As they worked, the fear that washed over Henry at seeing the sheriff faded, and he began to think he’d put one over on the old guy. He hadn’t given anything away, had stood up under the questioning without betraying his friends.
Henry straightened his shoulders and patched two more sections of fence. He was a man now, and no one, including the sheriff, was going to tell him what his father would have expected of him.
“I’m cold.” Mayfair’s voice brought Henry out of his own head. He’d just about forgotten her.
He glanced over his shoulder. Her nose shone red and her eyes were watering. She looked about frozen. “Better get you on back to the house,” he said. He started to wrap an arm around her shoulders, but she shied away like a skittish colt. He started to protest that he was only trying to warm her up, but the look in her eyes stopped him. What was it? Disappointment? He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, she needed to get warm.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go see if that casserole’s ready to deliver.”
Margaret could have wrung Henry’s neck when she saw how he let Mayfair get so thoroughly chilled. She pulled a chair up to the stove, still warm from the cooling casserole, and gave her sister a mug of hot tea with a little honey. She gave some to Henry, too, although her mother would have described the delivery as ungracious.
Once Margaret was satisfied that Mayfair would be fine, the four of them piled into Emily’s massive Oldsmobile with Henry behind the wheel. Emily insisted on riding in the backseat with Mayfair. Margaret sat stiffly beside Henry, trying not to slide toward him in the turns. He seemed focused on the road ahead of them, although she thought she detected an undercurrent of worry.
“You’re a good driver.” Margaret decided to try forgiving Henry, though she had to make herself do it. She told herself it was Christian to forgive.
Henry sort of grunted. Well, so much for reaching out in Christian love. She spoke to Emily over the back of the front seat.
“How’s Angie been since Liza died?”
“You know, I didn’t think she’d live long after her sweet sister passed, but she seems to be all right. Although I was visiting last week, and she talked about Casewell and Perla’s wedding like it happened yesterday instead of twenty-some years ago. Then it seemed like she couldn’t remember what day it was. She had a confused air about her.” Emily looked out the side window. “Guess that happens if you live long enough.”
“And Frank stays with her?”
“No more than is proper. They’re both single people, you know.”
Henry snorted, and while Margaret thought it was rude, her reaction was similar. Who cared if two old people spent every possible moment together? What harm could come of it?
Henry pulled into the driveway and stopped alongside the front porch. Margaret hopped out and picked up the warm casserole dish from where it nestled in the floorboards between her feet. Mayfair carried a basket with a loaf of light bread, a jar of apple butter, and half a pound cake.
“You know, we made that apple butter in the Talbot sisters’ kettle. I think just about everybody in Wise has borrowed that thing at one time or another.” Emily took Henry’s arm as they walked up onto the porch. “Knock plenty loud, Henry. She might be napping.”
But Henry didn’t even touch the screen door before Frank was there to let them in.
“Howdy, folks, come on in and set a spell.”
They piled into the kitchen and draped coats over the backs of chairs, then lined their boots up near the front door. As they shed outer layers, Angie eased into the kitchen and watched.
“I haven’t seen such a ruckus in a month of Sundays,” she said.
Margaret was afraid they’d upset the old woman, but she smiled. “And I’m so glad. It’s been too long since people piled up in this house. Probably not since Liza passed, God rest her soul.”
Margaret wondered if she should say she was sorry, but Liza had been gone a while now. She settled for putting her warm dish on the table in front of Angie.
“We brought you some chicken pie.”
“Oh, I do enjoy chicken pie, and so does Frank.” Angie gave Frank such a warm look, Margaret almost felt uncomfortable.
“There’s bread and pound cake, too.” She rushed the words to hide her embarrassment.
“How nice. Frank, what if we put some of that Hershey’s syrup on the cake for dessert this evening?”
Frank rubbed his hands together. “I always have enjoyed something sweet of an evening.” He winked and Angie swatted his arm.
