The Ladies Farm (23 page)

“Die faster,” Barbara said. “I don’t want to die any faster than I have to. But I will worry if I think you’re bankrupting yourselves because of some silliness about keeping a roof over my head. I can afford my own roof. And I can afford to do the right thing about the Ladies Farm.” She took a breath. “I’ve already called my lawyer.”

“What do you mean?” Della asked.

“I told you,” Barbara said simply. “I’m transferring my interest to you and Kat. And you, Rita, if you all are agreed to that.”

“We’re agreed,” Della said quickly. “But Barbara, the more I think about it, the—”

“There’s nothing for you to think about.” Barbara’s expression, so self-contained and clear-eyed, unsettled Della. “My lawyer’s working on some way of minimizing taxes, which is hard because it will
precede my death so closely.” She smiled apologetically and shook her head. “We—Richard and I—we should have done this long ago.”

“If you had done this while Pauline was alive,” Della observed, “Hugh Junior would control the whole thing now.”

“Barbara, honey, how could you have known how it’d turn out,” Rita jumped in. She stroked Barbara’s shoulder, then turned back to Della. “And who’d have guessed Pauline’s son would turn out to be such a little shit!”

“He just sees his chance to prove he’s all grown up,” Barbara observed. “He’s a good boy. He’s just—”

“He’s just a greedy bastard,” Della broke in. “Don’t make excuses for him. He sees a place to make a killing and he’s making it.”

“Well, he’s killing us with it,” Rita grumbled, then turned back to Barbara. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I shouldn’t be saying ‘killing’ in front of you.”

Barbara smiled. “Oh, stop worrying about that.” She sighed. “But I do wish Hugh Junior were less bitter.”

Della couldn’t stand it. “Would you stop worrying about Hugh Junior! This isn’t about anything you or I or anyone else did to traumatize him. And,” she took a breath, anxious to steer the subject away from Barbara, “it’s clearly not what his mother envisioned for the Ladies Farm. So let’s get back to the question: Can we meet Castleburg’s offer?”

“Even if I had the money, which I don’t,” Rita answered, “I’d never pay that much for this property. I wonder what he’s offering old Gladys Hutto, if he’s offering us this much.”

Della waved a hand to dismiss the issue. “I’m sure he’s settled on some price per acre, plus an appraisal of the house.”

“Maybe she would sell to you,” Barbara suggested.

“Gladys Hutto?” Della asked. She looked to Rita, and Rita shrugged.

“I can ask Dave to talk with her. It’s worth a shot.”

“Even if they’ll talk to us,” Della said, “we haven’t got the money.”

“Of course,” Barbara posited, “if the Huttos sell to you, young Hugh’s deal with Castleburg won’t go through.”

Della frowned, looked at Barbara. “I’d forgotten that,” Della acknowledged. “I guess it hinges on his delivering the whole thing, doesn’t it? Our share, his share, and the Huttos.”

“So all we need’s a fortune to buy out the Huttos,” Rita summed up.

“What we need,” said Della, “is enough delay that Castleburg decides the only place he can dig is his.”

“And a fortune,” said Rita.

“And a fortune,” Della concurred. “And … and …” she tilted her head to one side, “a visit to Melissa.”

They sat looking at each other for a moment, piecing it together. Finally, Barbara spoke. “I think that’s a wonderful idea!” Her eyes glowed. “Take a few days and go visit Melissa in California.”

“You sure you want to go through with this?” Rita asked. “You sure you’re not moving back into Fort Worth with Tony?”

“How’d that go?” Barbara chimed in. She looked incredibly cheerful. “Tell us what happened.”

“Shoot! We know what happened. She and Tony staggered up the steps this morning, and she could barely walk!” Rita glowed with her own wit.

“So you’re going out again?” Barbara asked.

“I don’t know,” Della said. “I don’t know anything. I’m certainly not moving into Fort Worth,” she told Rita. Della grinned. “After all, Eli Castleburg may regret his hasty marriage and try me again.” She held up a hand to forestall more of Rita’s opinion on how she should live her life and added, for Barbara’s benefit, “Tony and I will probably go out again. But I don’t think it’s that serious.”

