“What can I do for you today?” George asked Will.
“It’s Dad. Mother called this morning and said you’re calling in his loan. Can’t I help?”
“He doesn’t have a loan here. He paid it off last spring.” George dropped his head and sighed. “Try the Iowa County Bank, but I hear they’re in trouble. He’s always banked here. I’d be surprised if he went elsewhere.”
Will cringed. “Mother sounded desperate.”
“The Iowa County Bank took a lot of my business. I hear they’re calling loans, but he wouldn’t go there, would he?”
Will didn’t remember his mother mentioning the Iowa County Bank. Although he wasn’t surprised to hear the market had touched them, he was shocked to hear her say they were losing everything, that the bank was taking their farm. “How can that be?” he’d asked. “I inquired about his sending money to that man the other day and he denied it. I’ll be right out, Mother.”
Will had dropped the receiver and buried his head in his hands.
“Will, what’s wrong?” Mary said.
“It’s Dad. Mom says he’s losing the farm.”
“How’s that possible? It’s paid for. He told me himself.”
Will had driven Fanny to his childhood home. She sped up when they turned onto Tredinnick’s Road, the township road that ran past his place. Will supposed she remembered the grain his father scooped into her manger at day’s end. It wasn’t long after they weaned her that Fanny discovered life’s other pleasures. At dusk each summer day, she would race up the lane towards the barn, so intent on her treat that she didn’t pause to greet the cows as they streamed past toward their night pasture. Will could tell the time by her arrival home. Fanny did like her oats.
“Those were the good days, weren’t they, old girl?” And Mother said they were going to lose it, but maybe she’s wrong. She never paid much attention to finances.
Will rushed to the house. He wanted to talk with his mother first. “Mom, are you in here?”
“Out on the sun porch.”
Gertrude looked through the screen at her bright flowered mums. When she turned toward him, Will saw that her eyes were red and puffy. He had never seen his mother cry. “I just weeded those flowers last weekend.” She pointed toward her mums, the earth around them loose and black. “If I’d only known, I’d have saved the effort.” She grimaced as she stretched her back. “Oh, Will. We’re going to lose it.”
“Are you sure?”
“You know I don’t pay much attention to bills, but this time… ” Tears ran down her face.
Will wanted to hug her worries away, but he held back. He hadn’t hugged his mother since he was a boy. But she worked so hard. “Mother, sit down.” He took her hand, led her to the wicker chair, and pulled another to the front so he could face her. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“You know about those letters.”
“Dad said he wouldn’t send money.”
“But he did.”
“How? He spent his savings on a few stocks.”
“He borrowed.”
“Where?” But Will knew.
“I saw the letter from the Iowa County Bank. They’re calling the loan, and we don’t have it. They’ll take the farm.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t utter a sound. She just waved her son away.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Maybe the barn. He didn’t say a word but just threw the letter down and went out.”
Will walked across the barnyard. This was where he grew up. It wasn’t much of a farm, but it was home. It had possibilities if farmed right. He glanced upward toward the top of the yellow, glazed tile silo that didn’t look near so tall now. How he’d hated pitching silage when it piled toward the dome and he’d have to climb down the creaky outside ladder. The barn needed paint and boards were missing. His dad hadn’t replaced them after winter winds sent them sailing over the southwest Wisconsin hills. Will shielded his eyes so he could see into the lower barn. “Dad, are you in here?”
His pupils not fully adjusted, Will couldn’t see much, but he smelled the pungent odor of the full gutters. Dad hadn’t shoveled the manure after milking that morning. He stepped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but his father wasn’t there. He began to worry. Will stepped outside the dark interior and rushed around the building, toward the ramp that led upward. The wagon sat unhitched beside the barn, so he knew his father hadn’t gone to the field. He ran up toward the hay mow.
“Dad, are you in here?” But there was no answer.
Sunlight streamed through the sixteen-by-ten opening, illuminating dust that floated above the dry hay. Will began to feel weak-kneed and nauseous.
He was about to go back to the house when he thought he heard a moan behind the loosely piled timothy and broom. He eased around the hay, and there, half buried in the stack, Thomas lay still. Will rushed to him but immediately knew what happened. He didn’t need to read the label on the empty quart bottle that lay by his dad’s side; the smell of liquor permeated the air. Will lifted his father’s head and fanned his face.
Thomas groaned.
“For the love of St. Patrick, you smell like a vat of beer.”
Thomas groaned again, but when Will tried to lift him, he slumped back to the floor. Will knew how to speed this up. He gently lowered his father’s head, jumped up, grabbed a pail that sat by the door, and ran down the ramp. A minute later, he was back with the bucket full of water. At first he sloshed a little water over his dad’s face, but when that didn’t rouse him, he dumped half the pail.
