Will sipped at his coffee.
Catherine played with her cereal. “Why is Ruby so stubborn?”
Mary heaped a ladle of cold fries on Will’s plate. “If it’s so wise, why doesn’t everyone do it?” she said.
“I’m certain that soybeans are the wave of the future.” He set his cup down. “Dr. Carver and others are developing new uses every year. Why, even Henry Ford’s for them.”
“What does Henry Ford know about soybeans?”
“He’s making cars out of them.”
Will heard a clamor on the stairs, and Ruby burst into the kitchen.
“No, he doesn’t,” Ruby said.
“Does, too,” Catherine said.
“Whoa, girls,” Will said. “What’s this morning’s dispute? It seems as if you’re on a one-a-day plan. Sorta like those vitimins.”
“It’s that new boy in school. Catherine says he has eyes for me. No such thing.”
“I haven’t heard of a new family,” Will said.
“He’s up from Illinois to stay with his uncle,” Ruby said. “A Kramer, I think.”
“Larry Kramer? He farms downriver from Willow,” Will said. “From Illinois?”
“Urbana,” Catherine said.
“The government has a soybean industrial products laboratory at Urbana,” Will said. “I read about it in the Farm Journal.”
“One or two eggs, girls?”
“Only one today,” Ruby said.
“Worried about your weight, Ruby? He does have eyes for you. And you know it.”
“Catherine!”
“Maybe I should visit that facility,” Will said. “Not so far. I could get there in a day, and be back in three.” He knew, with Petr away visiting friends in Iowa, this wasn’t a good time to leave. “Why, I went farther south to see Dr. Carver.”
“George Washington Carver?” Catherine said.
“A learned man if ever there was one.”
“And a gentleman, too,” Mary said. “A devout Christian.”
“Dr. Carver’s full of good ideas,” Will said. “Did I ever tell you about my visit with him?”
“You talked to him?” Catherine said.
“I’d read the bulletins he’s written for small farmers. ‘Feeding acorns to farm animals,’ and others, too.”
“Is that why people turn their hogs out when the acorns fall?” Catherine said.
“And why they spend so much time mending fences,” Will said. “He’s written about alfalfa, soybeans, corn, poultry, dairying, and lots of things. But most of his work has been for the South, on cotton and peanut farming.”
“What was he like, Dad?”
“He was the most humble man you could imagine. Dressed in an old, gray tweed suit with baggy knees, a beaten up cap, and a flower. He always had a fresh flower in his lapel.”
“Most big shots aren’t humble, are they Dad?”
“Well, they should be, Catherine. When things are going your way, you ought to have enough class to be humble, and when they’re not so good, you ought to have enough sense to be humble.”
“Was he a big man, Daddy?”
“Big in spirit. He talked softly, but you could hear a pin drop, even from the back of the room. He’s won awards from all over the world. Even Stalin asked him to come to the Soviet Union to superintend their crops. But he wouldn’t go.”
“Were you near him?” Catherine said.
“As close as me to you. We talked about alfalfa and soybeans in the Corn Belt. How they enrich the soil. He’s the one convinced me to grow them. He could be wealthy, but he refuses to make money on his ideas. He believes that food plants are a gift from God, not something to get rich on.”
“We plant for money,” Ruby said.
“I’m no Dr. Carver, and I’m sure you’ve noticed, my dear, we’re not getting rich. Better get a move on. The cows must be bellowing for their hay.”
The next morning at breakfast, Will fussed over his food. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d sure like to visit that Urbana laboratory. Would you come with me, Mary?”
“With Petr away, could the girls do the milking alone?”
“Sure we can,” Ruby said. “Couldn’t we, Cathy?”
Catherine nodded. “I wouldn’t mind being alone for a while. My poetry anthology is about finished, and I’ve got to find a place to submit it.”
“Maybe I could get James to come over and help. He milks his cows later, and if we start a bit earlier, he’d get back to his milking and the girls would get to school.”
“Sharon is off school next week,” Mary said. “I’ll get her to come home and help. I’d like a trip, Will. It’s been a long time. It could be—well, a second honeymoon.”
Will noticed Ruby duck her head and snicker.
* * *
Will bedded Fanny Too at the livery until their train returned three days later. When they drove up to the house, his girls were upon them before they stepped off the buggy.
“Oh, Daddy, you missed the excitement,” Catherine said.
Will helped Mary down. “Tell me, what trouble did you and Ruby get into now?” he said. “But help us get the luggage into the house first.”
Will could see that his girls hadn’t spent much time doing housework. Unwashed dishes filled the kitchen sink and food littered the counter.
“When the cat’s away the mice play,” Mary said. “I expected better from my girls.”
“Oh, Mom,” Sharon said. “We were attacked in the night and Mr. Henning—”
“And I was scared,” Catherine said.
“I wasn’t,” Ruby said. “Nothing bad happened. You two are just ‘fraidy cats.”
Will knew that Sharon could be a bit melodramatic and Catherine had a big imagination.
“Whoa,” Will said. He turned to Ruby. “Let’s go into the parlor and then tell me about it.”
“You were attacked?” Mary said.
“We weren’t attacked!” Ruby said. “Besides, Mr. Henning was here.”
Mary frowned as she scanned the littered counters and sink. “Sharon, help me tidy this kitchen.”
Will, Catherine, and Ruby slipped out of the kitchen and settled into the parlor’s soft chairs.
Will knew that, under duress, Ruby was his most level-headed daughter, and she didn’t seem much concerned. He opened the secretary and pulled out his Meerschaum and a pouch of tobacco. “I forgot my pipe and I’m dying for a smoke.” He struck a match, held it to his bowl, and drew three times before he exhaled a spicy sweet aroma through the room. Will watched the smoke rings float toward the ceiling, and then slowly collapse into fluffy clouds that settled around the table and chairs. He settled back into his big horsehair chair. “Now, tell me your terrible tale.”
Catherine began. “After we finished evening chores the first night you were away, Mr. Henning left for home, but he promised to come back the next morning.”
“That night, when we were getting ready for bed,” Ruby said, “we heard noises.”
“It sounded like pounding on metal,” Catherine said.
“We couldn’t see anybody,” Ruby said.
“The next morning we waited in the house until we saw Mr. Henning’s car,” Catherine said. “We told him that something awful happened during the night.”
“You said that,” Ruby said. “We didn’t know what it was.”
“You’ll never guess what he found,” Catherine said. “He found—”
“I’m telling this, Catherine,” Ruby said. “He found our old wagon with a wheel knocked off. And—”
“Our cutter was up on the roof,” Catherine said.
Ruby scowled at her sister.
“Mr. Henning said it must have been some kids,” Catherine said.
“He thought it might be that Pickle McGraw and his gang,” Ruby said.
“I heard they’re real bad,” Catherine said.
“And would you believe,” Ruby said, “Mr. Henning came and slept in the barn that night?”
“Just in case they came back,” Catherine said.
“And in the night, we heard a terrible racket out by the barn, but we didn’t investigate because Mr. Henning had said, ‘No matter what, stay in the house,’” Ruby said. “And when we went to the barn the next morning, we found Mr. Henning sitting with his shotgun across his knees and Pickle and two of his friends were doing our milking. And Mr. Henning said they’d come back to help that night. Better that than a visit to the sheriff.”
“Pickle wasn’t so scary,” Catherine said.
“That boy has a reputation ’round here,” Will said. “He has it pretty rough at home, they say. His father’s one step ahead of the law.” Will supposed that Pickle had heard he was away for a while. “But,” Will paused, thinking about Henning and his shotgun, “I wouldn’t worry about Pickle. We’re not likely to see him around here again.”