The Ladies Farm (4 page)

Barbara pulled clothing from her suitcase, one garment after another, convinced that with all she had dragged to Sydonia with her,
she had not brought the proper attire. She pulled on a pair of elastic-waist pants and buttoned her silk tunic. After all this planning, she still needed to prepare herself. It took twenty minutes to perfect her makeup. If Della had faded, Barbara knew, then she herself must be diminished in exact inverse proportion to her gain in weight. It doesn’t matter, she told herself, trying to blot the curious eyes and knowing smirks from her imagination. They don’t care if you’re fat, and you don’t care if they do care. Just go downstairs.

Which was how she found herself in the dining room, being examined by Rita, the hairdresser. “Honey, we’ve got to get that color out of there,” Rita said, circling around to view the back of her head. “Strip off that color and get that hair conditioned. Then we can work with it.”

Barbara stood still as Rita fingered her hair. “You won’t leave it gray?” Barbara asked, trying, and failing, to keep the alarm out of her voice.

Rita motioned her to sit, and they all took their places—Pauline at the head, Barbara in the middle opposite Della and Rita, Kat next to Barbara at the long oak table—as she expounded the importance of re-texturing one’s hair. “We’ll just hack off all those split ends …”

“Hack off how much?” Barbara eyed Rita’s prickly black cap and then looked to the others for support.

Kat patted her perfectly sculpted hair. “Oh, you should have seen the texture of mine before Rita took a razor to it.”

“She shaved it?” Barbara’s hand froze on its journey to the breadbasket.

“Oh, of course not! Rita does all our hair,” Pauline chirped, shaking her head to emphasize the shimmer in her straight silver locks, clasped as always by a silver and turquoise barrette. “I’ve had dozens of texture treatments—she even dyed it auburn once—but she never cut anything except trimming the ends. Try one of those potato rolls,” Pauline advised. “They’re low in fat and they’ve got fresh dill and sun-dried tomato in them.”

“I’ve given up worrying about low fat.” Nonetheless, Barbara took one of the rolls. She peered at Pauline. “Did I know you with auburn hair?”

Pauline shrugged, but Barbara thought she didn’t look that nonchalant. “I feel like you’ve always known me. But this was after the kids were in college, so you and I didn’t see each other much.”

“You did manage to stay out of Fort Worth,” Barbara said. She turned to Rita. “And how long have you been here?”

“Well, I’ve lived in Sydonia all my life,” Rita started. Every time Rita shook her head, her earrings, of which there were three in each ear, sparkled in the light from the bay window behind her. “In fact,” she brightened, “it was me that told Pauline about this place, one time when I was doing her hair in Fort Worth. Isn’t that right, Pauline?”

Pauline nodded, while Barbara tried to recall anything but that straight, waist-length hair, which started out ebony, then faded to brown and now to silver. Pauline had always seemed too pure for hair salons.

“So then, when I heard about Hugh,” Rita continued, “I just came over and Pauline seemed so lost, and then Kat and Della started talking about having a salon and doing makeovers and all that …”

Barbara turned to Della. “You and Kat thought of this?”

“Pauline and Hugh thought of this.” Della’s chin lifted a little. “Kat and I helped refine it.”

“It was Richard who called them,” Pauline chirped. “I think he was so worried, after Hugh died.”

“He was,” Barbara replied. “He was so close to Hugh,” she recalled. “And he loved …” she thought back. “I think he loved the whole idea of this place.” Barbara smiled brightly, hoping they could forgive the tears glittering in her eyes. “Well, I guess it’s Richard who brought us together, then.”

She pulled at the roll, which was excellent, and put another piece in her mouth. She remembered Richard’s shock when Hugh
died—the first death of a contemporary—and her relief that the project of saving the place for Pauline pulled him out of his sorrow. She felt them waiting for her to continue piecing the history together, but Barbara didn’t feel like moving forward. She was groping around her memory, trying to recall if he had mentioned Kat and Della. Kat made sense, of course. She and Richard had consulted each other about business for the past fifteen years. But Barbara had never been sure what it was that Della did, except, of course, disapprove of Barbara’s becoming a stay-at-home mom.

Don’t keep them waiting too long, Barbara advised herself. “And now,” she continued, “catch me up. Rita runs the salon. And Pauline, you teach classes.” She waited for Pauline to nod. “Kat handles the books and the business end.” She turned to Della. “And what is it you do, dear?”

