Read Online Meadowlark by Sheila Simonson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sheila Simonson
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I?"
"Earlier. Did you mean physically or emotionally?"
"Physically, I guess." She twirled the spinner. "It was Agent
Orange."
Something clicked. "The skin condition?"
"That and the stomach problems. His wife kept having
miscarriages, too. That's why they split. She couldn't take it."
I set my coffee cup down. Marianne was hitting close to
home. As far as I knew Jay hadn't been exposed to Agent Orange.
Still, what if he had been and didn't know it? I lifted the cup and
sipped. "That's so sad."
Marianne cocked her head. "Yes, it was. But Hugo's not sad,
really. Just quiet. He likes his work."
"No chemicals."
"No pesticides and no chemical fertilizers." Marianne's air of
precision reminded me of her comment about the cinnamon. She
didn't sound belligerent or pedantic, just precise. "Hugo's crew is
boat people," she added, giving the greens a last critical twirl.
"What?"
"The crew for planting and harvest. Weeding, too. They're
refugees. Bianca used to hire Mexicans." She took a huge ceramic
salad bowl from the cupboard and began tearing lettuce into
bite-sized pieces. "The year before Del started working for her, the
Immigration people raided Bianca's crew. Most of 'em were illegals.
She had to pay a big fine, and the story got into the paper. It was
embarrassing. She decided to work with the Vietnamese after that.
They have green cards."
"Boat people--that was a long time ago. They must be middle
aged."
"They are. Hugo says they were peasants, couldn't read and
write their own language. There were classes for them at the college,
but a lot of them dropped out of the program after a couple of years.
They're women mostly, and they do what they've always
done--farmwork."
I turned that over in my mind. "But Hugo--"
"Hugo gets along with them okay. He talks their language a
little." She took out a French knife and began slicing a purple onion.
She broke the slices into perfect rings.
Mike galloped through to the mudroom at that point
without dallying for small talk. I heard the door slam as he went
out.
Marianne finished her salad and carried the bowl to the
dining room. Eventually she allowed me to help her set the table. I
felt useless and resentful of Bianca for dragging me out to the
farm.
Why had she wanted me? As a witness? She must have
known I would be of no practical help. Of course she hadn't expected
to find the bike. I pictured Hugo's sturdy mountain bike. He took
good care of it. If he had meant to abandon it at the farm, wouldn't he
have left it in the car barn? Not, I supposed, if he wanted to avoid
pursuit. My mind made tight circles of speculation.
"You going to join us for dinner?" Marianne smoothed a
napkin.
"No. My husband's taking me out on the town."
She sighed. "Lucky."
The telephone rang. I followed her back to the kitchen.
"Yes," she said into the receiver. "Yeah, she's still looking.
Did you check the barn?"
I deduced she was talking to Del. She made an affirmative
noise. "Half an hour." She hung up. "Del and the boys are coming in.
They didn't find nothing."
I didn't think they'd had enough time for a thorough search.
Outside, a car started after two grinding whines and drove off. I
checked my watch. Five fifteen.
At five thirty Bianca and Angie came in and other cars left.
Bianca looked discouraged.
"No luck?"
She grimaced. "Zippo. It's awfully dark. I think you're right
about needing bloodhounds. I keep imagining Hugo unconscious in a
corner of the old barn." Marianne turned the oven down. "Del said
there was no sign of Hugo at the barn."
I stood up. "The deputy will probably wait until morning to
do a police search. Do you want me tomorrow, Bianca?"
"I wish you'd stay now--"
I shook my head. "No, Jay and I have a commitment. I will
come out tomorrow, though, if you need moral support."
She nodded, drooping.
"I'll show myself out." I went home, feeling futile and
obscurely used. I was sorry for Bianca, though. Her distress seemed
genuine.
When I returned to the farm the
"Earlier. Did you mean physically or emotionally?"
"Physically, I guess." She twirled the spinner. "It was Agent
Orange."
Something clicked. "The skin condition?"
"That and the stomach problems. His wife kept having
miscarriages, too. That's why they split. She couldn't take it."
I set my coffee cup down. Marianne was hitting close to
home. As far as I knew Jay hadn't been exposed to Agent Orange.
Still, what if he had been and didn't know it? I lifted the cup and
sipped. "That's so sad."
Marianne cocked her head. "Yes, it was. But Hugo's not sad,
really. Just quiet. He likes his work."
"No chemicals."
"No pesticides and no chemical fertilizers." Marianne's air of
precision reminded me of her comment about the cinnamon. She
didn't sound belligerent or pedantic, just precise. "Hugo's crew is
boat people," she added, giving the greens a last critical twirl.
"What?"
"The crew for planting and harvest. Weeding, too. They're
refugees. Bianca used to hire Mexicans." She took a huge ceramic
salad bowl from the cupboard and began tearing lettuce into
bite-sized pieces. "The year before Del started working for her, the
Immigration people raided Bianca's crew. Most of 'em were illegals.
She had to pay a big fine, and the story got into the paper. It was
embarrassing. She decided to work with the Vietnamese after that.
They have green cards."
"Boat people--that was a long time ago. They must be middle
aged."
"They are. Hugo says they were peasants, couldn't read and
write their own language. There were classes for them at the college,
but a lot of them dropped out of the program after a couple of years.
They're women mostly, and they do what they've always
done--farmwork."
I turned that over in my mind. "But Hugo--"
"Hugo gets along with them okay. He talks their language a
little." She took out a French knife and began slicing a purple onion.
She broke the slices into perfect rings.
Mike galloped through to the mudroom at that point
without dallying for small talk. I heard the door slam as he went
out.
Marianne finished her salad and carried the bowl to the
dining room. Eventually she allowed me to help her set the table. I
felt useless and resentful of Bianca for dragging me out to the
farm.
Why had she wanted me? As a witness? She must have
known I would be of no practical help. Of course she hadn't expected
to find the bike. I pictured Hugo's sturdy mountain bike. He took
good care of it. If he had meant to abandon it at the farm, wouldn't he
have left it in the car barn? Not, I supposed, if he wanted to avoid
pursuit. My mind made tight circles of speculation.
"You going to join us for dinner?" Marianne smoothed a
napkin.
"No. My husband's taking me out on the town."
She sighed. "Lucky."
The telephone rang. I followed her back to the kitchen.
"Yes," she said into the receiver. "Yeah, she's still looking.
Did you check the barn?"
I deduced she was talking to Del. She made an affirmative
noise. "Half an hour." She hung up. "Del and the boys are coming in.
They didn't find nothing."
I didn't think they'd had enough time for a thorough search.
Outside, a car started after two grinding whines and drove off. I
checked my watch. Five fifteen.
At five thirty Bianca and Angie came in and other cars left.
Bianca looked discouraged.
"No luck?"
She grimaced. "Zippo. It's awfully dark. I think you're right
about needing bloodhounds. I keep imagining Hugo unconscious in a
corner of the old barn." Marianne turned the oven down. "Del said
there was no sign of Hugo at the barn."
I stood up. "The deputy will probably wait until morning to
do a police search. Do you want me tomorrow, Bianca?"
"I wish you'd stay now--"
I shook my head. "No, Jay and I have a commitment. I will
come out tomorrow, though, if you need moral support."
She nodded, drooping.
"I'll show myself out." I went home, feeling futile and
obscurely used. I was sorry for Bianca, though. Her distress seemed
genuine.
When I returned to the farm the
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