Today they milked early because Will wanted to get on the road. It was his dad’s seventy-first birthday, and his mother planned a surprise dinner. Will didn’t like adding an hour between morning and night milking. It wasn’t good for the cows’ health and comfort, but once shouldn’t do much damage. Will wondered if Frank would be there. He usually didn’t stop work for so frivolous a thing as a party, even a family birthday.
Catherine poured her last pail of milk into the eight-gallon can. She started to turn her cow out of the barn, but Will tapped her on the arm. “You and Ruby go to the house and get prettied up. Your mother wants to fit the new blouses she sewed for you.” He reached inside the door and grabbed a shovel from the milk house. “I’ll finish up here.”
Will hitched Mabel to the buggy. He preferred Fanny Too, but she’d thrown a shoe the day before and he didn’t have a spare one.
The fall foliage on the drive to Ashley Springs was more beautiful than Will had remembered. The red maples were brilliant scarlet, the sugar maples even more impressive in their orange and red cloaks. On some of the high ridges, the maples’ bright red and orange colors intermingled with the golden yellow of the poplars and birch, and with the browns, russets, and subdued burgundy of the oaks. Occasionally a purplish red dogwood fought its way through the myriad of brighter colors. Red sumac leaves, boasting a deeper, more modest color than the flamboyant red bush alongside his house, sprinkled the fence lines along the way.
Before they got to Ashley Springs, Mary said, “Can we drive past our home on the way to your dad’s?” Mary turned away from Will. “So many memories.”
“Let’s stop,” Sharon called from the back seat. “Maybe they’ll show us inside.”
“We won’t have time,” Will said. “Mother’ll be fit to be tied if we’re late.”
“I’m not sure I want to see how our drunken tenant keeps it,” Mary said.
“I suppose his wife keeps it,” Will said. “You can’t find fault with her, now can you?”
“Marie’s an angel to put up with that old sot.”
“They pay their rent every month.”
“It’s been a godsend. I’ll admit that. And it’s a bit late to protest, I suppose, but I’m still uncomfortable renting to a drunkard.”
Although Will believed Mary was way too critical, he felt nervous, too. She was seldom wrong about people.
Will hadn’t expected that Mabel could hold her pace, but she hustled right along, getting them into Ashley Springs half an hour early. Their house towered over its neighbors. And it had style, too. The roof flowed in all directions, valleys and copper eaves troughs everywhere. Elaborate decorative trim intersected tassels and brackets that supported the eaves and anchored porch posts to the roof. Visitors were greeted by side-by-side entry doors under a large fan window sporting an elaborate semicircular sunburst overhead.
A pang of guilt flooded Will’s consciousness. It was an awful thing he had done, taking Mary away from this home, a home that put their farm dwelling to shame. But she never complained. The house was far too nice for a rental, but during these bleak years, Will thanked God for the extra income.
Will hauled on the reins. “Whoa, Mabel. Let’s rest a bit.”
Mary clasped her hands and gasped. “I almost forgot how beautiful it was.”
Will slumped in the seat.
“Do you think we can go in?” Sharon said. “Do you think they’d show us through?”
“That wouldn’t be proper,” Mary said. “We didn’t call ahead.”
“Oh, Mama,” Sharon said, “let me ask. Just a peek inside.” She jumped to the ground. “We do own the house, now don’t we?”
“Me, too,” Ruby said as she jumped down.
Catherine followed close behind.
“It looks like I’m outvoted again,” Mary said. “I’m not sure that I’m ready for this.”
Sharon beckoned from the doorway. “Mrs. Swartz says to come in.”
“Will, we shouldn’t.”
“We can’t stay for long, but I am kinda curious.” He stepped off the buggy, circled round, lifted Mary down, and then led her toward the house.
She followed, but Will understood her hesitancy. A town girl, Mary liked things proper. She’s no country hick like him. Or maybe she feared what she might find inside. When he walked through the entry and peeked into the living room, the house looked as if they’d never left. He was sure that Mary must be pleased.
“Oh, Mrs. Swartz, I’m so embarrassed barging in like this,” Mary said. “I hadn’t planned—”
“That’s all right. I just love your house, never expected to have one so nice. You’re not thinking about moving back, are you?”
“Oh, no,—”
“Mother.” Ruby grabbed Mary’s arm. “Look what they’ve done to the entryway. Why, it’s beautiful.”
A veritable garden under a roof, the entryway presented the family’s fall food-stock displayed like a work of art. Gourds, pumpkins, squash, and zucchini dotted the perimeter. Bunched corn stalks interspersed with full-blossomed sun flowers leaned against the wall. Pole beans, looped around wooden standards, looked as if they had spent the summer inching toward an appointment with the ceiling. All thrived inside this well-lighted enclosure. Wall space was filled with racks of vegetables and fruits from the summer’s garden. Multicolored ribbons accented the fall’s harvest. And the harvest bounty framed a large newspaper print of Christ on the cross under cutout paper letters that proclaimed, We Give Thanks. The entryway shouted the family’s gratitude.