“Why, I do all our public relations and advertising,” Della almost chirped. “Plus I publish
Silver Quest.
”

“Oh, yes,” Barbara said. “That newsletter.”

“Circulation’s into six figures,” Kat snapped.

Barbara never stopped smiling at Della. “You must be quite proud.”

“I hope you’ll visit my office and let me show you how we put our little publication together.”

Barbara ignored the sarcasm. “Oh, I want to learn everything about you girls and the way you live here.” She saw Kat stiffen. I shouldn’t have said
girls
, she thought. Kat’s the type that probably hates being called a girl.

“It’s kind of a tame vacation,” Rita observed.

Barbara had started on her gazpacho and she paused before she raised the spoon to her mouth and swallowed. “I prefer a quiet retreat.” The gazpacho was good, cold and spicy and thick with vegetables. Barbara took several more spoonfuls before reaching for her tea.

“Here, let me fill that for you,” Della offered as Barbara drained the glass.

“Thanks,” said Barbara, handing the glass across the table. “It’s very good. Is it raspberry?”

“Currant and ginseng,” Pauline replied.

“Pauline’s special blend,” said Della, handing the glass back. She hesitated a moment, but held eye contact. “You have beautiful hands,” she ventured.

“You’re sweet to say so.” Barbara studied the left one a moment, holding it out and regarding it with a wistful smile. Her long nails were well manicured and she made time for a hot wax dip every few days. “My husband loved beautiful hands,” she said. “Even when we were kids, just starting out in Chicago, he would hand me a few dollars. ‘Here,’ he would say, ‘my wife can always afford a manicure.’ He loved a beautiful set of nails.”

“And your rings set them off so well,” purred Kat.

Now Barbara fixed her brimming eyes upon Kat and could only nod. It’s too soon, Barbara thought. It’s too soon to have to go through all this.

“Is the one on your right hand the one that Richard had made for you?” Pauline asked gently.

Barbara turned slightly and nodded, holding up the hand with the square-cut amethyst.

“It was from Hugh’s stone,” Pauline explained. “I think he brought it back from South America.” She frowned a little, trying to recall. “Anyway, one day Barbara and Richard were out here visiting and Richard saw the stone—it was a rock, really, Hugh used it as a doorstop—and offered to buy it on the spot. So he could cut it into a ring for Barbara.”

“He didn’t buy it,” Barbara whispered, turning her hand to let the amethyst, surrounded by tiny pearls, catch the light.

“He didn’t?” Pauline asked.

“When Richard told Hugh how I loved purple, Hugh wanted me to have it,” Barbara was saying. She looked right at Pauline as she spoke, making sure Pauline understood her words. “It was a gesture of friendship.”

Pauline did not change expression. She shook her head and finally reached over to put her upturned palm beneath Barbara’s glittering fingers.

“Isn’t that odd?” Pauline murmured. “All these years, I thought he sold that big amethyst. He was such a rock hound, and that was the only amethyst he’d ever found on his own.”

“Well, he did the right thing, far as I can tell,” Rita broke the reverie. “That amethyst’s way too nice to be trapped inside some doorstop. It looks much better on Barbara’s hand.”

“Amen,” Pauline said, smiling and giving Barbara’s hand a squeeze before releasing her.

“You should have made Hugh get you one of those rings,” Rita told Pauline. She held her own left hand up for Barbara to see. “Best I ever got was this little diamond chip and I had to marry that sucker twice to get it.”

“It’s a very pretty setting,” Barbara said.

“Oh, this one’s nothing compared to the original. That diamond was the eye on a horse’s head. But stupid Larry, he wanted the damn thing back, so I said here, you take the horse, I’m keeping the diamond. I earned it.”

Barbara, at a loss for words, looked around the table and was rescued by Kat, who assured Rita that she would have been well within here rights to keep the entire ring.

“You bet!” rejoined Rita. “And after all that, that SOB still wouldn’t sign the settlement.” She tilted her head a moment and spoke directly to Barbara. “I think it was Dave’s fault. If he hadn’t started coming ’round so fast, Larry wouldn’t’ve cared. He just didn’t want me back with Dave.”

“And Dave is an old boyfriend?” Barbara ventured.

“Oh, Dave was my second husband. Kind of a breather between Larry,” Rita said.