“Come on into the parlor,” she said. “We can sit and visit.”
Once everyone settled and they had finished thoroughly discussing the weather, Frank leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees.
“Guess I might know something that’ll be news to you’uns,” he said.
Emily leaned forward with a smile. “Is it good news?”
“I think so.” He looked at Angie. “Shall I tell them?”
Angie waved a hand at nothing. “Oh, go ahead. People will talk no matter what you do. Might as well make sure they’ve got the story right.”
Frank grinned. “I’ve asked Angie here to be my bride.” He reached out and placed a hand over hers where it rested on the arm of her chair. “And she said, ‘yes.’”
Emily clapped her hands. “Oh, that is good news. Frank Post, it’s about time you got married.”
He chuckled. “I reckon it’s past time, but better late than never.”
Margaret felt something akin to distaste. They were so old. What could possibly be the point of getting married? They probably wouldn’t even live much longer. Not that she’d say any of that out loud, but really, it was kind of embarrassing to see two wrinkled ninety-year-olds making puppy-dog eyes at each other.
She snuck a peek at Henry. He looked about to laugh, but was holding it in. She caught his eye, and amusement passed between them. He really was kind of appealing when he wasn’t busy being mad.
They stayed a little longer before heading home. Frank pulled Henry aside on the porch while the ladies said their good-byes. Back in the car Henry seemed pensive, but Margaret was pretty well ready to write him off as moody, so she paid him little mind.
“What do you think about Frank and Angie getting married?” Margaret asked Emily.
“Well, now, I think it’s a hoot. You’re never too old for love.”
Margaret gave Emily a dubious look. “Seriously? I mean, I guess there’s nothing wrong with it, but it seems kind of silly.”
“Silly? I don’t know that I’d call it that.” Emily smiled. “I might call it hopeful or optimistic. I might even call it brave.”
“Brave? What’s brave about getting married?”
Emily laughed. “Oh, my dear, it’s the bravest thing two people can do at any age. To pledge yourself to someone forever—no matter what comes—that takes nerve. I suppose the Lord made us to have all the fluttery, falling-in-love feelings because He knew we’d never hitch up otherwise.”
Mayfair jumped in. “They’re too old to have children, aren’t they?”
Emily laughed again, and Margaret joined in, although she flushed a little when she saw Henry grinning behind the steering wheel.
“Yes, they’re well past that age, but they may not be past, well,” she glanced around the car. “Other things.”
Margaret’s blush deepened, and she faced forward, trying to avoid everyone’s eyes, most particularly Henry’s. She’d read about the sexual revolution, birth control, and feminism, but she didn’t want any part of it. She wanted to simplify her life, not complicate it. And she certainly didn’t want to think about those things when two people old enough to be her great-grandparents were involved.
“Grandma, when are you thinking of getting a cow?”
Margaret could have hugged Henry for the sudden change in conversation.
“Oh, I’m in no hurry. I’ll need someone to milk her every day, so I’ll have to sort that out first. I could manage
most days, but mornings can be hard on these old joints of mine.”
“I can do it,” Henry offered.
“Henry, I still have hopes of you finishing college. You have only a year and a half to go. But maybe you could take it over while you’re at home.”
“I could learn,” Margaret offered. “Is it hard?”
Henry snorted. “It is if you’re prissy about it.”
“Who says I’m prissy?”
Henry darted a glance at her. “I’m just saying you’ve got to let the cow know who’s in charge. Be ready to throw an elbow or block her when she tries to put a foot in the bucket.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. He was just trying to intimidate her. “Guess my teacher had better be pretty good, then.”
Henry puffed his chest out a little.
“Miss Emily, think you could teach me?”
“Oh, a hard worker like you would be a natural.” Emily patted her on the shoulder.
Margaret was pleased to see Henry deflate.
“And you’ve always been good with animals. Not sentimental, either. I think slaughtering the hog last fall was harder on me than it was on you, and you’re the one who fed that critter most days.”
