“Suppose it all ends up like this in my belly anyway, but could I have a spoon instead of this fork?”
Martha brought a spoon, sat down across from him, and began to cry. “I’m sorry. I should have let it set out at room temperature. Cold would have been better than ruined. Want a sandwich instead?” Her large brown eyes were moist and shiny.
“No, this will be fine. Maybe a few pickles if we have any left.” He patted her hand before she sprang to her feet.
She placed a plate of pickles on the table. “I know you like your new job at Rolling Meadows. And I understand that more money means we can save faster for a place of our own someday, but—”
Matthew interrupted, seeing a perfect opportunity to share his good news. Setting down his spoonful of mush, he extracted four twenties and a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “You can put this into our savings account.” He took another piece of bread to scoop stew.
Martha stared at the money and then picked up the hundred to study the face of Benjamin Franklin. “Isn’t this the guy who invented the lightning rod? Plenty of folks’ barns are still standing due to that man’s ingenuity.” She smiled at the cameo picture before dropping the bill atop the others.
He finished his milk in three long swallows. “
Jah
, I think so, but the important thing is I got that money this week as tips in addition to my regular paycheck.” Pride bubbled up despite his better intentions. “Owners gave me those twenties just for bringing their horses out for inspection. And the owner who kept me there so late tonight? After looking at his watch he apologized and handed me a hundred dollars! I tried to refuse it, but he insisted. He said he knew I only got home on weekends and had forgotten today was Friday.” He tapped the bills into a neat pile, his stew forgotten. “Summer is only beginning—the busy season for saddlebreds. Just think how many tips I might make by summer’s end.”
Martha’s soft brown eyes hardened. “Do you ever listen to yourself, Matthew Miller? Money, money, money—it’s your favorite topic of conversation these days. What would your dad say?”
“I believe he would say that a man must support his family while saving for his own farm. And maybe he’d throw in something about wives not being so all-fired-up critical of their husbands all the time.”
Unfortunately, he’d spoken loud enough to wake the baby. His daughter’s cries came wafting down the stairs from her second-floor bedroom.
Martha rose to her feet with dignity, although the brittle glint in her eyes was gone. “Please put your bowl in the sink when you’re done,
ehemann
. I’ll wash it tomorrow. I’ll be upstairs.”
Matthew leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling for answers. The stew had hardened into a thick plaster that could patch holes in drywall, but he didn’t care. He was no longer hungry…except for a way to make his impossible-to-please wife happy.
Winesburg
With spring-cleaning behind her, Julia knew what she needed—an afternoon at her sister’s house. Sipping coffee, eating sweets, and chewing the fat often cured what ailed a woman better than a doctor’s pills or therapies. She had sent a note to Hannah early that morning that she would be coming over after lunch and to be prepared. She was in the mood to gab.
After fixing sandwiches and fresh berries in cream for Simon and Henry, Julia ate her sandwich with one eye on the wall clock.
“Are we keeping you from an important engagement,
fraa
?” asked Simon, brushing crumbs from his beard into the palm of his hand.
Henry grinned while grabbing his second turkey-and-Swiss. “I know what
ren-dez-voo
she has cooked up. I delivered her note after breakfast.” He pronounced the foreign word exactly how it looked, yet Julia couldn’t imagine where he’d seen it in print.
“I have a date next door with my sister. And a spice cake is in the oven. That’s why I’m
Martha brought a spoon, sat down across from him, and began to cry. “I’m sorry. I should have let it set out at room temperature. Cold would have been better than ruined. Want a sandwich instead?” Her large brown eyes were moist and shiny.
“No, this will be fine. Maybe a few pickles if we have any left.” He patted her hand before she sprang to her feet.
She placed a plate of pickles on the table. “I know you like your new job at Rolling Meadows. And I understand that more money means we can save faster for a place of our own someday, but—”
Matthew interrupted, seeing a perfect opportunity to share his good news. Setting down his spoonful of mush, he extracted four twenties and a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “You can put this into our savings account.” He took another piece of bread to scoop stew.
Martha stared at the money and then picked up the hundred to study the face of Benjamin Franklin. “Isn’t this the guy who invented the lightning rod? Plenty of folks’ barns are still standing due to that man’s ingenuity.” She smiled at the cameo picture before dropping the bill atop the others.
He finished his milk in three long swallows. “
Jah
, I think so, but the important thing is I got that money this week as tips in addition to my regular paycheck.” Pride bubbled up despite his better intentions. “Owners gave me those twenties just for bringing their horses out for inspection. And the owner who kept me there so late tonight? After looking at his watch he apologized and handed me a hundred dollars! I tried to refuse it, but he insisted. He said he knew I only got home on weekends and had forgotten today was Friday.” He tapped the bills into a neat pile, his stew forgotten. “Summer is only beginning—the busy season for saddlebreds. Just think how many tips I might make by summer’s end.”
Martha’s soft brown eyes hardened. “Do you ever listen to yourself, Matthew Miller? Money, money, money—it’s your favorite topic of conversation these days. What would your dad say?”
“I believe he would say that a man must support his family while saving for his own farm. And maybe he’d throw in something about wives not being so all-fired-up critical of their husbands all the time.”
Unfortunately, he’d spoken loud enough to wake the baby. His daughter’s cries came wafting down the stairs from her second-floor bedroom.
Martha rose to her feet with dignity, although the brittle glint in her eyes was gone. “Please put your bowl in the sink when you’re done,
ehemann
. I’ll wash it tomorrow. I’ll be upstairs.”
Matthew leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling for answers. The stew had hardened into a thick plaster that could patch holes in drywall, but he didn’t care. He was no longer hungry…except for a way to make his impossible-to-please wife happy.
Winesburg
With spring-cleaning behind her, Julia knew what she needed—an afternoon at her sister’s house. Sipping coffee, eating sweets, and chewing the fat often cured what ailed a woman better than a doctor’s pills or therapies. She had sent a note to Hannah early that morning that she would be coming over after lunch and to be prepared. She was in the mood to gab.
After fixing sandwiches and fresh berries in cream for Simon and Henry, Julia ate her sandwich with one eye on the wall clock.
“Are we keeping you from an important engagement,
fraa
?” asked Simon, brushing crumbs from his beard into the palm of his hand.
Henry grinned while grabbing his second turkey-and-Swiss. “I know what
ren-dez-voo
she has cooked up. I delivered her note after breakfast.” He pronounced the foreign word exactly how it looked, yet Julia couldn’t imagine where he’d seen it in print.
“I have a date next door with my sister. And a spice cake is in the oven. That’s why I’m
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