Barbara turned to Della and Kat. “Neither one of you ever remarried?” She knew, of course. But it was only polite to include them in the conversation. And it was obvious that Rita’s recounting of her marital exploits only flustered Pauline, who had pressed her lips together and was staring down at her empty soup bowl.

Kat shook her head no and Della followed her lead.

“Well, it’s hard to find a good man. I was lucky.” Barbara sighed. “I’ll never marry again. There won’t be anyone like Richard.”

“Oh, now, don’t go saying that if you mean it,” Rita advised. “Every time I swear off men, that’s when they start hanging around. They have this kind of radar device; you know, that thing that points? And they just can’t stop themselves from going after women who don’t want men. If you really want to excite them, tell them you’re a lesbian.”

“Rita!” Pauline protested, laughing. “Barbara’s just saying she misses her husband.” Her voice softened. “All widows do.”

“I miss Richard,” Barbara concurred. “I miss him every day. I started missing him when I got home from Chicago that day,” Barbara continued, looking at Della, “and he was in the hospital and I didn’t know it yet, I just started calling everyone we knew, I was so anxious to see him. Of course,” she turned to Rita, who had never heard the story, “he was already dead. I just didn’t know.”

Even Rita had no response to that. Barbara felt the emptiness of the long room, which the five of them had seemed to fill just a few minutes earlier. The vacant straight-back chairs that populated the unfilled end of the table struck her as ineffably sad, as if they waited in vain for the return of their rightful occupants. Barbara bit her lip.

“Well,” Pauline said finally. “Who’s ready for banana bread?”

Silently, they cleared the table and served dessert with dispatch, bringing the banana bread and hot coffee on trays and distributing dessert plates and silverware from the sideboard. In between trips to
the kitchen, Kat hustled into the living room and simply switched off Dolly Parton. “Enough’s enough,” she told them as she returned. “Dollyfest is over.”

“I didn’t know she made so many albums,” Barbara confessed, glad for a new subject. “I think you have some even Richard didn’t have, and he was her biggest fan.” She smiled at each of them in turn. “Everything is delicious,” she said. “I feel at home already.”

“Well, that’s what the Ladies Farm is all about,” Rita replied. “Especially if you’re staying for a whole month!”

Keep smiling, Barbara told herself as she set her coffee cup onto its saucer. Keep smiling and stop delaying. “Oh, I’m staying for more than a month. I just said that when I checked in because I wanted to see how things were here. But this meal,” she paused and made a sweeping gesture at the four of them, “I already know this is where I want to stay.” The four women stared at her. “I want to live here.”

They continued to stare.

It was worse than anything she had imagined. They don’t want you, she thought, but she had known that. They hate you. She had supposed that too. It doesn’t matter, she concluded. You’re staying, and they have to take you in. You have to make them take you in.

“You ladies have the perfect life,” Barbara struggled to fill the silence. “You share the work, you each pursue your own interests, you have a delightful time together. You lean on each other. If there aren’t going to be any men, why shouldn’t we live together?”

“But Barbara,” Pauline said, “you have your house, your life in Fort Worth.” She gestured with her hand to include everyone. “I know this all looks wonderful, but that’s because it’s new to you. It might not seem so enjoyable once you’ve been here a while.”

“It’ll seem downright tame,” Rita opined.

“Well, perhaps. But tame, or at least quiet, is what I want now. I want some peace in my life.”

Della had continued to stare, saying nothing. Finally, she spoke. “The peace here is an illusion. If you are troubled in Fort Worth, you’ll be troubled here.”

Barbara studied the troubled expression in Della’s green eyes, envious that, even now, they were round and unlined, almost innocent in their concern for Barbara’s misguided notions. “There are troubles everywhere,” Barbara conceded, trying not to lecture. “But I believe I can face them better at the Ladies Farm.”

“Well, it’s a pretty expensive therapy,” Kat observed. “Especially if you keep your house in Fort Worth as well. Even if we work out some sort of annual rate—”

“Oh, I didn’t mean as a guest,” Barbara said, looking around the table and smiling at each one of them individually. “I meant as a partner: co-owner of the Ladies Farm.”

“Oh, Barbara,” Della said gently, pityingly, “Pauline’s not taking in partners. Even the three of us,” pointing to Rita and Kat, “you know, would love to buy in. But Pauline … this is her home. You see how it is.”