“Well, it made me a little sad, but I do like bacon. I just reminded myself that was his purpose every time I went out there to feed him.”
Emily turned to Mayfair. “Child, you think you might like some fresh milk and homemade butter?” Mayfair nodded, eyes shining. “Just like Heidi—except she drank goat milk and ate toasted cheese. Do you think we could make cheese?”
Emily laughed. “That’s a tall order, but we could give it a try.” She slapped her knee. “Well, then, I think between the four of us we might manage a cow. Henry, you and I will go to the stockyards next week and see what we can find.”
5
AT HOME THAT EVENING, Henry considered what it was Frank asked him as they were leaving. Frank didn’t have any family left, and he told Henry he’d always thought Casewell would stand up with him if he ever got married. But since Casewell was gone, he wondered if Henry might do the honors.
Henry sat out on the porch, feet up on the railing, breath clouding the air as he pondered the question. He liked Frank, had known the old man since he could remember. Somehow Frank and his dad seemed to have a special bond. Henry remembered his father saying Frank saved his life once, but Henry always assumed it was an exaggeration. Still, who knew? Maybe the old guy really had saved him. Probably kept him from getting kicked in the head by a cow or something. He couldn’t picture Dad doing anything really dangerous.
He thought back to what seemed more and more like a narrow escape the night before. Now that was danger—and excitement. He might have felt a measure of peace on his grandmother’s farm today, but it would get boring if every day were like that. Now, running moonshine could get a man’s blood up, even if there were only a handful of folks still making the stuff now that store-bought liquor was readily available. Even so, there were still those who preferred quality, homemade hooch. He clasped his hands behind his head. And Charlie said if Henry wanted to go in with him, they could expand their line of merchandise and make some real money. Whatever that meant. Henry just wanted to show his family he could support them.
Oh, well. He’d stand up with Frank. It’s what men did—stand up for each other. He’d be moving on to bigger and better things soon enough, might as well help out a friend of his father’s along the way.
Decision made, Henry dropped his feet from the railing, stood, and stretched. He was about to head in when his mother stepped out onto the porch. She sat down in a rocker and pulled her coat more snugly around her shoulders.
“Can I talk to you a minute, son?”
Henry slumped back into his chair. “Sure, Mom. Whatcha need?”
She clenched the fabric of her coat and released it. “I’m a little bit worried about you, Henry.”
Henry rolled his eyes and slouched lower.
“The sheriff stopped by.”
Henry froze and his stomach twisted. He’d pretty well forgotten about the sheriff.
“Seems he had some questions about you and those Simmons boys. I guess maybe one of them got into some trouble?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Did you know anything about it?”
“Look, Mom, like I told the sheriff, I don’t know anything. Why everyone has to make a big deal about me hanging out with some old friends is beyond me. Seriously, can’t a guy spend some time with his pals without getting the third degree?”
Perla sat up straighter, and her hands stilled. “Young man, I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Of course I’m going to be concerned when the sheriff comes around asking after you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You and Sadie are all I have left.” She stood and reached for the screen door. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”
Alone again, Henry felt like a rat. He wished he could talk this out with his father. Dad always knew how to put things in perspective, how to make sense of whatever Henry was going through. He headed for his room. Mom might not like what he was doing, but he was doing it for her. Surely that made it okay.
The next morning Margaret answered Emily’s phone. Angie Talbot was on the line, sounding annoyed.
“Well, hey, Angie, are you looking for Emily?”
“No, I’m looking for Frank, and I can’t find him anywhere.” Margaret thought she could almost hear the tap, tap of Angie’s foot. “He’s usually here of a morning, but today I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.” Her voice dropped low. “You don’t think he’s got another girl, do you?”
Margaret stifled a laugh. “No, ma’am. Maybe he had an errand to run.”