“Spending the night together’s pretty serious,” Barbara said.

“She means serious with her heart, not her crotch,” Rita answered on Della’s behalf.

After wishing Rita and Della goodnight, Barbara climbed the stairs to her room, grateful that, after this weekend, she could move into the room downstairs. She knew Rita had gone over to Dave’s, which meant that it was Della whom she heard knocking around in the kitchen. Barbara pushed Kat’s door open, peeked in, and smiled at the racket. Still snoring, Barbara thought, closing the door again and continuing to her room.

On her vanity sat a box made of Popsicle sticks glued together and decorated with crayoned hearts. Barbara lifted the lid and removed the velvet bag that sat inside. Then she made her way back down the stairs.

Della was on the phone in the kitchen. “Tony, I don’t know when. Okay? I’m sorry. I’ll call you. I promise.” She was walking around the kitchen as she spoke, pulling out muffin tins and uncovering the commercial mixer. Barbara stood at the kitchen entrance and watched, nodding to Della as Della saw her and waved a hand to acknowledge her presence.

“Of course I want to, Tony. But I’ve got to take care of this. I’ll call you.” She shook her head and smiled sadly at Barbara. “Me, too. Bye.”

“I hate that!” Della exclaimed, slamming a stainless steel mixing bowl onto the counter and fumbling the receiver back into its cradle. Della opened the recipe notebook out on the counter.

“Baking?” Barbara asked.

“Baking therapy now,” Della replied. “Muffins. Starting with zucchini.” She yanked a knife from the magnetic bar over the counter. “The way I feel, I might just bake them all, starting with zucchini all the way back to apple!”

As Della walked over to the refrigerator and pulled a sack of zucchini from a lower shelf, Barbara sighed and pocketed the velvet bag. “I’ll help if you want,” she offered.

“Oh! Barbara, you don’t have to. I’m just working off steam! Why don’t you have some tea and keep me company?”

Barbara plugged in the kettle, then pulled a stool up to the counter. “Thanks,” she said. “Want a cup?”

“Maybe later,” Della replied.

She watched Della hack up the zucchini and run it through the food processor. In her few weeks at the Ladies Farm, Barbara had taken on the project of reworking the recipes in the notebook, devising low-fat versions of favorites based on substitutions of yogurt, applesauce, and skim milk for butter, oil, and eggs. She saw the project as a fitting cap to her life, putting to good use at last the knowledge gleaned through a lifetime of failed diets.

The water boiled and Barbara made herself tea. She watched Della as she worked, but neither one of them said much. Occasionally, Della would shake her head and press her lips together as if she were holding her ground in some fierce debate, but for the most part the silence was comfortable, broken only by the bustling arrival and cheery goodnights of their guests returning from their movie.

By the time Della had mixed the ingredients, Barbara had finished her tea. Barbara had planned to spray the muffin tins, but she found herself still perched atop the stool as Della lined the tins up on the counter and uncapped the no-stick spray.

“I’m thinking we need a little more flavor in that batter,” Barbara said finally. “Lemon. Maybe a little ginger.”

Della turned toward her. “Want to try now?” Her eyes were round and green, except that they tilted upward slightly at the outside, giving every suggestion—even an invitation to alter the taste of muffin batter—a faintly seductive undertone. Della’s gaze always offered mischief, Barbara thought now. A willingness to test the limits for the laughs the challenge might produce.

Della reached up into a hanging basket where they kept dried things and retrieved a ginger root. “Let’s grate this,” she suggested.

“And a little lemon, too.” Barbara peered into the bowl to measure what was needed. Before she could climb down from the stool, Della had retrieved a lemon, sliced it in half and was squeezing it over a sieve.

Della grated and stirred. She held a spoon with the batter to Barbara’s lips for an approving taste, and Barbara nodded as she picked up a slight tang that would intensify in the baking. Then Della poured the batter.

