Hannah’s eyes were dark and kind. Troubled. “Meg... Did you talk to your parents about this?”
I shook my head. Between the pain—and the pain meds—my mother was in no condition to make decisions about the farm. My father had never really asked for my help, or volunteered any. He spent his days counseling veterans in a rented storefront in a run-down part of town, an old insurance office that held a desk, some chairs, a computer, and a coffeepot. At night, he ran a twelve-step program in the church basement, down the stairs from the twins’ classroom, or visited the hospital, sitting with Momma, dropping in on the wounded warriors in rehab.
It was as if he expected life to simply go on revolving around him. Which, of course, it did.
“Honey...” Hannah studied her mug, which was a cheerful yellow withThink like a proton... Stay positive!printed on one side. Science teacher humor, I guess. “Your folks are good people. Abby and I have been friends a long time. But you’re talking about, what, three months?” I nodded. “I can’t help you. I won’t be here. I’m visiting James over the holidays.” Her son in California.
“I’m not asking you to do it,” I assured her. It was one thing to work in the cheese room, cutting curd and draining whey. But Hannah was past retirement age, too old to be hauling hay and mucking out stalls. “Ifigured you might know someone who could use the work, that’s all. It won’t pay a lot, but...”
“Meg.” Hannah met my gaze, her eyes regretful. “Your mother doesn’t have the money to pay anybody right now.”
My jaw unhinged. But... Okay. Granted, I hadn’t worked at the bank in a while. But I understood the problems farmers faced with cash flow. Market prices and milk production went up and down. Feed costs and vet bills were constant. Any large, unexpected expense could plunge you into the red.
For some reason, my heart was racing. “Are you saying... Miss Hannah, does Momma owe you money?”
“I told Abby not to worry about it. You’re getting into the lean season now. Pretty soon those goats dry up. So do customers. Abby always counted on her holiday sales at the farmers’ market to see her through till spring.”
But my mother hadn’t been at the farmers’ market, I remembered. She’d been in the hospital.
“But what about you?” I asked. “Are you all right? For money, I mean.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Hannah patted my arm. “I still have my retirement. And my quilt sales. Why, I got another commission last week.” She kept talking, snatches filtering through the noise in my head. Something about her trip at Christmastime. Another grandchild.
She’d made us a wedding quilt. Me and John. A traditional double-ring design for the queen-size bed in our first apartment. I’d loved that quilt. But it didn’t match the style of our new house. Now we had everything matching, coordinated drapes and duvet cover and lots of fussy pillow shams that John threw on the floor.
Not that it mattered. I guess my brain didn’t want to face up to what she was really saying: I couldn’t hire anybody to help on the farm. There wasn’t any money.
Hannah paused, looking at me expectantly. The blood rushed in my ears. Had she asked me a question?
“Excuse me?”
“When are your sisters coming home?” she repeated.
“Christmas.” Almost three weeks away. “Well, Jo is coming. Amy is in Paris.” She’d cried, leaving. “And Beth got a part in a show.”
Our mother wouldn’t hear of them changing their plans simply because she needed, in her words,“a few medical tests.”That was her way. Keep going, keep moving, keep working, through deployments, disappointments, dry wells, and broken hearts.
“I heard Beth auditioned for something,” Hannah was saying. “In Branson, right?”
I nodded, pulling myself together. “She got the call last week.” Before we knew Momma would spend Christmas in rehab. “Colt Henderson wants to use one of her songs in his show, so they added Beth to the chorus. She’s playing an angel, I think. Oh, and an elf.”
“That’s wonderful news. Good for her.”
“Itiswonderful. She’s so talented.”
“Gonna be hard, though.”
“Yes.” My sisters and I had never been apart for the holidays. Ever. “They’ll be all alone on Christmas.”
“I meant for you. All that work.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“You want to lay off milking now anyway,” Hannah said. “Those goats will start having babies in a couple months. Give you all a little break before then.”
I nodded. “Do you know... Is there enough inventory that I could sell at the farmers’ market on Saturday?”
“Should be. The chèvre’s still good for a couple weeks. And that marinated feta, that keeps awhile. Check the walk-in.”
