Will’s spirits rose when his efforts to get the cooperative off the ground moved forward with little resistance. Roberts had cooled down and was back, but Will knew that he was still an unenthusiastic participant.
The members unanimously elected a permanent board to guide their business, elected Will their president, and selected McPherson as second in command. Will knew he could work with McPherson and was pleased when the newly elected board granted his request to have their attorney file incorporation papers.
Then the process bogged down. The members couldn’t agree on a compensation formula. The grade A producers agreed, in principle, to a blended reimbursement that overpaid the B producers, but they couldn’t decide the blend. The A producers argued that their production expenses were higher because the government demanded more exacting standards for liquid milk than what they required for cheese or butter production. “We do more work, but they get more money,” Roberts said. “How’s that fair?”
Jackson McGried, the most obstinate of the B producers, said, “Then go to the government and get your money.”
His grade B colleagues argued that the A producers had the best of it. They could sell milk for the table or sell it for butter and cheese. Earl Roberts was about to pull out again. What a headache, Will thought. Was it really worth the bother?
Finally the B producers agreed to a modest excess over the usual blended price, and a temporary peace was established. Will felt they were on track again when the board agreed to hire a manager.
Will chose carefully. Jacob Swinstein had been a bank president and had owned his own farm before the crash, and like so many others, he had been wiped out, but his good reputation survived the fate of his money. Will heard about him through Ron Tyler, the Willow bank president. Jacob knew farming and he knew management, but he hadn’t made the necessary market contacts, so Will sent him to Milwaukee, Chicago, and Minneapolis to meet the buyers and wholesalers.
When the board set the entrance fee for each farmer, turmoil ruled once more. After many compromise attempts, Swinstein proposed a fee that pleased no one but was eventually agreed to—although not without an appropriate level of complaint. Running his own business was easier, Will thought.
Swinstein’s wisdom served the small cooperative well, and they were soon selling their milk, cheese, and butter to the larger cities.
Then all hell broke loose. When in February 1939 the federal courts overturned the New Deal regulatory pricing system, the price of milk dropped and a summer drought in upstate New York devastated its farmers. These farmers from the northern counties called for a strike and were soon joined by others across the state. And this led to sympathy strikes and milk holidays throughout the Midwest. Milk haulers came under fire from union organizers, who didn’t want milk delivered to non-unionized dairies in the big cities, and milk trucks were attacked and their milk dumped or contaminated. If the truckers persisted, they were assaulted. Milk and milk product movement plummeted, and local farmers found themselves with excess production. The grade A producers suffered the most, their milk spoiling in the barns. Will, like Roberts, Johnson, and the other liquid milk producers, saw his income diminish to a trickle. Once again, Roberts threatened to leave the co-op, and some of the members seemed to sympathize with him, but Will and others argued against it.
McPherson called a meeting to convince members to stay with the co-op. “We can’t let these bad times break us apart,” he said. “They won’t last forever.”
After a heated discussion, Roberts walked out the door, and others expressed doubts about the co-op’s value in these difficult times. McPherson terminated their meeting with no agreement on how to move forward.
Will knew that he couldn’t last much longer, not with such little income. The others increased their pig and sheep production, and turned their souring milk toward hog food. Will bought more chickens.
Roberts terminated his co-op membership and withdrew his money, and then he found independent distributors who’d buy grade A milk for more than the co-op’s blended price. Will’s argument—that if he would just stay with the co-op he’d eventually get a better price—hadn’t persuaded Roberts, who said he had to feed his family now.
Roberts’s withdrawal from the co-op angered some members who, at a hastily called meeting, voiced their displeasure. “If we let him go scot-free, it’ll damage our ability to recover,” McGried argued. “And if that little weasel goes, others will follow. We’ve gotta do something.”
“What do you have in mind?” McPherson said.
“The same as the rest of the country. Make him pay for undercutting us.”
“Are you suggesting a strong-arm approach?” Will said.
“You’d better believe it. And if the rest of you lily-livered ladies won’t join me, I’ll do it myself.”
“We can’t do this,” Will said. “We can’t resort to violence.”
Will thought about his wedding day and his knees almost buckled. He could see Jesse under the water, like an inner tube with a pinhole that was slowly releasing its air, bubbles floating upward from his lips.
“You can’t, I can,” McGried said as he raced from the room.
McPherson stared after him. “I don’t think he’ll do anything rash,” he said. “Not without the rest of us.”
“Maybe McGried’s right,” George Snell said. “Maybe we should protect our interests.”
Two weeks passed, and Will didn’t hear from McPherson. Then the news flew through Willow Township like a prairie wildfire. The prior morning, Earl Roberts was bloodied and his milk was dumped.
