“But what if—” I started to ask.
But he cut me off, suddenly urgent and animated as he said, “Never in the history of the world has there been a drought that did not end. I looked it up at the library in Oakden a few weeks ago. Droughts come and go, yes. But they always end within a few years. We got a little rain a few weeks ago, remember?”
“It was less than a quarter of an inch!” I exclaimed.
“But that’s how it starts!” Henry said, bending forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Don’t you see, Lizzie? The weather pattern changes slowly—a quarter inch here and there becomes half an inch becomes more and then enough. Normal rain will be here before the winter is over.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Henry took another gulping swill of the drink, then exhaled slowly.
“That’s why I asked for two years to pay it back. There’s no chance the drought would last more than another year. Besides, if I am wrong, we were going to lose the farm anyway, so it makes no difference.” At my gasp, he shot me an impatient look. “What do you think happens when people don’t pay their property taxes, Lizzie?”
My stomach churned. I set my mug down in the dust and took a few deep breaths until it passed.
“How much did you borrow?”
“I know how much they’d have got for a harvest on a good year. That’s how much I borrowed.”
“But the farm has got to be worth much more than that.”
“This land is barely worth the paper the deed is written on just now—that’s why the bank wouldn’t help us. But…yeah, in the longer term, it’s probably worth more than I borrowed.” He shifted awkwardly, then dropped his voice as he admitted, “It’s just that Judge Nagle wasn’t keen at first. He likes me, but he’s shrewd, you know? I had to show him that I was serious about this. But he wouldn’t really take the farm. He’s a good man, and besides which, it’s not like he’s short of cash. What would he want with this place?”
“Daddy is not going to be happy about this.”
Henry shrugged, all calm and confident again.
“He doesn’t really have much choice. The judge drew up a contract and I signed it right away. Betsy is going to go to the bank when it opens tomorrow and she’ll deposit the check into Daddy’s account.”
My parents’ bedroom door was closed when I got out of bed the next morning, and I had a feeling Dad might not make it out of bed that day. I went out to use the washroom, but while I was there, I heard Dad and Henry shouting. I ran back to the house just as the bedroom door slammed again, and a defiant Henry stomped down the hall, joining Mother in the kitchen.
“What did you do, Henry?” Mother whispered, visibly upset. He raised his chin stubbornly.
“You’ll see,” he told us both. “Everything will turn around next season. That money is going to save us.”
Maybe Daddy was worn down by the dry and the hopelessness, or maybe he knew Henry had ultimately done the right thing, because as much as he grumbled, Daddy didn’t even try to give that money back to the judge.
9
Lizzie
Huntsville, Alabama
1950
As I’d driven to the party, my intention was to seek Calvin out and apologize. I had a perfectly good excuse for my tardiness. This wasn’t the first time my car had needed some cajoling.
But as I approached Cal, I heard snippets of the conversation around him. These men were speaking English, but much of it was heavily accented. Henry’s taunt about my new “Nazi friends” rang in my ear, and I felt a shock of outrage.
No.
It just was not right for these people to be mingling with the rest of us, enjoying the sunshine on their faces, sipping champagne, and laughing so freely.
I spun on my heel and made a beeline toward more familiar faces. My friends Becca, Juanita, and Gail were there with a handful of other women. Avril Walters was there too, talking quietly with a woman I didn’t know—a woman with auburn hair and a milky, clear complexion I couldn’t help but be jealous of. Was this new woman German? I looked between the groups and quickly decided she must be the wife of one of the new American scientists. Calvin’s team had expanded so quickly, it was hard to keep up.
“You look like you need a drink,” Becca said, and she picked up a champagne flute from the table and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I muttered. I downed the glass, then glanced toward the German women. I dropped my voice. “I just cannot believe this. We’re supposed to just mingle with them like we don’t know where they’re from?”