Thomas gasped, flailed his arms, shook water from his face, but didn’t open his eyes. “Don’t drown me, you son of Cromwell.” He licked his lips and frowned. “It’s bloody water. I don’t need another baptism.” He groped the floor with his hand. “Where’s my bottle?”
“You don’t need more liquor, either.” Will grabbed Thomas’s arm and pulled him upright, but when he tried to slide under his shoulder to give support, Thomas waved him away. He took a few steps, staggered but made it to a grain sack in the corner. Will clutched the empty bottle. Most men would be out all day. Thomas O’Shaughnessy could hold more liquor than any man he knew. “What’s this all about?”
“Now don’t get excited. The man said he’d pay.”
“What man?”
“You know who.”
“Where’d you get the money?”
Thomas tottered but Will grabbed his coverall strap and snapped him upright.
“I thought you invested your savings in the market.”
“Now, son, don’t go gettin’ all worked up.”
“Mother showed me the bank’s letter. They’re taking our farm. And you don’t want me to get excited?”
“He said he’d send the money. He’s always been right, now hasn’t the man?”
“You talked to him?”
“No, but he sent a thank you. An Irishman, you know. Said he’d send dividends each month.”
“How much has he sent so far?”
“He will.”
Will grabbed the half full pail and dumped the remaining water over his father’s head, then ran down the ramp.
Will drove toward Frank’s, a road he had traveled many times, first with his father, then behind Fanny, who now trotted smartly along. She probably expected her oats this time.
He tied the reins to Grandpa’s cast-iron hitching post and hurried toward the barn. He supposed that Frank would be doing the evening chores. He found his brother forking hay down the manger. “Frank, it’s Dad.”
“He didn’t go have a heart attack, now did he?”
“Naw, he’s fit as a fiddle, but snapped a string or two, I’m afraid.”
“How’s it concern me? Don’t see him much anymore.”
“Do you see anyone?”
“I keep my nose to the grindstone.”
“Dad’s going to lose the farm.”
“No surprise there. Grandpa said Dad played loose with his money. Grandpa said if you don’t take care of the little things, the big things’ll eat you up.”
“But he was scammed.” Will explained. “He still thinks he’ll reap a reward, but the bank won’t wait.”
“How’s that concern me?” Frank spat a stream of tobacco juice to the side. “Do you think he’ll get some money?”
“Not a cent. These people are crooks.”
“So?”
“So we gotta help.”
“Dad’s always stumbled through life, him and all the other drunkards in town. I heard the market’s crashed. Hope you didn’t buy in, Will. Might as well have bet on rainbows.”
“Will you help?”
“Grandpa would say, ‘He got into the shit, let him dig his way out.’ What you got in mind?”
“I’ve got a couple thousand in savings, but that’s not enough to unravel him without your help. We’ll have to act fast.”
“See what you can do.” He turned to a pile of loose hay and buried his fork. “I gotta get the milking done.”
Early the next morning, Will hurried toward the Iowa County Bank. Maybe this could turn to his advantage. Perhaps he could pay off the loan, buy ownership in Dad’s farm. A down payment on his future, so to speak.
Before Will entered High Street, he was told four times, “Heard the news, Will? The bank’s shut down.”
Will ran the five blocks to the bank, but from a block away, he could read the big handwritten sign: “Closed for Business.” There had been no warning. Little likelihood he would get his money now. One thing was for sure: there’d be no down payment on his father’s farm.
The news spread rapidly. The Iowa County Bank put its money in stocks, gambled its customer’s deposits. And like everyone else, they’d lost. There were no reserves for customers, and rumor had it that the Board of Directors lost their money as well. Although people screamed for their arrest, the directors proclaimed their innocence. They said they wanted the highest possible profits for everyone. But their grand vision crashed along with the market.
He’d avoided an overheated market by placing his money in a safe bank account, but that didn’t look so prudent now. An additional one percent was a poor return indeed.
* * *
“He’s our father, Frank,” Will pleaded. “I don’t have much left, but maybe we can pool enough to save him.”
“Whoa, not so fast, my big-hearted brother. You’re sure free and easy with other people’s money. I worked hard, kept my cash at home, didn’t blow it in the market or risky banks.” He spat tobacco juice toward Will’s feet. “Dad acted stupid and greedy. You, too, it seems. You’re barking up the wrong tree if you expect me to fund his foolishness.” He spat again. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, though. I need the help. There’s plenty room in the house. They can live here, do the cookin’ and cleanin’, and I’ll pay twenty dollars a month. That’s more than Dad paid me.”
“But, Frank, they’ll lose our farm.”
“They can take it or leave it.”
With no better option, Thomas and Gertrude moved in with Frank at the end of the month.
Mary laughed when Will told her. “Gertrude with Frank? He may be getting more than he bargained for.”
But Will knew he’d not be going to the home farm again.