“He always tells me if he’s going to be late.” Angie huffed. “This is just not like him.” Her voice changed again. This time she sounded on the verge of tears. “What should I do?”
“Let me get Emily for you.”
Ten minutes later Emily hung up the phone and told Margaret they were going over to see Angie. Mayfair was along again, so all three got into the car, and Margaret drove them to Angie’s rambling house.
“She sounded awfully upset,” Margaret said. “Do you think something’s wrong with Frank? Should we call the sheriff?”
“Not yet,” Emily said. “I think I may know what’s going on, but just keep driving, and we’ll see what’s what in short order.”
When they got to the house, they headed inside and found Frank trying to soothe an agitated Angie.
“Hey, there,” he greeted them. “Might not be the best time for a visit.”
Emily bustled in and coaxed Angie onto the sofa alongside Mayfair and got her calmed down.
“She called us worried about you,” explained Margaret. “She was so upset, Emily thought we’d better come on over.”
Frank sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, then motioned toward the kitchen. Emily joined them.
“I’ve got her settled down in there telling Mayfair how to make homemade soap. She’s in quite a dither this morning. Frank, do you need to tell us anything?”
“Guessed it, have you? Well, I don’t suppose I could have kept it a secret forever. It’s part of the reason I want to marry her.” He held up a hand. “Just part, mind you. I love her something fierce.”
Margaret felt confused. Clearly something was wrong with Angie, but at the same time here was a man professing his love. She’d never encountered anything quite like it.
“She’s slipping, isn’t she?” Emily squeezed Frank’s arm.
“I’m afraid so.” He hung his head. “I told myself it was just the forgetfulness that comes with old age for a long time, but I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Might even be that Alzheimer’s.”
“Oh, Frank. I’m so sorry.” Emily patted his arm. “What can we do?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to keep folks from knowing. She’d hate it if anyone felt sorry for her or treated her different. But it’
s getting harder.” He ran a hand through his snowy white hair, standing it on end.
“Times like this morning. I told her over and over I’d be late today. Got her to repeat it back to me so many times I thought she might get aggravated and take a swing at me. But then she goes and forgets. It’s like the morning dew. As soon as the sun touches it—poof.” He touched his gnarled fingertips together and flung them apart. “Gone.”
“If you need to go someplace, maybe Margaret or I could come sit with Angie, remind her where you are until you get back.”
“It’d be a help. I don’t much go anywhere without her, but every once in a while something comes up.”
Margaret watched the old man’s shoulders sag and thought for the first time that he really did look old. She couldn’t believe he was planning to marry someone who was losing her mind. She felt rude asking, but couldn’t help herself.
“Why are you marrying her if she’s only going to get worse?” She wanted to take the words back once Frank settled his gaze on her, but instead she dug deeper. “I mean, from what I hear about that disease, she’ll get to where she doesn’t even know you.”
“I’ll know her,” Frank said, sadness weighting his eyes. “No matter what, I’ll always know her.”
Margaret felt tears gather behind her eyes, but she willed them away. This was silly. If some foolish old man wanted to saddle himself with a crazy old woman, who was she to care one way or another? The Christian thing to do was to come sit with Angie once in a while and remind her what her own name was. If Frank wanted to throw away what little time he had left, it was no business of hers.
Emily wrapped an arm around Frank’s waist and squeezed. “You’re a good man, Frank Post.”
“Not really,” he said. “Just selfish.” He leaned over to squeeze Emily in return and then straightened his shirt front. “I thank you for coming over to check on Angie and for offering to sit with her if need be. It surely is a comfort to have good neighbors.”
“Don’t think a thing of it,” Emily said.
Margaret followed Emily back into the sitting room, where she was surprised to see Angie and Mayfair sitting and whispering with their heads touching. Mayfair didn’t like to be touched by just anyone. They were completely absorbed in their conversation and didn’t seem to hear the others enter the room.
Until the Harvest Page 4