Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  It was a full half hour before she rolled onto her back, wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, and stared at the rafters. Amelia was right. She had to get a hold of herself. This was her life. She was responsible. No one else.

  Chapter 50

  Over the next week, Liddie pulled herself together. When she thought she’d cry, she bit her cheek hard, forced a smile to her lips, and did something. Everyday needs were a constant—pigs and cattle to feed, the cow to milk, meals to cook, laundry to do. All of it—the chores inside and out, the physical activity—helped.

  With all four of Amelia’s children living there now, the house also teemed with activity. At nearly five, Hope was capable of helping with the twins. Melvin’s lip had been sewn up, and though he’d always have a scar, his face looked almost normal. The twin girls, Faith and Grace, were mirror images of each other. Overwhelmed at first by so much noise, Rose soon joined her cousins and they all tumbled around like a litter of puppies.

  Between the two of them, Liddie and Amelia were able to take care of most things and tackled the chores with minimal fuss. An early riser, Amelia checked on the livestock and milked the cow before Liddie was out of bed. By the time Amelia was back in the house, Liddie had the children dressed and breakfast on the table. If there was a good thing at all about the timing of Joe’s death, it was that there was no fieldwork to be done.

  “We could do it, don’t you think?” Liddie asked one Tuesday morning as she washed the breakfast dishes and Amelia set up the ironing board. “Take care of the farm?”

  Amelia took her time answering. “Why are you so set on staying here? You liked living in town, didn’t you?”

  “At the time, I did. Then when I came here with Joe, I don’t know how to explain it, but I knew I was home.”

  “Couldn’t that have been about Joe?”

  Liddie smiled. “Some of it, I suppose. But once we were settled, I realized how independent we were living on a farm. What we did, when we did it, how we managed. It was up to us.”

  Amelia laughed without humor. “Are you joking? ‘What’ is taking care of the livestock and putting meals on the table and doing the laundry and minding the children. ‘When’ is every minute of every day.”

  “That’s true. But everything we did was for us, for our future. I laugh at myself when I think of how I viewed farming as a child. When I would look out the windows, my view felt blocked by the trees and hills. I saw fences that held me in as much as they did the cattle. I wanted to see what was beyond the fences, beyond the hills. Now I look out the windows, and I see fields that are mine to walk, trees that shade my family when we picnic, and open space that lets me breathe. Not neighbor women looking out their windows at me.”

  The more she talked, the more Liddie realized how much the idea of staying on the farm with Amelia appealed to her.

  “There was a little more aloneness than I liked,” Amelia said.

  “Wyoming was different. Here, we’d be together. Family and neighbors are close. You’re home now, Amelia. We’re together.”

  Only a week later, Amelia and her children moved in with Minnie to help when she delivered her baby—a healthy boy they named Joseph George.

  When it was only her and Rose on the farm, Liddie understood better the aloneness Amelia had talked about. Though a few neighbors stopped by from time to time, they shared news from their buggy seats and left, still wary of the flu.

  Most days went by without the sound of another adult voice. So it was with surprise and gratitude that she opened the door one day to see Mrs. Tinker.

  “My sympathy,” Mrs. Tinker said as she hugged Liddie.

  Liddie gulped down the grief that surged into her throat. “Thank you. Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

  It felt odd to be serving tea to Mrs. Tinker on the farm. In Liddie’s mind, they were always together in her former employer’s front room.

  “It’s nice of you to come,” she said.

  “I heard you were ill, but I had no idea it was so severe. I didn’t know of Joe’s passing until I read the obituary in the Sentinel.”

  Liddie dipped her head. “It was sudden.”

  “I am so sorry.” Mrs. Tinker squeezed Liddie’s hand.

  The tenderness in Mrs. Tinker’s voice caused Liddie’s eyes to blur. Blinking rapidly, she forced a smile, reached for the teapot, and changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what have you heard from your nephew?”

