Judith approached Mary with an envelope. “Here,” she said. “We made them in school. Next year you will too.”
What a strange feeling it was to accept something from Judith. Less than a week had passed, and she and Judith were inseparable. From the moment of that encircling arm, the two girls had eaten together, played together after school and helped each other with chores. Late at night they talked. As moonbeams inched across their bed, they told each other about when they would marry and planned how they would live in Davidson across the street from each other. They would visit each other and send their children to visit each other too. For Christmas and Easter they would send their husbands to the farm to pick up Mother and Joseph and Papa, if he’d come, and they’d all go to church. Their husbands would drive shiny new cars, not old jalopies pulled by horses.
Mary didn’t really plan to give up the farm and her valley so easily, nor Papa and Mother, nor Clyde, but she did want to play along with Judith. The past days had been full of stunning moments, and now Judith was giving her something that she had made.
“What is it?” Mary asked.
“For Valentine’s Day.”
“What’s that?”
“Open it and see.”
A small card was tucked into the envelope. A big heart, colored red with crayon, had been drawn on the card-face, and a horseshoe of words was placed unevenly around this heart. “What are these words?” Judith’s printing wasn’t the best.
Judith pointed at each word. “Won’t you be my Valentine? Love, Judith.”
“Won’t you be my Valentine? Wow!”
“Yes, wow!”
“But Judith, what does it mean?”
“It means I’m happy to be your sister, and I hope we’ll be friends forever. I made one for Papa too, and Mother.”
The news that others were also to receive valentines made Mary’s seem a little less special, but all in all she was happy to get anything nice from Judith. She sure didn’t want to go back to being enemies. And she couldn’t afford to lose any friends. “Miss Catherine says the winter storms are all but through,” Judith said, sipping her make-believe tea. They were celebrating the Ides of March by having a tea party up in the hayloft.
“Yes, darling,” said Mary, mimicking the voice of Calphurnia, wife of Julius Caesar in the play on the radio the night before. “I do believe winter has passed off rather marvellously this year. Is your Miss Catherine well?”
“Rumor has it she has found a new beau.”
“What’s a beau?”
“A boyfriend, like mine.”
“You have a boyfriend? You don’t say!”
“Yes, Andy Spearman.”
“Who’s he?”
“You must remember, my precious, that fine dear boy who tripped over me at Christmas. But keep it secret or I’ll simply die.”
“Awww! Even from Papa?”
“Especially from Papa.”
Mary didn’t know if she’d be able to manage that, but Judith looked at her so intently she had to agree. “Okay, I promise.” Sipping her tea, Mary thought she’d never be able to wait to go to school and have a boyfriend. She sighed and looked back at Judith. Who could have guessed that this sister, only one year older, lived such a secret and glamorous life? Judith stopped at the pump to wash off the potatoes and carrots. They were growing long white roots, but still usable. Mary climbed up out of the cool root cellar as loud hammering noises began nearby. They seemed to come from behind the barn. She closed the door.
“Is that Papa or Joseph?”
“Let’s go find out what’s happening back there,” Judith answered.
They found Papa working on the buggy. The buggy was parked between the plow and the truck, both idle now. To plow, Papa had to borrow two extra horses. To operate the truck, he had to find money for an expensive part.
Waiting for him to become aware of them, Judith cleared her throat politely. Mary coughed. They giggled.
“So, the days are getting longer, girls,” Papa said finally. He lifted his eyes to them but left his fingers clamped around the buggy springs.
“I hardly noticed,” Judith replied.
This surprised Mary. “What about Miss Catherine?” she asked.
“What about her?”
Taking up a brush, Papa applied grease to the buggy axle.
“About her saying winter is all but through?”
Judith shrugged.
Mary shrugged too. But how could Judith not notice spring? The sun went higher with each pass. She and Joseph were shedding clothes like wolves shed fur. Spring was most notable by the Arm, whose ice had cracked and been swept downstream. The willows were in leaf. Papa said all this was due to some early rain and a whole lot of heat. The frog opera, as he called it, had opened two nights before. All along the river, froggy voices lifted to the evening sky, singing like choirs of angels. Antelope raced up the empty valley, tearing at the first grass, then running off in search of whatever antelopes searched for. Away from the river, green shoots found a way through the yellow mat of last year’s grass and weeds. Ducks and geese glided overhead or splashed into shrinking puddles on the bare fields. How could you not notice leaving winter coats indoors? Mary guessed Judith must be pulling her leg, since they agreed on practically every topic these days.
Papa stood and looked at his work. “Well, live and learn, daughter. When Mother gets to fussing about Easter, watch for the days to get longer.”
“Mother says today is Good Friday,” said Judith. “Why does she call it good if someone got murdered?”
“Good question. You better ask her. She’s the expert.” Papa dropped his brush into the grease can. He rolled the big spindly wheel into position and slid its hub onto the axle. He threaded on a nut. “Soon you’ll be home all the time, not just during storms, or holidays like today.”
Papa hadn’t glanced at Judith, but she smiled. “I don’t mind. Mary and I will carry water to the garden this summer and go to school together in the fall.”
How far their friendship had come! It was one thing for Judith not to mind staying home on a holiday, quite another for her to plan her whole summer around working together.
“Everyone helping out as they can. That’s our best chance for surviving this year,” said Papa. “Mother and I are talking seed. It’s the same old dream about this time every year. Probably turn to grief on us too.” He sighed, looked at his daughters and smiled. “Escape from that winter-bound house don’t seem to matter as much this spring. I have to say, Judith, that you’ve been a pleasure to us all.”
Judith blushed deeply.
Mary laughed. Her heart felt light as a spring breeze.