Early Warning

Joe and Lois arrived in the pickup with Annie and Jesse; Minnie followed, with Rosanna, who was carrying Lois’s competition pie on her lap. Claire thought her mother looked terrible. She had not seemed to take the news of Tim’s death very hard: How many chickens did they think she had killed in her day? What did they think it was like, finding her own husband, ten years younger than she was now, curled up under that damned Osage-orange tree? Death was a fact, and no one knew that better than an old lady on a farm. Why discuss it? But today she looked as if she had given up on her hair in the middle of putting it up, as if she had given up on her sweater in the middle of buttoning it, as if she had dabbed two spots of lipstick on her lips and given up on that. Claire kissed her and asked her how she was.

“Just getting old. Gout in my toe. My hip. What all.” She tossed her hand dismissively in the air. “The question is, how are you?” Claire suspected her mother thought she was too far along to show herself in public. She said, “I feel terrific, actually.” Dr. Sadler walked right up to them, held out his hand to Rosanna, and said, “I understand you’re Claire’s mom. I’m Martin Sadler. I’m pleased to meet you.” His smile was as big as could be. Rosanna put her hand on his arm and asked him if he was engaged or dating anyone.

Paul strapped Gray carefully into his expensive Maclaren baby stroller, tied his hat onto his head, then pulled his socks up and his overalls down. If one ray of sunshine got on the child’s skin, Paul would take him inside. Paul refused absolutely to have a dog, and even though Claire was always saying that a boy needed a dog, it was she herself who needed the dog. But Paul’s favorite words were “I don’t think so.”

Annie had changed overnight — breasts (suddenly large ones), though not much of a waist. Jesse wore exactly what Joe wore, right down to the ill-fitting white shirt and the too-short khakis and the flattop. And he stayed right in Joe’s shadow. When Dr. Sadler asked him what grade he was in, Jesse looked up at Joe before he answered. Lois, as always, looked as if she was minding her own business. She opened the door and received the pie before Minnie turned off the engine.

Claire’s hand went to her own hair. She had sprouted thirty gray ones, all at the cowlick on the left side of her hairline, right up front for everyone to see. She was twenty-eight years old! It was very unjust, she thought. Paul ran the stroller right over her toes.

Lois said, “I’m going to check in to the Machine Shed. I’ll meet you at the crafts,” so they followed Rosanna into the hall. Purple cable knit with long sleeves, regular Aran patterned vest, Fair Isle, hand-knitted Iowa Hawkeyes football jersey, including the number and the player’s name, “Murphy.” After the knitwear, they wandered past the canned goods to the piles of fleece, then tomatoes, longest green bean, biggest onion, heaviest ear of sweet corn. Claire had a little exchange of hard stares with Paul about taking Gray among the livestock, but Claire won — Paul picked him up, and Claire folded the stroller and carried it. It was important not to stand up straight, not to ask for help, and not to pat your belly. There were breeds of hogs here that she would not have recognized without a sign — Old Spots, Mulefoot, Tamworth (these were red) — and cows (Red Poll, Randal Lineback, Belted Galloway). She liked the horses, which were mostly draft and ponies. Paul actually got interested in the chickens. Rosanna took hold of the sleeve of Dr. Sadler’s jacket. “Goodness, we had those Chanticleers. Good birds. Smart. I always heard of those Dominiques, never saw one before. Who was that who had a whole flock of those red Russian Orloffs? Claire, do you remember? Those could stay out in any weather, but they weren’t good layers. Chickens got us through the Depression. And cream!” Dr. Sadler continued to nod. Goats, sheep. Joe lingered at the sheep, his hand affectionately on Jesse’s shoulder, pointing out the Southdowns, like the one he had brought to the fair — oh goodness, was it thirty-three years ago now? Emily, that ewe’s name was. And then he met a girl named Emily, too.

The Southdowns were the prettiest, Claire thought. When Jesse asked for one, Joe said, “We’ll see.” Which was better than “I don’t think so.” Claire knew she was grumpy.

They came out onto the midway, and she felt a breeze. It was almost noon, quite pleasant — not even eighty, she would bet. Paul said, “We could have chickens. The backyard is big enough.” Quite typical of Paul to reject a dog out of hand, but get suddenly enthusiastic about chickens. Dr. Sadler and Rosanna were at the corn-dog stand. Claire waddled away from Paul and joined them there. Dr. Sadler gave her a comfortable smile. She said, “You know the recipe for grilled corn?”

“I shudder to think,” said Dr. Sadler.

“Twelve ears of corn, a cup of melted butter, salt.”

Paul made her cook with margarine.