Early Warning

“John has not taken good care of himself. Only fifty-six, and his rheumatism is so bad he can hardly walk! If he’d started taking chamomile tea twice a day with a tablespoon of honey and a tablespoon of cider vinegar, he would be fine.”

“That may be true…”

“You should be, too. You’re old enough. It would do you no harm.”

“We got a good price, and we put it into the new harvester.”

“How much did you get?”

Joe glanced pointedly at Jesse, and Rosanna said, “He’s fifteen. He’s old enough to know.”

Joe coughed twice. He just could not quite get it out. But then he said, “Eleven hundred an acre.”

Rosanna stared at him.

Jesse said, calmly, “That’s a hundred and seventy-six thousand dollars.”

“You did not!” exclaimed Rosanna.

“We did,” said Joe.

“You could sell this whole farm for a million dollars?”

“That’s what they say. Well, more than that. Some of the fields, fifteen hundred or sixteen hundred an acre.”

“You did not spend a hundred and sixty thousand dollars on a harvester.”

“About ten,” said Joe.

“What did you do with the rest of it?”

“John and I put fifteen away for college for Annie, Jess, and Gary Jr. and used the rest to pay off loans.”

“Are we free and clear?”

“Just about,” said Joe.

Rosanna stared at him again, for a long moment, and put her hand slowly to her mouth; then the tears started running down her cheeks. Joe said, “Oh, Mama.”

“I don’t know what in the world I was thinking when we moved in here, but I certainly did not expect it to take fifty years to pay off the farm. What was it Walter bought, two hundred acres? I can’t even remember anymore, that’s how bad my memory has gotten, or maybe I put it out of my mind. But, my goodness, I guess I expected to be owned by the bank until the day I died.”

But after a bit Rosanna sat up, wiped her eyes, and said to Jesse, “You know, when your dad lived in that old house, he had four rabbits. They were named Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Moe. And he had two cats and sheep and cattle and chickens and I don’t know what all. His sheep was named Emily. He told me that when he was grown up he was going to have animals in every room in the house, and bring the horses in through the back door.” Jesse glanced at his father, who said, “I did always want a flock of Cheviots. They have bare faces.”

“Jesse,” Rosanna said, “when we took that sheep Emily to the fair, I remember your grandfather told me something you should remember.”

“What?” said Jesse.

“This farm was worth eleven dollars an acre.” She leaned toward him. “Eleven! Nothing! Didn’t matter what we put into it. He bought it right after the first war — paid a hundred, he said. I always thought maybe a hundred and ten. Exorbitant! But he was bound and determined to get out of his parents’ house, mortgage or no.” She slapped her hands on her knees and looked at Joe. “Well,” she said, “glory be! What now?”

“Worry,” said Joe.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, yes. Just like always. But buy yourself something. At least a couple of Cheviots. You can build a little pen out behind the Osage-orange hedge. Jesse, wouldn’t you like some sheep?”

“Ma,” said Joe, “I think you must be losing your mind. I never heard you say a good word about animals.”

“Well,” said Rosanna, “it’s dull around here. Minnie’s the principal, Lois is running Crest’s, Annie and Jesse are in school all day, and you wear earmuffs from the noise. Sheep would be a little company.”

Joe laughed, and then wondered, where would you even get sheep these days? No one had sheep. He did look around when he headed out to the barn before supper. He did say to himself the words “a million dollars.” But he knew enough at his age to know that dollars were like drops of mist — they fluttered around you and then dissipated. The real mystery was how your farm bound you to it, so tightly that you would pay any price (literally, in interest) or make any sacrifice just to take these steps across this familiar undulating ground time and time again.

—

AS BASIL HAD SUSPECTED, Henry and Philip (never “Phil”) were quite compatible, though if Basil cared about things like how the corners of the pillows on the couch were turned, or whether sweaters were arranged by color right to left (“Always red!” exclaimed Philip as he was rearranging. “How could you make such a basic error?”), or how much garlic was in the spaghetti, Henry would be surprised. As for other matters, Basil had cultivated Philip quite nicely. He thought sex was a lovely game. Like Henry, he had been a magnet for the women and always wondered what they saw in him. He said to Henry, “Then Basil came along and explained to me what was going on. I was thunderstruck.”

“He explained it to you?” said Henry. They were eating from a box of the first strawberries of the season.