Will saw Mary smile, but no one said a word as they scanned the walls, absorbing the colors and fragrance.
“We have much to be thankful for,” Mrs. Swartz said. She smoothed her apron. “My daughter Margie prepared it as a church project.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mary said, “and a fine tribute to our Lord. Is Margie here? I’d like to thank her.”
Marie disappeared through the doorway and called, “Margie, come on down. We have company.”
After a minute, a short, plump girl with carrot-red hair tied back in a braid bounded through the doorway. Blue eyes and a face full of freckles complemented her rosy cheeks.
Will supposed she was a newly christened teenager. An ebullient smile raced up her cheeks and flowed through her eyes and reminded him of his youthful anticipation of a world to overcome, but that was so long ago. Just like his daughters, she undoubtedly believed that only thornless paths lay ahead.
“Yes, Mama?”
“This is Mr. and Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, our landlords.”
Margie, awkward and unpracticed, like a young stork that hadn’t mastered its legs, curtsied and almost tipped tail over teakettle into Will, but no one laughed. Mary stepped forward, steadied her, and then she grasped her hand.
“My dear, this is the loveliest I’ve ever seen this entryway. Is it you I thank?”
With Mary’s assistance, Margie regained her balance, reddened, and blurted out, “I’m sorry.” Without looking to see if there was a vegetable underneath, she continued, “I must have tripped over a gourd.”
Will peered down, but he didn’t see any obstacles.
“I’m glad you like it,” Margie said. She smiled at the girls.
Mary pointed to each in turn. “Sharon, Ruby, and Catherine. These are my daughters.”
“You’ve made it beautiful,” Sharon said as she sniffed the air. “And it smells like a hundred harvests all bundled into one.”
Will inhaled the earthy aromas—the pungent odor of the pumpkins, squash, and gourds, the sweetness of the corn and melons, and the sharpness of the onions and garlic. It did smell like a hundred harvests.
“I wish I’d thought of it,” Sharon said, “but I don’t have a creative idea in my head.”
Will knew better. He remembered the Christmas decorations that Sharon made for their tree and hung throughout the house last December.
“Tell them why you did this,” Marie said.
“Oh, Mama. They don’t want to know.”
“We certainly do want to know,” Mary said.
Sharon and Ruby nodded.
“Oh, we do,” Catherine said.
“It was my confirmation project,” Margie said. “Father McCrery told us that confirmation is a sacrament of commitment, and I wanted to do something special.”
“And you have, my dear,” Mary said. “This is very special indeed. It not only honors our Lord, it honors this house as well.”
“Won’t you come in?” Marie said. “I don’t have much prepared but—”
“Oh, no,” Mary said. “We can’t intrude further. We must get along. We have a birthday party.” She hugged Marie Swartz before she shooed her family out.
As Will helped her into the buggy, she whispered, “I feel so ashamed.”
“And you should,” Will said, thinking about Mary’s comment questioning how their drunken tenant might keep the house. Mary had always been too critical of Paul Swartz. The splendid condition of the house made Will feel justified for having rented to the man over Mary’s objections. He didn’t mention that he’d heard noises in the kitchen and had seen cigarette smoke curl through the door.
“Giddyap, Mabel,” Will shouted forward. “We can’t be late.”
Will wanted to see his Ford dealership once more, so he drove the long way through Ashley Springs. Brock McDougal had proclaimed that Ford dealerships would prosper again, and he’d put his money where his mouth was. The remodeled building sported an expanded showroom, an enlarged bay window, and Will saw three shiny Model As inside. McDougal had the money, that’s for sure. Will felt a twinge of jealousy, and he wasn’t sure why. Hadn’t he gotten his farm, achieved his life-long dream? But he wasn’t as confident about his future as he thought he’d be. At first, he’d thought only about the things he would do to become a successful farmer, but he was finding it more difficult than he had expected.
“Daddy, can I stop at Samuels’ department store and buy a new slate for school?” Catherine said. “I can’t find one anywhere in Willow.”
Will stopped in front of Samuels’ and handed his daughter a quarter. “Hurry up, now. We’re already runnin’ a bit late.”
The noon whistle drowned Will’s “Whoa, Mabel,” but a tug on the reins stopped her just the same. His father’s house atop the hill stood as a testament to Thomas’s engineering ability. Resistant to western blizzards that swept the ridge each winter, the house stood tall and stolid on its native limestone foundation. The ravaging wind’s only influence was a slight, eastward list. Will remembered that cloudy fall day when five horse teams pulled the massive building up the hill. He laughed when he remembered his father perched on top of the huge oak skids while he shouted his orders to the workers below. Thomas had reminded Will of Napoleon directing his men, but Will didn’t remember Napoleon with a flask in his hand.
