Worthy of Riches (14 page)

“Look, Mom,” Brian called. “We got a puppy!”

Wearing a sheepish grin, Tom said, “Hope you don't mind. Brian and Susie wanted one so badly. I told them to pick one out, but that you'd have to OK it. Adele and I figure it'd be a good idea for you to have a dog around the place.”

Jean didn't want to be responsible for anything else, especially not a dog. She wanted to say no, but how could she—Brian was smiling.

He lifted the wiggling pup into his arms. “Can we keep him, Mom? Please?”

“All right,” Jean said with a chuckle. “He is cute.”

“He ought to be a good-sized dog,” Tom explained. “And if he's anything like his father, he'll be a good watch dog.”

Jean nodded slowly. “What should we call him?”

“I thought Spot would be a good name,” Brian said as the puppy licked his face. “See, he has a spot on his chest.” He turned the pup to show off a splotch of white. The squirming bundle of fur wiggled free and bounded toward Susie. Jumping on her, he toppled the three-year-old. Susie giggled and squealed as he washed her face, his tail beating the air.

“Spot?” Luke asked. “That's dumb.”

“No, it's not. I like it,” Brian argued.

“Well, Spot it is,” Jean said, settling the argument. She looked at Tom. “Anything I can get you?” she asked.

“Nope. But I thought I'd take care of the milking and feeding for you while I'm here. Brian told me he'd help.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate that.” A sharp gust of wind blew across the open fields, raising the hair on Jean's arms. “I hope we're not in for a storm. I'd hate to see my new seeds end up at your place.” Clouds looking like mounds of cotton gauze billowed above the mountains.

“Looks like we might be getting a little weather,” Tom said. “I'll see to the livestock.” He headed for the barn with Brian and the puppy tagging along behind. Susie started after them.

“Susie, you stay here. You can help me make supper.” Jean waited for her youngest to climb the steps, then asked, “Luke, you want more to drink?”

“No, thanks,” he said, keeping his eyes on Tom. “Feels strange having someone else do Dad's chores.”

“I know.” Another wind gust swept through the porch, and Jean rubbed her arms, studying the fields. Dust blew up and swirled into a cloud. “Oh, no,” she said, leaning on the railing. She stared as more dirt, along with seed, lifted into the air. “I can't believe it. It's just blowing away—all my work, all that seed.” She wanted to cry. “If it keeps up, I'll have to replant.”

“Maybe it's just a few gusts,” Luke said. “And if it's not, I'll take care of replanting.”

They waited and watched, but the wind continued and carried away precious seeds. Jean sank into her chair. Shaking her head, she finally said, “I'm not sure we can make it. We don't have enough money, and there's too much work for the two of us.”

“I can do it. And I'll get another job.”

Jean looked at her son with a mix of pride and sorrow. “I know you mean well, but you can't do it all. And with the co-op doing such a poor job of selling our produce …”

“I've been thinking on that,” Luke said, a note of excitement in his voice. “I've decided we ought to bypass the co-op and go straight to the buyers. We can do our own selling.”

“But we signed a contract, agreeing to sell only through the co-op. I don't know…”

“The only farmers making it are the ones sidestepping the co-op. Dad and I talked about it.”

“And what did your father want to do?”

Luke didn't answer right away. “He hadn't decided yet. But remember last year. We had a good crop, but most of it didn't sell. Instead, it rotted in the boxes.”

“But last year the homesteaders weren't buying. This year will be different.”

“There aren't enough of them. It won't make that much difference. We've got to sell directly to the towns—Anchorage, Seward, Cordova. I can do it.”

“I don't know, Luke. How will you do all that and work the farm?”

“I won't have to do much traveling 'til the end of summer. Robert did a lot of selling last year. We could go together.”

Jean nodded, considering the possibilities. “If we're caught, we could lose the farm.”

“The government won't do anything. And like I said, I could get a job.”

“How can you hold down a job and take care of everything around here?”

Susie had wandered off the porch and picked a buttercup. She carried it to her mother. “This is a pretty flower,” she said, holding out the blossom.

