The war wound down in Europe, and victory over Japan was in sight when, in late March, 1945, the list of casualties at Okinawa arrived. And Jack Hornking was on it. His ship, the aircraft carrier USS Franklin, had been hit be a Japanese air attack that left more than eight hundred sailors dead—most killed by fire, others blown overboard.
Will O’Shaughnessy slouched in his horsehair chair and buried his face in his hands. “Mary, when he enlisted, I was glad. I thought the service might straighten him up.”
“It’s been a long ordeal, Will.” She went to her husband and took his hand. “When will it ever end?”
* * *
That night, Will attended another co-op meeting. He hoped they could move forward now. Earl Roberts and Jackson McGried were there, sitting side-by-side. McPherson called the group to order. “This is our first meeting in more than a year, and we have work to do. There’s business that can’t wait longer. Our co-op’s profits are building at a pace that demands attention. Either we declare a dividend or we invest for the future. Maybe it’s time to expand our operation. Before we decide, though, Will has something to say.”
Will took the gavel from McPherson’s hand. “When we started this co-op, I spoke of its many possibilities. We’re having success with our marketing efforts, thanks to the improved economy and Jacob’s shrewdness. I think it’s time to expand, time to use our co-op’s buying power as well as its selling power. Why, we could buy and sell gasoline, oil, grease, cattle feed, all kinds of farm supplies. And maybe do our own lending, too. We could save ourselves money on supplies and make money by selling to others. I’ve talked to Jacob, and—”
A call went up, “Swinstein, tell us what you think.”
Jacob Swinstein stood before them. “Gentlemen, I’ve begun a position paper about how we can expand. I’ll have it to you within the month. With the war nearing an end, I believe our potential for profit is greater than we’ve ever seen. Now’s the time to be bold.”
After the meeting, his neighbors stopped Will and thanked him for his persistence when things looked bleak, when blended pricing hurt him the most.
* * *
Will wished that Ruby and Catherine could be here. Thrashing was their favorite farm work, too. He loved summer in the fields, when the breeze off the bluffs cooled the body and the meadowlark’s song fueled the soul. Will walked Ted and Ned down the field, stopping at each grain shock to help Petr pitch them into the wagon.
They chatted as they worked. Will bent over and dug his fingers into the soil. He grimaced and sighed. “Hard as a rock.” He loosened the soil with his pitchfork, and then kneeled down and scooped again. “There’s a little moisture in there.” He rose to his knees. “Not much, though. We’re lucky we had ample spring rains.”
Petr looked into the sky. “No rain in sight, either. If we don’t get some soon, the corn cobs’ll be bare.”
Will climbed back into the wagon. “Giddyap, Ted, Ned. Move on old fellas. We’ve got more work to do.” He flicked the reins over his horse’s backs, hard enough to urge them into movement, but not so hard as to rile them. “Get along, fellas.”
The wagon surged ahead for fifty feet to the next shock. “Whoa, Ted, Ned.”
Will grabbed his fork and jumped from the wagon. They pitched in silence for a while. Now and then a gust of wind picked up the dry soil and blew it into their faces.
After they’d worked for a while, Petr said, “I haven’t seen Catherine all summer. She’s usually home for a week or so.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Now that she’s earned her teaching certificate, she’s taken a country school south of Logan Junction, up near Ed’s farm. She’s staying with Sharon this summer. She spends all her time writing work sheets and lesson plans. That girl’s always been conscientious.”
“Does she have a beau?”
Will knew that Petr was fond of his young daughter. Still, she’d never shown interest in him. “Catherine? She doesn’t have time for a beau.”
“She’s sure a pretty girl. You know what they say about honey attracting the bees.”
“In due time.” He worried a little, though. She’d had plenty of chances, but his daughter never seemed interested in the young men. Will climbed back into the wagon. “Hop in. Let’s get this load to the thrashing machine.”
* * *
When his father called and said that Finian McCarthy was looking for a driver, Will hitched Fanny Too to the buggy and they left for Ashley Springs right after morning milking. “We’re going home, old girl.”
Fanny Too whinnied her approval.