  “There is some good news,” Mrs. Tinker said. “Thad will be home by the end of the year.”

  “That is wonderful news. Will he work with his father on the farm?”

  “For now. I imagine he’ll want to start a life of his own.” She sipped at the tea. “We are so grateful, so relieved he will be safe at home.”

  Liddie had thought Joe was safe at home when he had not been drafted. Yet he hadn’t been safe. Mrs. Tinker’s nephew went to war and would return home alive and well. It was so unfair. She dug her fingernails into her wrist, refocusing on the pain to push the tears back. She was horrible to think another man’s living was unfair.

  “You have a lovely home, Liddie. Look at these photos.” Mrs. Tinker set her teacup down and went to the sideboard, where Liddie displayed pictures. “These are wonderful. You took them?”

  “I did.” She joined Mrs. Tinker. “Joe gave me a camera last Christmas. We had such fun taking pictures that day.”

  “Have you been taking many photos?”

  “Until . . . recently.” She hadn’t gone into the darkroom since Joe’s death. The thought of going there reminded her of the hours spent in isolation when she could have been with him. How foolish she’d been. “I took photos for a few neighbors.”

  “Are you going to continue? Taking photos for others, I mean?”

  “With the war and the flu, people are less interested.” Liddie traced her finger along the edge of the photograph of her mother holding Rose and Pearl. “It was a hobby.” Liddie felt nothing for the photos. It all felt so meaningless.

  “Hobbies can become businesses, as mine did.” Mrs. Tinker returned to her chair. “Liddie, I came as a friend but also with a proposition.”

  “A proposition?”

  “Have you given thought to taking up sewing again? My business is not anywhere near the level it was, but now that the war is over, many of my women are beginning to freshen their wardrobes. It’s more than I can manage alone. I would welcome working with you.”

  “You’re gracious to offer, Mrs. Tinker. But I’m not leaving the farm. Besides, my sewing . . .” Embarrassment flashed through her. She shook it off and squared her shoulders. “I’ve been mending socks and trousers.”

  “One does not lose the skill.” Mrs. Tinker sipped at her tea.

  “It’s odd, isn’t it?” Liddie tried to smile. “At one time, I couldn’t wait to leave the farm behind. Now I would do anything to stay here.”

  “Don’t give up on your dreams, Liddie. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Aunt Kate said that to me.”

  “It’s an old saw.” Mrs. Tinker smiled. “I enjoyed Kate’s determination. You have much of her in you.”

  “I wish I was as strong as her.”

  “You’re stronger than you realize.”

  Liddie was uncomfortable with the praise, and thinking of Aunt Kate opened a chasm of loneliness. Kate’s career had advanced since she had moved to Ohio; she was superintendent of a large district. She’d found like-minded women among the suffragettes. But letters did not fill the gap Liddie knew existed between the reality of someone’s life and what they chose to share on paper. After Aunt Kate left, Mrs. Tinker was the person Liddie turned to for counsel. Now she did so again.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Go on. After Mr. Tinker passed? I’m trying to put on a good
face, but I feel as though I can barely think.”

  Mrs. Tinker sat quietly, her thimble finger tapping her cheek. “One day at a time,” she said at last. “It sounds too simple, and I’m not saying it’s easy. But that’s it. One day at a time. You have your daughter, and you must keep going for her. I did not have children, but I did have my sewing. The ladies kept coming to my door.” She smiled. “I honestly believe they gave me projects they didn’t need doing to keep me working. I was grateful for each of them.”

  “Does it ever stop hurting?”

  “Over time. Which is not to say you forget. Goodness knows, you will never forget. Don’t let the pain make you forget how lucky you are to have had Joe.”

  After Mrs. Tinker left, Liddie wandered from room to room, smoothing doilies on tabletops, straightening chairs that didn’t need it. She appreciated Mrs. Tinker’s offer, but did she really want to return to sewing? She found herself in front of the darkroom, and for the first time since Joe’s death, she opened the door.

