out there, if you don’t mind.”
She twitches one shoulder but she doesn’t answer.
I glare at her. “Where’s Joey?”
“He’s up on the roof, polishing that rooster. He’ll probably break his neck.”
It’s my turn not to answer. I know this about Joey now.He does things that we think are dangerous. But he doesn’t do anything he can’t do. I really believe that. I go out the door and look up.
“Don’t fall,” I yell. “I’m going to town and I can’t save you.”
He waves down at me, that good egg Joey. “Don’t worry. As soon as I finish this, I’m going fishing.”
Along the road, the fields are green and the leaves on the trees overhead look new and washed. Things grow along the side of the road. I smell mint and see dandelions. I heard once you can make soup out of dandelions.
I talk to myself all the way to town, talk out loud, using the most persuasive voice I have. My hands are damp with worry. This has to work. Otherwise—
Never mind otherwise.
I stop to smooth down my hair once more, then turn in at the real estate office, listening to the jingle as I push open the door.
The real estate man sits with his feet up on the desk. He has nothing to do, I’m sure. Who’s buying a farm now? Who’s even renting?
He sees me and puts his feet down. “Hello?” he says; it’s almost a question. He doesn’t look overly friendly. A Miss Mitzi word,
overly
. I have a quick thought of her, sky-blue eyes, a white straw hat, and a pink rose in her lapel, when we all went to a museum last year.
“I want to talk to you about our farm,” I say. “The one on Waltz Road.”
There’s a sign on his desk: MR. GRIMM .
Doesn’t that just
fit?
Cassie would say. And because my knees are trembling, I slide into the seat across from him without asking.
He frowns. “I stopped by for the rent—”
I spread out my hands. “We don’t have the money just yet.” Every word is pulled out of me.
He raises his eyebrows.
“But we will!” I add.
“Listen, girlie, everyone tells me that. They say any day the money will come, someone is sending it.” He leans forward. “The money never comes. They never pay.”
“We’ll pay,” I say fiercely.
He blows air through thick lips. “I’ll give you a week.”
Seven days. How do I know Pop will send money by then? I don’t, so I shake my head. “I need more time.”
His eyebrows go up again. “Do you know what interest is?”
I don’t know how to answer; I have no idea.
“It means that I’ll give you more time, but you’ll have to pay extra.”
“How much time?”
“A month.” He scribbles numbers on a piece of paper. “This much,” he says.
“Fine.” I barely look. The end of June, summer. I stand up. Who knows how much extra we’ll pay? But I don’t care.
A month. Thirty days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Outside, I sit on a bench facing the train station, the sun warm on my head. And then it comes to me: a great idea.
I stand up and find my way to the grain store. Inside, the man at the counter looks friendlier than Mr. Grimm. It’s a good sign. “I’m an excellent worker,” I say.
The feed man’s lips twitch; he’s trying not to laugh.
“I need a job.”
He begins to shake his head.
“My goat ate my plants. I have to get seed.”
His face changes. I can see he feels sorry for me.
“I could straighten your shelves,” I tell him quickly.
What would Cassie say to that? I’m the sloppiest girl she knows.
“You could straighten that row of boxes, I guess. Put the seed packages where they belong. And in the next aisle, the nails are mixed up. You could sort them out. For seed. Not money.”
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s what I want, just enough seed to plant my garden again.”
Someone comes into the store, and the feed man waves me toward the aisle.
I spend the rest of the day working. It isn’t as hard to be neat as I’d thought. But my shoes grow tighter as I move from one box to another, sorting nails,
She twitches one shoulder but she doesn’t answer.
I glare at her. “Where’s Joey?”
“He’s up on the roof, polishing that rooster. He’ll probably break his neck.”
It’s my turn not to answer. I know this about Joey now.He does things that we think are dangerous. But he doesn’t do anything he can’t do. I really believe that. I go out the door and look up.
“Don’t fall,” I yell. “I’m going to town and I can’t save you.”
He waves down at me, that good egg Joey. “Don’t worry. As soon as I finish this, I’m going fishing.”
Along the road, the fields are green and the leaves on the trees overhead look new and washed. Things grow along the side of the road. I smell mint and see dandelions. I heard once you can make soup out of dandelions.
I talk to myself all the way to town, talk out loud, using the most persuasive voice I have. My hands are damp with worry. This has to work. Otherwise—
Never mind otherwise.
I stop to smooth down my hair once more, then turn in at the real estate office, listening to the jingle as I push open the door.
The real estate man sits with his feet up on the desk. He has nothing to do, I’m sure. Who’s buying a farm now? Who’s even renting?
He sees me and puts his feet down. “Hello?” he says; it’s almost a question. He doesn’t look overly friendly. A Miss Mitzi word,
overly
. I have a quick thought of her, sky-blue eyes, a white straw hat, and a pink rose in her lapel, when we all went to a museum last year.
“I want to talk to you about our farm,” I say. “The one on Waltz Road.”
There’s a sign on his desk: MR. GRIMM .
Doesn’t that just
fit?
Cassie would say. And because my knees are trembling, I slide into the seat across from him without asking.
He frowns. “I stopped by for the rent—”
I spread out my hands. “We don’t have the money just yet.” Every word is pulled out of me.
He raises his eyebrows.
“But we will!” I add.
“Listen, girlie, everyone tells me that. They say any day the money will come, someone is sending it.” He leans forward. “The money never comes. They never pay.”
“We’ll pay,” I say fiercely.
He blows air through thick lips. “I’ll give you a week.”
Seven days. How do I know Pop will send money by then? I don’t, so I shake my head. “I need more time.”
His eyebrows go up again. “Do you know what interest is?”
I don’t know how to answer; I have no idea.
“It means that I’ll give you more time, but you’ll have to pay extra.”
“How much time?”
“A month.” He scribbles numbers on a piece of paper. “This much,” he says.
“Fine.” I barely look. The end of June, summer. I stand up. Who knows how much extra we’ll pay? But I don’t care.
A month. Thirty days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Outside, I sit on a bench facing the train station, the sun warm on my head. And then it comes to me: a great idea.
I stand up and find my way to the grain store. Inside, the man at the counter looks friendlier than Mr. Grimm. It’s a good sign. “I’m an excellent worker,” I say.
The feed man’s lips twitch; he’s trying not to laugh.
“I need a job.”
He begins to shake his head.
“My goat ate my plants. I have to get seed.”
His face changes. I can see he feels sorry for me.
“I could straighten your shelves,” I tell him quickly.
What would Cassie say to that? I’m the sloppiest girl she knows.
“You could straighten that row of boxes, I guess. Put the seed packages where they belong. And in the next aisle, the nails are mixed up. You could sort them out. For seed. Not money.”
“Yes.” I nod. “That’s what I want, just enough seed to plant my garden again.”
Someone comes into the store, and the feed man waves me toward the aisle.
I spend the rest of the day working. It isn’t as hard to be neat as I’d thought. But my shoes grow tighter as I move from one box to another, sorting nails,
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