The sun warmed them as it rose in a cloudless sky, as beautiful a summer day as Wisconsin could summon. Will hadn’t been able to make telephone contact with Finian. He hoped the cattle dealer wasn’t away with a load. But if he was in town, Will knew he’d most likely find him at Bennie’s Bar.
When Will entered the bar, Bennie was chatting at a table, his back to the door. Will slipped onto a stool. “What’s going on here? The owner doesn’t attend to business anymore? He doesn’t even recognize an old customer?”
Bennie whipped around. “Will O’Shaughnessy. I thought I knew that voice.” He hurried behind the bar to face Will, and thrust out his hand. “Thought I’d gotten rid of you once and for all.” Bennie clenched Will’s fingers. “What’re you doing in town, my friend?”
“I’ve got a terrible thirst. I heard you can help.”
“Drove all this way for a drink, now did you? What’ll it be, my man?”
“Do you still pour that good Springs’ beer?”
“I thought you drank Jameson.”
“Too rich for my pocketbook these days. I might be able to find a dime, though. I still have a taste for Ashley Springs’ golden brew.”
“Mineral Springs it’ll be then, hometown’s finest.” Bennie grabbed a glass, held it under the open spout, and then tipped it at the last moment to add the frothy head.
“That long drive sure built up a thirst.” Will swigged from the glass. “It’s good, Bennie. Worth every mile for a drink of your golden elixir.”
“You didn’t come this far for a glass of beer. How can I help you?”
“I’m lookin’ for Finian McCarthy. I heard he needs a driver. I might be able to help him.”
“Farming’s that bad?”
“It’s for my brother, Jesse.”
“Jesse’s back? Thought we’d seen the last of him.”
“I think he’s changed. Maybe he’ll take a job if I can find one.”
“Finian’s around. He usually stops in after supper, about seven o’clock. Can you come back then?”
“I made arrangements for a neighbor to help my hired man with milking. I thought that I might have to stay overnight. The girls used to help, but they’re away now.”
“It’s hard to believe they’re that old.” Bennie picked Will’s empty glass off the bar and dropped it in a sink of sudsy water. “I still remember you bringing baby Catherine around. You were so proud of her.”
“She’s a beautiful lass, Bennie.”
“That’s no surprise.”
Will shook Bennie’s hand and turned toward the door. “Don’t you go running out of that beer. I’ll be wantin’ another glass tonight, maybe two.”
“Let’s see.” Bennie tapped on the keg. “Half full, I think. Should be just about enough to do you and Finian the evening. He’s drinking Mineral Springs, too. Had a rough go.”
“Oh?”
“A bull knocked him down. Broke his right ankle, splintered it bad. Probably won’t drive all summer, maybe longer.”
“So that’s why he wants help.”
Will left the bar and unhitched Fanny Too. “What do you think, old girl? Should we go out to Grandpa’s farm?”
Fanny Too nickered her approval as she turned up the street.
“Do you think Frank will be glad to see us?”
Fanny Too didn’t respond.
Will turned into the yard and reined Fanny Too at his grandfather’s cast iron hitching post. He didn’t see Frank, nor did he hear any sound. “Where do you think he could be?”
Fanny Too remained silent, just flicked her tail and twitched her ears to discourage flies that flitted around her head.
“Maybe he’s in the house.” After knocking long and hard, Will decided to try the barn. “You wait here, old girl,” he shouted toward his horse as he walked toward the big building. “Keep those flies at bay.”
Will glanced inside the milking parlor. He called down the lane. He poked his head in the door of the shadowy machine shop. He thought of the day he couldn’t find Grandpa, until he searched the hog pen. But Will wouldn’t go there—not today, not any day.
Finally, a voice hollered from the loft. “Who’s down there?”
Will shouted back. “It’s Will. Come on down.”
“Hold your horses, Will. Be there soon’s I pitch this hay down the chute.”
The buildings looked immaculate, not a bare spot on any board, no different than when Grandpa ran the farm. Will thought about the work it took to keep it that way. He’d give Grandpa and Frank credit for that. Not much else, though. Frank would never waste time running around the countryside trying to help a brother. Will walked down the lane toward the pasture, but the cows were nowhere in sight. He didn’t need to see them. He knew they’d be faultless: well fed, full udders, and disease free. That’s the way Grandpa kept his herd. He couldn’t understand why Frank wouldn’t go grade A. Certainly his cows produced enough milk.