  She and Joe had talked over the cost of each piece of equipment, each sheet of photo paper, each bottle of chemicals. She’d convinced him there was potential. Now that she was on her own, did she believe it? Was she a fool to think she could stay on the farm? How could she take care of this place herself? Without a man? Maybe Vern was right. Maybe she would have to sell.

  That night, after she milked the cow, fed the pigs, and collected the eggs, after she fed Rose and tucked her in bed, Liddie sat down with her sewing basket. The feel of the cloth and the needle was reassuring. She made a few stitches, then tilted her head back and let her eyes close.

  She knew she should go to bed, but sleep was not easy to come by. The act of lying down in their bed brought Joe’s death back fresh each night.

  “You know what to do.” Joe spoke to her from a chair by the window.

  A bubble of happiness filled Liddie’s chest. “I thought you were gone.”

  “What are you waiting for? You know what to do.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I trust you. Now you trust you.”

  Me trust me. She smiled. “I love you.”

  “I know. Now figure it out.”

  She opened her eyes, the smile still on her lips. She could hear his voice. She could see his face. Yet he was not there. Her heart twisted and the smile faded. How could he leave her again?

  Joe’s words echoed in her head. Figure it out. The memory of his smile brought a smile back to her face. “I can do that,” she said out loud.

  She put the sewing down, brought out the ledger, and took it to the kitchen table, where they had worked together on the farm records. As she wrote figures on a new sheet of paper, she imagined Joe sitting there, watching her. Sometimes, she asked him questions out loud and waited until the answers came. She wrote them down and went on.

  She drew columns and labeled them farm, photography, and Mrs. Tinker.

  The need for a man kept coming up, and Mrs. Tinker’s nephew came to mind. She jotted Thad, Amelia, and rent in the margin. The more she wrote down, the more her anxiety receded.

  By the time she extinguished the lamp, she had a page with neat columns of items and numbers. She was ready to talk with her brother.

  Chapter 51

  “Mornin’, Liddie.” Vern wiped his boots on the rag rug by the kitchen door and shrugged out of a heavy coat splotched with drops of rain. Early December had brought a week of weather extremes, from warmer days that felt more like spring to bitter cold, sleet, and snow.

  “Good morning, Vern.” Liddie motioned her brother to a chair as she poured two cups of coffee and set out a plate of cookies. “Thanks for coming over.”

  She took the chair that had been Joe’s. As she sat down, a breath of air wheezed past her lips. The influenza was completely gone, but sometimes—like the moment before her hips met the chair—movements still generated an ache in her joints.

  Ever since Mrs. Tinker’s visit, her plan to keep the farm had grown in her mind, and she’d worked the numbers over and over. She needed her brother’s support, but talking to him about the farm—about business—was new territory. She’d put the farm ledger and her lists on the table, ready for when she needed them.

  “How’s that baby boy?” she asked, easing into the discussion.

  The frown lines on Vern’s face relaxed a little. “He’s got a set of lungs.”

  “You won’t be getting much sleep now. How does Pearl like her brother?”

  Vern grinned. “She thinks she’s got a new baby doll.”

  “They’ll be good playmates. I’m so pleased for you and Minnie.”

  “Minnie said to be sure to remind you to come over Sunday for dinner. She and Amelia are doing it up big for the christening.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I was only waiting until I was sure my cough was gone.”

  He drained his coffee cup. “You wanted to talk.”

  “I do. About the farm.” She attempted a confident smile. “I want to thank you, Vern. You’ve been a blessing all these weeks. Helping Joe and me while we were sick and still helping now. I understand you can’t keep doing that, and I know you think I should sell the farm.”

  “I talked to a couple fellas who might be interested.”

  She gripped her cup with both hands. “I appreciate your effort. But I’ve been thinking there might be a way to stay on the farm.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You can’t farm it yourself.”