Jean nodded. “Yes. Pretty.” She looked at Luke. “And have you forgotten the agreement we made? No outside jobs. The government could take back the farm.”

“Agreement!” Luke spat. “I'm sick of hearing about how we need to uphold our end of the bargain while the government does whatever it wants. The government promised us plenty of buyers, lots of work, and a good life. And what did we get? Nothing. What happened to the government's promises to us?”

“The government has helped a lot, Luke.”

He strode across the porch. “They got us here, but they didn't tell us we'd have to make it on almost no money after we moved in. How are we supposed to pay back what we owe when we can't even make enough to live on? The government controls everything. Have you read the papers lately? They're saying this project is a flop, a disaster. And they're comparing it to Russian collectives.” He squared his jaw. “I agree.”

“Those reports are distorted, and you know it,” Jean said as calmly as she could. She walked across the porch and leaned on the railing. Gazing at their fields, she asked, “Have you forgotten how rich the soil is or about the money the government has paid us for clearing our land? And what about the livestock they gave us? And don't forget about
our community—a new school, a modern hospital, a fine church. We have so much.”

“That might be true, but the government still controls us. We have no freedom to choose what's best for us.”

“You know how newspaper reporters can be. They love to get things stirred up. You can't let what they say push you into doing something you'll regret. We just need to work hard and trust God. He'll see us through.”

“You just said you don't think we can make it.”

“I know I said that, but… I was wrong. I'm not thinking straight these days. God will see us through this.” Susie leaned against her mother's leg, and Jean rested a hand on her blonde curls. “We can't give up.” Her eyes teared. “I remember how hard it was for your father to leave Wisconsin—how we prayed and prayed, wanting to do the right thing. It wasn't easy. Your father left everything he'd worked for and the life he'd always known just for this chance. We have to keep the farm.”

“That's what I'm trying to do,” Luke said, his voice almost shrill. Without another word, he headed for the barn.

LAUREL MOVED THE PERCOLATING COFFEE TO THE BACK OF THE STOVE AND slid the cast-iron frying pan over high heat. Dropping a spoonful of bacon grease into the skillet, she watched it liquefy and glide across the pan. The smell of aged bacon assaulted her senses, and her stomach roiled. She'd been queasy all morning, and it wasn't the first time.

Placing a hand on her abdomen, she wondered if she might be pregnant and decided if she were, she didn't mind being sick. She considered what Adam's reaction might be when he found out, and she smiled. He would be thrilled. Adam loved the idea of being a father.

Thoughts of her own father melted away her delight.
Why did he have to die?
she asked, still unable to comprehend why God hadn't protected him. Ray should have been the one to die. Laurel felt a twinge of guilt. If he had, then Celeste would be the one grieving. Why did anyone have to die? It didn't make sense.

She cracked two eggs and dropped them into the hot oil. Yellow yolks stared up at her, and Laurel's stomach churned.
Toast for me,
she decided. Sawing off three slices of bread, she placed them on an oven rack.

If I'm pregnant, maybe Adam will be happy again,
she thought. Since Will's death, Adam couldn't seem to break away from his grief. He'd been quiet and kept more to himself. “All my life I wanted and needed a father,” he'd said, “and when I finally find him, he's taken away.”

Again Laurel rested her hand on her abdomen. It was all so confusing—one life ending, another beginning.

“Morning,” Adam said, walking into the kitchen. He kissed Laurel. “You look like you're far away. You all right?”

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Oh, Daddy and how confusing the cycle of life and death is.” She opened the oven and turned the toast. “You look almost happy this morning.”

“I'm better,” he said with a sigh and leaned on the table. “It feels awful to me; I can't imagine how hard it must be for you.”

Laurel offered him a smile. “It's hard—for all of us. Sometimes I still can't believe he's gone. I worry about Mama. She has a haunted look about her.” She turned to Adam. “Don't ever leave me. OK?”

“I'll try to stick around, but I can only do so much.”

Laurel slid the eggs for Adam onto a plate and set them on the warming shelf. “Maybe we'll die together.”

“What about our children?”

Laurel hadn't thought about that. “We don't have any yet.”

