“Well, I’ll be.” I whistle as below, my father greets the old man.
“Who’s he?” Frankie asks.
“That’s Mr. Halleck. That’s the man Dad works for. What on earth is he doing here?”
Mr. Halleck is richer than God, or so Will always says. He’s pleasant enough when we see him at his estate, usually only ever at Christmastime. He’s never come to our house before. We don’t hear what passes between him and Dad, but there’s a certain look on my father’s face when they turn for the house, something like a mix of pride and relief.
More cars. Ma’s church-lady friends come bearing gifts—corn pudding from the looks of it, covered in tinfoil. And now Pastor Fenton. When he opens the passenger door, a pair of long legs, white as cream, slide out and Anna May rises into the summer evening.
“Ho-lee smokes,” Frankie says, and now he whistles.
Her pretty eyes take in our house of stone, our old dusty barn, the pines ringing our hill, and I realize that she ain’t ever seen Stairways before. She follows her father in and there’s something about the way she moves, the way her dress sways around her willowy body, that makes me catch my breath. Don’t know what it is, but I get to thinking just then that my brother Will is one of the luckiest boys I know.
Mr. Madliner comes last, and he comes alone. His scarecrow shape lowers itself out of a rust-colored truck and crosses the yard on thin legs that seem not to want to work together. I shudder. We have not told Ma or Dad about what happened with Caleb that night in the cave. I don’t care to, neither. Just so long as I never have to see Caleb ever again.
When Mr. Madliner slips under the porch roof and out of our sight, I turn to Frankie.
“We’d better get down there. I don’t want to miss one word of this.”
Dad gathers everyone in the parlor and tells them we’ll eat first and talk later. Seems to me the talking’s the more important part, but then the tinfoil comes off those plates, and I smell the corn pudding, mashed potatoes, pork roast with herbs and seasonings, and fresh-baked blueberry pie, and I change my mind real quick.
Pastor Fenton asks the blessing, and this time the amen is loud on account of all the people packed in our parlor. They’re piled on our couch and the kitchen chairs that Pete and Will have brought in, and along the hearth in front of the fireplace. Mr. Glattfelder and Mr. Madliner stand against the wall, holding their plates and resting their glasses on the windowsill. Will and Anna May sit on the floor by the screen door. Frankie and me perch ourselves on the stairs so we can see, and Pete joins us, a mountain of pork roast and mashed potatoes on his plate.
The sun is sinking low behind our hill when Dad sets his plate down and stands in front of the fireplace. A hush falls over everyone then.
Dad gets down to business. He tells everyone about Kemper’s letter and the hearing. After the hearing, they’ll decide whether to dam the creek and flood our valley. The hearing is scheduled for the first day of July.
“That’s only a few days from now,” says Mrs. Glattfelder.
“Why so soon?” asks Pastor Fenton.
From the rocker chair, Mr. Halleck clears his throat. “To give us as little time as possible to prepare for it, while still meeting their statutory obligation.” He folds his bony hands over the deer-bone handle of his cane. “Standard procedure. Mr. Kemper does not want all of you to have time to organize against him.”
Old Sam shifts on one of Ma’s kitchen chairs, and he folds his arms over his stovepipe chest. “That feller come to my place one afternoon asking if I’d drink beer with him. Friendly-like. I’d never met him. ‘I’ll drink with anybody once,’ I tell him. He was polite enough ’til he worked his way around to the subject of my land. He asked me if I’d sell it to him. When I said no, he got downright disagreeable and I told him”—Sam glances over at the ladies before going on—“well, never mind what I told him. We had words. Then Kemper spouts this business about taking my land from me. ‘Pennies on the dollar’ was what I’d get for it.”
Around our parlor, heads nod. They’ve all heard the same speech.
Mr. Halleck speaks again. “Kemper knows every corner of the law, inside and out. He wrote it. He knows each of the local ordinances. He knows all the holes he can hide in.”
That makes me afraid. All this time, I’d figured it was illegal what Kemper was doing. It was certainly wrong. But what if it was both wrong and legal? Did we still have to go along then?