Frank stumbled down the hay loft ramp toward Will. “This lumbago’s getting the best of me.” He stretched his back and wiggled his fingers. “Getting so that I hardly make it through a milking, these fingers get so stiff. Should quit milking, go to beef. What do you want now?”
“Have you seen Jess?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He’s living down by me, in an old fishing shed on the river.”
“He stopped here after he went to your house in Springs, before your place burned.”
“I suppose he thought I still lived there.”
“The woman threatened to call the police.”
“He musta scared her senseless.”
“I told him to get the hell outta here.” Frank clenched and reopened his stiff fingers. “I’ve got enough problems without a good-for-nothin’ brother underfoot. Grandpa wouldn’t want him here.”
“Grandpa’s dead.”
“I hear you’re trying to form a co-op, doing grade A.”
“That’s right.”
“Let me give you some advice. Keep it simple.”
“Your cows don’t produce enough for grade A?” Will said.
“I doubt yours give as much. You always spent too much time reading. Better to spend it in the fields. Grandpa said to keep it simple. Too many things can go wrong, and they always do.”
“There are better ways.”
“You think you know more than the rest of us, Will. Grandpa said so himself. Said, ‘Your brother’s smart as a fox in a hen house, but he doesn’t have the sense of an ally cat.’ You’re bound to fail with your high minded ideas.”
“S’pose you’d like that, Frank. S’pose it’d justify your opinion of me.”
“Can’t say I’d like it, but that’s how it’ll be. Grandpa always said you weren’t attentive enough. Rather spend your time plowing books than plowing fields. You gotta keep things simple.”
“You probably haven’t noticed that I run horses. That’s about as simple as it gets, I’d say.”
“Horses are lots of work.”
With a wave to show respect, although his brother didn’t deserve it, Will mounted his buggy and clucked Fanny Too forward. “Maybe he’d be more kindly if he knew a good horse, don’t you think, Fanny Too?”
Fanny Too neighed in agreement.
* * *
Will entered Bennie’s at seven o’clock. The bar overflowed with customers. “Looks like business is good these days,” he shouted toward Bennie who scooted along the counter.
“I’m not complaining. Finian’s at the back table.” Bennie pointed. “You can’t miss him. He’s flashy as ever.”
Finian was dressed in his usual bright colors: a brown, checkered derby hat with matching knee-length corduroy breeches; an emerald green swallow-tail jacket; a corn-silk-green shirt; and one bright red buckle-topped shoe.
When Finian saw Will, he hoisted himself off his chair and then, slowed only a bit by the large plaster cast on his right foot, sang and jigged his way through a crude version of the “Irish Washer Woman.” When he finished, he bowed deeply in Will’s direction and pronounced, “Gentlemen, fanfare please. Tah ta dah. My Wicklow cousin has returned.” He motioned to Bennie who, along with all his customers, stared at this inflated facsimile of a Wichlow mountain leprechaun.
“Sir!” Finian beckoned toward Bennie. “Please, don’t tarry now, bring this Irishman a drink.”
Finian stepped toward Will. “How can I help you, my friend?”
“I heard you need a driver.”
Finian thrust his encumbered foot forward. “And to make matters worse, the IRS is on my tail. Says I cheated on my taxes. Can you believe that? Cheated on my taxes.”
Will believed it.
“Sheriff says if he catches me driving with this cast, he’ll toss me in jail.” Finian grabbed Will’s shoulder and guided him to a hard chair. “He says I’m already too heavy footed. Do I need a driver? S’pose I do. You’re here to help, Will?”
“It’s my brother. He may be ready for a job. I best warn you, he tends to scare people. His face—”
“The one you went lookin’ for? The brother with the circus? That was one fun trip. Never laughed so hard.”
Will didn’t remember it being much fun.
“I’m in an awful way,” Finian said. “I got a big contract with Dubuque Packing Company and I can’t get my cattle there. I’ll need someone every day for a few months, then part time for a while. Can your brother drive?”
“He drove an army truck before they sent him to the trenches.”
“Well then, get him up here. I need someone right now.”
The easy part was over. Now, if only he could convince Jesse.