We walked down a hallway that opened up into a medium-sized family room. The pink and blue floral couches that greeted us were at least a couple of decades more modern. Before I could soak it all in, Duke ushered me through a doorway and into the kitchen and dining room. His hand pressed lightly against the small of my back and caused my breath to hitch.
“Sit down, you two,” Bart said to us, walking toward the stove to stand by his wife, who was attempting to extract the loaves from their pans. “It’s nice to see Duke bringing a girl home, Laura.”
“It’s Nora, Grandpa,” Duke said loudly as he pulled out a chair for me at the small round table surrounded by windows.
Bart cocked a hand over his ear. “What?”
“NORA,” Birdie supplied. “With an N. NORA. Like that receptionist you like at the dentist.”
“Oh. Is her name Nora?”
The two bantered back and forth while Duke and I sat chuckling under our breath.
It took Birdie two times trying to grab the butter knife on the counter before she actually took hold of it. Bart held the loaf pan steady as she dragged the knife gently along the edges, breaking the bread away. The movements were fluid, as though she’d done it a thousand times before. She turned the pan upside down, and a steaming fresh loaf of bread fell to the cutting board.
A few moments later, they sat down next to us at the table, uneven cuts of bread dripping with butter and homemade jam on the plates in front of us. Duke’s warning about his grandma’s cooking held no ground with the warm piece of heaven sliding down my throat right then. The chatter going on between Duke and his grandparents was muffled in my pleasure. When I finally came up for air, the laughter had lulled.
“I was telling Nora about eating the spaghetti in the company room, Grandma,” Duke said, reaching for a second slice of bread.
Birdie growled good-naturedly at her grandson. “Oh, you little impish stink.” She looked at me in camaraderie. “He was always trying to push my buttons. If I said he couldn’t be in that room, he spent every second of every day trying to sneak in there.”
I leaned forward. “You wouldn’t happen to have any pictures of him here would you? Old photo albums?”
Her eyes lit up. “Do I? Don’t leave without me showing you a few things about him. He’s got two more brothers just like him.” She clasped his hand on the table. “But he could always pull a smile out of me faster than any of my grandchildren.”
Bart’s ears perked up. “You kids staying the night?”
Duke shook his head. “Not tonight, Gramps. This is just a day trip.”
His face fell. “Oh, just stay the night. You don’t have anything to be back for tomorrow, do you? It’s not a workday.”
Duke smiled. “We work together, Grandpa. If I let Nora see how badly I get skunked in rummy, she’d never take me seriously again.”
Bart looked over at me. “So what are your plans today? If you’re too scared to play us in cards tonight. What all do you need from us?”
I held Bart’s gaze as he cupped his ears toward me. I made a conscious effort to speak a little louder. “I wanted to get to know your story. I’d love to ask you both some questions about your business and maybe see some of the things you’re wanting to sell so I can take pictures and put them on the website. Is that okay?”
Bart motioned toward his wife. “You tell it, Birdie.”
Birdie had just taken a bite of bread, a lone bit of raspberry jam stuck to the upper corner of her mouth. When she swallowed, she began speaking. “It was my business. Bart was busy farming his whole life. My dad used to be a carpenter. He taught me a lot as a kid. I inherited some of his tools when he passed. At first, I picked up the hobby when all my kids were in school, making picture frames and a really bad dining room chair.” She and Bart laughed at the shared memory. “But slowly, I got better. Started selling some local pieces to friends and neighbors. The word spread. I never went crazy with it. I mostly liked to build things for fun. But now…” She motioned to her and Bart. “We’re just here all day, doing nothing. Bart rents out the land, and we’ve sold most of our cattle. It’s good for us to keep busy.”
“Birdie’s been teaching me a few things,” Bart said, “but it’s her company.” Suddenly, he stood up and pointed out the window. “Bald Eagle!”
Duke and I abruptly stood up, startled, and turned to where he was pointing. My eyes peered through the window and into the trees for a sign of the nation’s bird. I was guessing this was something that happened often in this house on the farm. There was a slight breeze out today, ruffling the leaves on the maple tree, but no sign of an eagle.
Duke turned back around and sat down. “You sure you saw one, Gramps?”
Bart sat back down in his chair, this time snuggled next to his wife and nodded. “Oh, I’m sure. He shows his face here every so often.”
When I looked back to Birdie to ask her a few more questions, the bit of jam on her face was gone.
* * *
After a lunchof homemade white bread and jam, Bart and Birdie walked us outside to their shop. He pulled up the sliding metal door on the building where they kept all their tools and wood-working equipment. I took a step inside, and my mouth fell open in astonishment. On the right side of the dusty metal shop sat dozens and dozens, if not nearly a hundred, different wood items. Benches and tables, chairs, wooden frames, barn doors, and coat racks lined every crack and crevice of the room. I didn’t know much about wood, but each item was unique and made with different shades and cuts.
“Wow, you two.” Duke rolled an impressive eye to his grandparents, standing proudly together in the doorway. “You’ve been busy.”
“Can I take some pictures of you both working together? For the website?” I asked. Duke handed me his phone. It was about four years ahead of mine in camera technology. I smiled at him gratefully.