“We will one day.”

Laurel forced a smile. “They'll just have to be grown up, that's all. And we'll be very old.” Taking the toast out of the oven, she buttered it and put two slices on Adam's plate. She set the meal on the table in front of him, then taking one piece of toast for herself, she sat across from him.

“Is that all you're eating?”

“I'm not very hungry.” She took a small bite. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

She filled a cup, then returned to her place at the table.

Adam studied her. “This the fourth day in a row you haven't felt well. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Probably just a touch of something.”

“Maybe you should see the doctor.”

“If I'm not better in the next couple of days, I'll go.” She'd already planned on seeing the doctor but didn't want to say anything about her suspicions just yet.

“I'd better go on over to your mother's this afternoon and give her a hand,” Adam said, scrubbing his face with his hands, then yawning. “There's more to farming than I realized. The work never ends.”

“It's always been like that and always will be. I've never known anything different.”

“I have. And it's looking awfully good from here.” Adam shook his head slowly. “I can barely keep up with the work here, let alone your mother's. I wish I could do more for her, but there's only so much of me to go around.”

Laurel leaned over the table and laid her hand on Adam's. “I know this is hard on you—just learning how to farm and taking care of two places.” She squeezed his hand. “Maybe you should stay home today. Mama has lots of help. Tom Jenkins, Drew Prosser, and Robert have been giving her a hand. And I can go over today.” She smiled. “That way you can catch up on some of the chores around here.”

“I thought you were going to Jessie's today. At the rate you two are working, you'll never finish.”

“It can wait a little longer. Anyway, I'm not sure I want to finish. I love spending time with Jessie and going over her husband's notes.”

Adam took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “Well, the weeds are about to take over, so I'll work around here today.” He sipped his coffee. “And maybe I could find a little time to write.”

“What are you writing?”

“I've mostly been thinking, but I'd like to write a piece about your father, what happened between him and Ray Townsend, and how he died. He was an extraordinary man.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“I want to tell about how it's touched people's lives here in the valley. You know, the change in Ray Townsend and how people have started to trust one another and be real neighbors.”

“What about Mr. Townsend? Have you asked him how he feels about it?”

“Yeah. He said he didn't mind. I think it's a good story, one people ought to hear.” He leaned on the table and looked earnestly at Laurel. “I feel like I've got to write it—let people know what kind of man your father was and what kind of God we have.”

“What will you do with it?”

“I figured I'd send it to the editors at the
Trib,
maybe as a personal interest story. They might be interested.” He speared a bite of egg.

“That's a wonderful idea.”

Adam dipped his toast in egg yolk and took a bite.

Watching Adam eat nauseated Laurel, so she looked away. She set her half-eaten toast on the plate. The sight of food and the smells in the kitchen were becoming too much. She thought she might be sick.

“Are you all right? You don't look good.”

Laurel stood, bracing herself against the table. “I need some air, that's all.” Shakily, she walked to the door.

Adam got to the door before her and opened it. Holding onto her arm, he guided her outside. “I want you to see the doctor today.”

Laurel nodded and sat on the front step. After a few minutes in the fresh air, she felt a little better, the sweet smell of flowers and the clean aroma of summer grass reviving her.

“It's chilly out here.” Adam disappeared inside, returning a moment later with her jacket. He draped it over her shoulders. “You feeling better?” he asked, sitting beside her.

Laurel nodded and rested her head against his upper arm. She smiled up at him. “You're so good to me.”

For several minutes they sat quietly, taking in the Alaskan scenery. Reluctantly Adam said, “Well, I've got work waiting for me. Will you be all right?”

“Uh-huh. I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Go on.”

He stood. “I'm off to work then.” With a sigh, he added, “Another day of farming.” He headed for the barn.

Laurel watched him, her pride swelling. He'd done so well and worked so hard. Having grown up in the city, adjusting to farming life hadn't been easy. In the beginning he plowed crooked rows, and after much practice, had finally settled for rows that were almost straight. Laurel had shown him how to plant seed and starts. He learned quickly, but each vegetable had a different planting schedule and different instructions, so it took him a while to sort them all out.