Will hadn’t expected to see Frank’s Chevrolet parked in front of the house, but there it was. And half a dozen Fords as well. All Model Ts—Will’s old customers, most likely. He never understood why Frank wouldn’t do business with him.
Gertrude ran out the door before Will stepped off the buggy. “Will, everyone’s at the table. I thought you weren’t going to make it.” She grabbed Catherine’s arm and almost pulled her into the back wheel when a startled Mabel lurched forward at the sound of Gertrude’s sharp voice. “Hurry now, get in the house.”
“Grandma!”
“Git, girl.”
Gertrude slapped her granddaughter on the behind and Catherine moved, but not without a sour glance backward.
Thomas O’Shaughnessy sat at the head of the table. Charlie Nesbitt was there. Silas and Matilda Murrish, Bert and Agnes Whitford, too. To Will’s surprise, Maud Burns sat alongside Charlie.
While his family took the chairs that Gertrude pushed at them, Will rushed to Maud and took her hand. “Maud, I’ve felt so guilty all these years. Just when you needed us most, we left town. And I’d promised to look after little Opal.”
“We couldn’t have gotten by without Mary’s help, without the money she sent now and then.”
Will looked at Mary and saw her redden, but she didn’t waver. She held his gaze with a triumphant expression in her eyes. She’d never said anything about sending money to Maud. He smiled and shook his head.
“Haven’t you heard? Charlie and I are to wed.”
Charlie Nesbitt? Why, he must be at least twenty years older. Robbin’ the cradle. Charlie looked pleased as a rooster who’d just had his way with the spring chickens. “Charlie, congratulations. I’m—”
“Will, sit down,” Gertrude intruded. “You haven’t even said hello to your father. You’d think you were raised in the barn.”
Will supposed he was.
“Let’s get on with the meal,” Frank chimed in from the far side of the table.
Will clutched his father’s hand. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
Then he turned back to his friend as his mother dragged him toward the last empty chair. “Later, Charlie. I’m so happy.”
And he was.
Charlie and Esther Nesbitt were family friends for as long as Will could remember. That was an awful week, the week Esther died in the accident. And Will still felt a bit responsible.
After the meal, all gathered in the large living room. Mary helped Gertrude serve the dessert, a moist banana cake with thick, brown sugar frosting that was topped with embedded black walnut halves. Thomas’s favorite. Will heard some people complain that black walnuts weren’t as good as their English cousins out in California, but Southwest Wisconsin nuts were all he had ever known, and they suited him fine. True, not as tasty as the hickory nuts he liked, but a whole lot easier to shuck and pick—if you didn’t mind your hands turning black for a week or two.
Will noticed that Frank choose a chair across the room. It had been a long time since he sat in the same room with his brother; he hadn’t seen him since they moved this house off St. Mary’s parish grounds. Will sat next to Charlie and Maud who snuggled on the divan as if they were alone in the room. He supposed that love was blind no matter what one’s age is. He looked toward Mary but she didn’t notice, so intent was she with her chat with Agnes Whitford. Will turned back to Charlie and Maud.
“Maud, how is little Opal? I’ve felt guilty about leaving after I promised Frankie to be like a godfather to her.”
“She’s not so little anymore,” Maud said. “Why, she’s a proper young lady.”
“You should see her,” Charlie said. “She looks just like Tommy, freckles and carrot top. Got his sense of humor, too.” He pulled his bride-to-be close. “I do love these girls—my Opal and Maud. They make me feel young again.”
Charlie leaned toward Will. “You don’t think Esther’ll mind, do you? That worries me a mite.”
“I think she’s looking down on you with the love she always had for her husband.” Will squeezed Charlie’s hand. “I’m sure she’s pleased that you’re happy again. And I couldn’t be more delighted.”
Will was just about to gather his family to leave when Frank called across the room. “Will, did you hear that Jesse’s back in the area?”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Not me, but Silas here says he heard that someone saw a strange looking man ’round Barreltown. Said he was badly disfigured. Ain’t that right, Silas?”
“That’s what the man said. We wondered if it might be Jesse. Didn’t he stay at Barreltown one time?”
“Sure did,” Frank said.
“Not likely,” Will said. “No one’s seen Jesse in years. He’s probably dead.”
Will hoped he was wrong about Jesse. As he said his good-byes and ushered his family toward the door, Gertrude handed him a letter.
“It came from the bank. For you, Will.”
Will helped his family into the buggy before he opened the envelope. He saw that it was signed by the new bank president, Raymond A. Fellows, a name he didn’t know. Will supposed they brought him from out of town. “He must not have my new address,” he said to Mary.
Will read the letter.
“What does it say?” Mary asked.
“It says they won’t loan money outside Ashley Springs. I guess we’ll not get that bull after all.”
“We’ll find a way. Have faith, my dear.”
Will believed that faith worked best when he used his God-given wits. But his mind was as blank as the new slate he’d just purchased for his daughter.