Little Sarah put her hand in my hand, her eyes on my tears. “Don’t be scared, Mama,” she whispered. “I bet there’s something real good to find in this town.”
I nodded to her but couldn’t say a word. I wanted to buy them peaches with the quarter. Just because they loved them so well. I stood wondering about finding a grocer in this town when I saw a sign not even a block away from us. “BOARDERS WELCOME.”
Sam had seen it too. “That’s probably it,” he said. “I’m not sure a town this size could have two boardinghouses.”
Once again I considered giving up my idea. But Sarah expected me to muster my courage and find the good so that I could tell her about it. I looked hard at Sam.
“Are you coming with me?”
He only shook his head. I could see the love in his eyes, all stirred in with his sadness. I handed him my bag with a nod. Might be better anyway, I thought, for a woman to be talking to a woman on this. At least, if that’s the way Sam wants it, that’s the way it’ll be.
TEN
Emma
I was sittin’ by the window in my room at Rita’s with an undone quilt bunched on my lap. Every day I tried to sew it a little more. Had to pull it up close to my face, though, to get the stitchin’ halfway right. I was working at it when I heard the knock outside, but I didn’t pay it no mind. There weren’t many folks come to see me.
Before long, I tied off and cut my thread, then pulled back Rita’s old lime curtains to get me a better look outside. An old willow tree not thirty feet from the glass took up ’bout all my view. We had one just like it out to the farm, till it come crashin’ down in the big storm that hit in 1918.
God musta put this willow where it was on purpose, so I could look out and remember all the picnics me and Willard had under the droopy shade of the other one. I remember missing it something awful when it fell. Would’ve planted another just like it, but Willard did the practical thing and put in an apple.
I sat there for a moment, dreamin’ on whether the apple tree had bloomed and how well it might do for fruit this year without the prunin’ it was sure to be needing. Didn’t take much to get me homesick, I guess.
I thought of how the jonquils would be pretty ’gainst the white of the house that time of year. But the violas was likely choked awful by the grass, bein’ along the garden’s edge the way they was. And the violas was precious, since they came clear
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