Will demanded an immediate meeting. McPherson was hesitant but agreed when Will said he’d act on his own.
Will insisted that McGried be expelled from the association.
“We don’t even know he did it,” Henning said.
“Who else would have done it?” Will said. “He’s the one who threatened violence.”
“We don’t know,” Henning said.
“James, I thought you were my staunch supporter here,” Will said.
“Will, I’ve always been behind you, but this is different. How can we expel a member for actions against a non-member? Roberts left the co-op. He’s no longer our problem. This is the sheriff’s job.”
Will demanded an expulsion vote, but when it was held, McGried retained his membership.
“I can’t remain in an organization that condones violence,” Will said.
“Calm down, Will,” McPherson said. “We don’t want violence either, do we men?”
A murmur of agreement ran through the group.
“Do you pledge to keep this civil then?” Will said. “No more violence.”
Once more, concurrence echoed through the room.
Will wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t know what more he could do. For all he knew some of these men participated in the assault on Roberts.
That night, Will visited his maimed neighbor. “I don’t know who it was, Will. They were masked, but it’s your fault, you know. You were so blamed certain this co-op could succeed. Are you still so cocksure?”
“I think so. I just don’t know. I’m sorry, Earl.”
He left the house and walked home leading Fanny Too. “How’d we get in such a mess anyhow, old girl?”
Fanny Too nickered softly.
“You understand, don’t you, old girl?”
Will spent half an hour bedding and feeding his horses before he went into the house. He wanted to sneak off to his bedroom, but Mary met him at the door. Hair strands hung lose on her forehead and red moist eyes conveyed her distress. Will thought she was about to cry.
“I’m so ashamed,” she said. “I blamed the poor man, and now he’s dead.”
“What? Who’s dead?”
“Swartz. I was wrong about him.”
“How’s that?”
“It wasn’t him after all.” She pressed herself into Will’s arms and leaned against him. “A rat did it.”
Will pulled his wife close. They both needed the comfort, it seemed.
“Chief Pederson called and said the state inspector ruled that a rat started the fire,” Mary said. “It wasn’t a cigarette after all.”
“It started in two places.”
“It appears that a rat got into the house wall through a hole alongside the milk box that Swartz had started to replace. They found remains of the rat’s nest near the entryway light switch. They figured that he gnawed the wiring, caused a short, and caught fire. Then he tried to get away by running up the side of a stud through the wall cavity, and attic debris above Swartz’s bedroom caught on fire.”
“What about the black smoke and broken window?”
“Pederson talked to Marie. She told him her husband came home late a week earlier and broke the entryway window to get in. That’s probably where the rat got into the entry room.”
“The kerosene smell?”
“Swartz stored kerosene on the back porch. He used it to burn leaves.”
“You were wrong, my dear.” He pulled her closer. “But I still love you.”
“I wasn’t all wrong. He was drinking when he broke that window.”
“I stop for a drink now and then.”
“I’d not rent to you either.”
“Would you bed me?”
When Mary didn’t object, Will took her in his arms and ushered her up the stairs.
* * *
During the next month, Arnie Johnson and two more grade A producers left the co-op. Will knew that some members thought his soft stance on Roberts had led to the others leaving. He worried about that, too, but he couldn’t condone violence.
McGried tried to get him stripped of the presidency, but the effort failed.
Will couldn’t understand why McGried and other B producers were against him. He remained a staunch co-op advocate even though he suffered more than most.
Will finished the night’s milking later than usual because Ruby and Catherine were practicing for the community musical. Both had leading roles, and both were singing solos. Will was proud of his daughters, proud of their abilities, but he knew, because of milking, he’d not be able to attend their performance. Still, he smiled every time he heard them singing their songs while they worked around the barn. Although he loved music and played a little fiddle, he wondered where they’d gotten their fine voices. It must have been from Mary’s family.
Mary went to bed, but Will waited for his girls to come home. He supposed it was his lot to be the family worrier. The clock struck ten. They were always home by ten. Will went to the window and looked through the moonlit yard and down the road. He paced the floor. After another fifteen minutes, Will went to the hall closet and took his jacket off the hook. He opened the door and was about to step onto the porch when he heard hooves in the distance, moving fast, too fast for Fanny Too. But as the sound got closer, he saw that it was Fanny Too.
Ruby jumped from the buggy before Fanny Too stopped. “Daddy, the fence is down. Our cows are on the tracks. We tried to herd them back, but we couldn’t do it, not without help.”
Will called for Teddy and grabbed the reins as he jumped into the buggy. “Get in, Ruby. Hurry.”