“We have to make a note in the file,” Barbara said. “Two teaspoons of the ginger. Then if it works, I’ll redo it on the computer.”

Once the muffins were in the oven, they made more tea.

“Want to sit outside?” Della invited. “We can light the citronella.”

They made their way over the damp lawn to the wooden chairs. Barbara set the candle down and Della lit it, then they seated themselves on either side of the tiny table. They listened to the steady burble of the river ahead of them, and Della leaned her head back to look at the sky, where the stars were undimmed by the quarter moon.

“I love this,” she said.

“Me too,” Barbara agreed. She snuggled deeper into the chair. “Richard and I used to go to a spa in California, and every night we sat in this hot tub—our very own private one, on the patio of our cottage—and it was on the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean. All you could see were stars and all you could hear was the surf.”

Through the darkness, Barbara could see Della bite her lip. Finally Della replied, “I was at a place like that once: Costa Verde, south of Santa Cruz.”

“That’s it!” Barbara said, warming with the memory. “Richie and I thought of it as our own special place. Even when I knew about … you know … the others … the women …” damn! Why was this so hard? “even then it seemed that everything was okay if we could just
get back up to those hot tubs in those hills.” She stopped and found that she was trembling, but she had to go on.

“Della,” Barbara said, “Della, I have to ask you to do something. Something important.” Barbara took another breath and reached into her pocket. “When you visit Melissa—”

“Oh, Barbara,” Della interrupted, “you want me to go back to Costa Verde?”

“Oh! No, no—no!” Barbara hurried to ease Della’s mind. “Nothing like that. Nothing at all like that. It’s just that …” She fingered the velvet bag. “I need you to conduct a financial transaction for me. It won’t be hard,” she instructed, “and it won’t take too long, though it’ll add a day or two to your trip.” She was reciting now, exactly as she had rehearsed it. “And I’ll pay for your airfare!”

“What’s this about, Barbara?” Della’s voice was politely curious, maybe indulgent.

Barbara withdrew her hand from her pocket and held out the velvet bag. “Here,” she whispered. “There’s a jeweler in New York who will buy these from you.”

There was enough light from the candle to see Della’s outstretched hand, palm up beneath the proffered prize. “What is this?”

“They’re from Richard,” Barbara said, and suddenly she had to tell it all.

“What?”

“They’re from Richard.”

“They, what? What are they?”

“They’re what he gave me … over the years … whenever he … whenever we … we would fight about it. I would hear or see something, there’d be a phone call or something in the car, something, and then I’d follow him, or find out, and we’d fight and he’d promise not to do it again, and he’d start bringing me flowers and perfume and then we’d go to California and he’d fish out a diamond.”

“Diamonds? This bag is full of diamonds?” Della had pulled the velvet sack away, and Barbara guessed she was opening it in her lap.
She could see Della’s outline, the line of her forearm and wrist, the hand disappearing into the bulk of the little velvet bag.

“There are twenty-three of them,” Barbara said. “Not that there were twenty-three women,” she explained quickly, “just maybe twenty-three arguments.”

“Richard gave you these?”

Barbara nodded. “Yes.”

“Gifts from Richard? Twenty-three diamonds? No wonder you stayed with him.”

“No! Good God! You think I stayed because of diamonds?”

“Oh, Barbara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just … I don’t know what to say about this. I’ve heard of making up, but this—”

“We didn’t make up.” Barbara couldn’t control the trembling. “We never made up, really, we just kept on and on.” She could feel her tears rolling, but she had control of her voice, so she continued. “He’d wait till he was sure … you know, that I still loved him and that I wanted to stay together. So the diamond was … it, you know, symbolized our love.”

“Symbolized your love?” Della’s voice was made for this skepticism.

“Everlasting,” Barbara told her. She made her own voice light, airy. “You know: Diamonds are forever.”

Della gave a little snort, but said nothing. Barbara could hear little clicking sounds as Della wiggled her fingers in the diamonds.

“Is this one, this really big one, is this a diamond too?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s really big. I can’t wait to see this in the light.”

Barbara sat without responding.