  “I know I can’t. But I’m thinking we could stay here anyway. I worked it out.” She reached for the ledger and worksheets.

  “What about the fieldwork? What about when something breaks down? A farm ain’t no place for a woman alone.” Vern’s jaw set tight.

  “I know that, Vern.” She struggled to soften her voice.

  He cut her off. “You think I can come over here every time you need something? I can’t. I’m gonna say it one more time. You have to sell.” Vern slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “I swear to God, Liddie. I don’t think you listen to me at all.”

  His abrupt anger raised the hackles on Liddie’s neck. She stood to compose herself and made a show of getting more coffee. When she came back to the table, she faced him squarely. “This farm belongs to Joe and to me. Now that he’s gone, it’s mine. Don’t be telling me a woman can’t do it. Don’t tell me I can’t do it.”

  Vern shook his head. “Now you’re sounding like Aunt Kate.”

  “I hope I learned something from her. You can help me or not, Vern. It’s your choice. I know we need a man. I had a thought about that, if you’d let me tell you.” He didn’t interrupt. “What if we had a hired hand? Someone who lived here and took care of the crops and livestock?”

  The cords in his neck flexed, but he didn’t speak.

  “I know someone who might be perfect,” she continued. “Mrs. Tinker’s nephew, Thad. He was in the war, but he’ll be back real soon. She says he’ll be looking for a place.”

  “You’d take the first man to walk by? He mightn’t know a damned thing about farming.”

  “I know what Mrs. Tinker says. He’s worth talking to.”

  “If he’s looking for a place of his own, why would he come here?”

  “Help me think it through, Vern. Could we make it right for him? Work out shares for the crops and livestock? Give him a start the way Joe got his start. He’d take his meals with us.”

  “People’d talk.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “Liddie, it’s gonna be hard enough for you. Why don’t you get shed of this place?”

  “Joe loved this farm, Vern. No one knows that better than you.” She opened the ledger. “I worked out the numbers. Please look at them.” She nudged the ledger toward him. She kept her eyes on him, her jaw set. She could be as strong willed as he. Finally, he grunte
d in resignation.

  “Thank you.” She slid the ledger in front of him, placing the sheet with income and expenses on top. “Let me show you how I thought of it. Amelia and her children can move in here with Rose and me. That would be money saved. We’d take care of the cows and chickens, the garden, the house. We can take in sewing. Mrs. Tinker was here, and she asked me to work with her.”

  “I expect she meant in town.”

  “Whatever I’d do there, I can do here. Amelia and I can both sew. Besides, no matter where Amelia and I are, you’ll be looking in on us. Won’t you?”

  He screwed up his mouth. He knew that was the truth.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we were close by?”

  She watched him think, then took another breath and added, “Plus, I have my darkroom. I can take photos for neighbors.”

  He couldn’t contain his skepticism. “Pictures of two or three neighbors ain’t gonna make no money. What’ll you do when they’ve all had their pictures took?”

  “There will always be pictures to take. Weddings, graduations, funerals. Now that the war’s over, people will get back to living. Mrs. Tinker says she sees it in her business. Look at this.”

  Over the next hour, Liddie shared the records she’d kept on the farm and the darkroom. At one point, Vern looked up from the numbers. “You make that from taking pictures?”

  She nodded. “I gave you the family discount.”

  By the time he left, they’d agreed he would talk with Thad. If Thad passed muster with Vern, then they’d all get together.

  “Don’t forget about Sunday,” he said as he mounted his horse.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Should I bring my camera?”

  “Don’t know’s how I can afford it.”

  She slapped at his leg. “Family discount, remember?”

  Chapter 52

  Liddie dreamed about baking bread. As she kneaded the dough, Joe said, “See? Doing something is better than doing nothing.” The smell was so vivid, his voice so clear, she woke up. It took several moments lying there to realize neither the voice nor the smell was real. She drifted off to sleep. When she woke again, she was hungry.