“Daddy, I don’t think the cows pushed the fence down,” Catherine said. “It didn’t look right.”
“We didn’t have time to look carefully,” Ruby said, “but it looked like posts were pulled from the ground.”
When Mary stuck her head out the door, Will shouted, “Get Petr. The cows are on the tracks. Send him down to the cow pasture as fast as he can get there.”
Will urged Fanny Too on. He was glad to have the light of a full moon. They found the herd strung a quarter mile down the track, grazing as if grass along the tracks was their usual supper table. They didn’t worry about trains, didn’t worry about anything but sweet, green grass. If only life were so carefree and easy.
A train whistle screamed from behind the bluff.
“We’ve got to get behind them,” Will said. “Catherine, take Teddy and go around to the left. Push those outliers towards the center so we can get them moving as a group. Ruby, come with me.” He motioned ahead. “Hurry. The train will be here in a couple minutes.”
The cows ignored them until Teddy nipped at their heels and Will and the girls shooed them back toward the pasture. And even then, the animals resisted leaving their newly discovered feast. They would hustle a few yards ahead of the pressure, then stop and eat from their bountiful banquet table.
When Petr arrived, Will waved him in Catherine’s direction.
Catherine sent Teddy to round up a stray while she urged three other outliers toward the slow moving herd.
Ruby shouted and whooped at the cows as the train bore down from behind.
Will raced back to help Teddy herd the cow that lagged behind. “Get those cows off the track,” he screamed toward Petr, Catherine, and Ruby. “Hurry, they’ll not make the pasture in time.”
The girls pushed the herd away from the rails, but Will hadn’t yet reached the confused stray. He waved his hands as he ran down the track and shouted for the train to stop.
The engineer saw him. The whistle shrieked, black smoke poured from the funnel, and the rails screamed their protest at the drive wheels sliding along their shinning surface.
The cow panicked and lost ground with every step as she ran back and forth in front of the surging train. Teddy lunged at the last moment, then cow and dog disappeared behind the iron beast.
Will ignored the cursing engineer and raced around the engine toward where he last saw his dog. The cow, broken and bloody, lay dead on the ground. At first, Will didn’t see Teddy, but he heard a weak whimper and saw a black and white tail protruding from under the cow’s tangled legs. Will called Petr, who rushed to the dead cow, and together they grabbed her legs and pulled them off his dog. Teddy crawled from underneath, his tail between his legs.
“Come here, boy,” Will said. “You needn’t feel guilty.” He reached to him and stroked his neck. “You did your best to save her.”
Catherine and Ruby raced to their dog and engulfed him in their arms.
After another half an hour of herding, the cattle resumed grazing inside their pasture as if no grass could be better. Although Will was tired and distressed by the loss, he was glad that his cows were dedicated to their life’s work, and happier still that Teddy wasn’t hurt. He’d lose production, but he was lucky to have suffered just one casualty.
“Now, let’s look at that fence,” he said to no one in particular.
Will walked along the downed wire. Suddenly he bent to pick a post off the ground. “Ruby, Catherine, come here.”
Will swung the butt-end toward Ruby. “This isn’t broken. It was pulled out, now wasn’t it?”
“I thought so,” Ruby said. “Who would have done it?”
They walked to the next downed post, which wasn’t broken either.
Ruby said, “Why?”
Why indeed? Will thought. Who could hate him so?
He heard the train whistle in the distance.
Will’s stomach churned at the thought that someone wanted to destroy his farm, destroy his family’s future, but he didn’t plan to report the incident to the sheriff or to anyone else. Maybe he should. Maybe it was cowardice to show restraint. He thought about Jesse. Had guilt over that terrible incident sapped his manhood? Couldn’t he even defend his family? Grandpa would have grabbed his shotgun and gone looking for someone to shoot at. But too much hostility already existed within the co-op, and he didn’t want it torn asunder. He was glad for the full moon while he spent the night repairing his fence.
* * *
Then on September 1st, 1939, twelve days before Catherine’s thirteenth birthday, a momentous event gripped the attention of every Iowa County resident. Sunday evening, Will heard the staccato beat of telegraph keys pulsing from his Crosley, and he knew it was Winchell time.
“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America from border to border and coast to coast and all the ships at sea. Let’s go to press. There’s grave news in the world tonight. Hitler has invaded Poland, and the free world stands by unwilling or unable to defend this country that’s been in turmoil since the end of the Great War.”
Will understood that his co-op’s little conflict was inconsequential when compared to the brewing cauldron of European antagonisms. He also knew that world conflict would benefit American farmers, just as it had during the last European war. Europe would no longer be able to produce its own food. All the more reason to hold his fledgling co-op together.