The German Wife(20)
“How long are we going to be stuck in here?” I muttered at one point.
“That’s the wrong way of looking at this, Lizzie,” Mother gently chided me. “We have a roof over our heads. Somewhere to shelter. We have one another.”
“We aren’t stuck in here,” Henry added. “We’re safe in here.”
But over time, even Mother had grown tired of the relentless storms, and the dust that seemed to permeate every single crevice in our lives. Now when a storm came, we just sat in a miserable, heavy silence, listening to the wind as it bathed our house and fields and vegetable garden and barn in dust.
Even on a beautiful Sunday morning on our way to church, we barely saw the sun or the bright blue sky. All we saw was the dust.
“Good morning, Mrs. Davis,” Judge Nagle greeted us, nodding politely as we mingled in the vestibule of the church before service. “And you too, Miss Lizzie.” His gaze landed on my brother and he added quietly, “Henry.”
“Good morning, sir. Mrs. Nagle, you look lovely today,” Henry said, but he rushed through the words. It was obvious he only had eyes for Betsy, who was standing beside her parents. She looked beautiful as she always did. That day she was wearing a yellow dress with a soft skirt that skimmed her calves. She’d probably made it herself, because Betsy sewed for fun even though she could afford to buy clothes ready-made.
“I love your dress, Lizzie,” she said sincerely. “Those cute little buttons! It suits you so much.”
I flushed, embarrassed at the attention, but remembered my manners enough to thank her before I shuffled away to take my seat. Any other girl might have been mocking me with a compliment for such an old dress, but Betsy was nice. The judge and Mrs. Nagle were good people too, of course, even if I’d become increasingly nervous about Judge Nagle’s demeanor.
Henry said that I was imagining things, but with every passing Sunday, Judge Nagle seemed a little cooler toward us—toward Henry in particular. That made perfect sense to me. Henry borrowed all of that money two years earlier, and he’d promised to repay it by the coming harvest. The judge would know as well as anyone that we had almost no chance of doing that now.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as the service began. Pastor Williams was in good form, bringing yet another variation on the theme of the times. Keep faith. God is in control. Every Sunday it was a similar angle, because what else was there to say to people who were suffering so immensely? Our whole economy ran off produce, and after so many failed crops, farmers had long since run out of savings and were down to their last ounce of faith. The main street of Oakden was one long row of boarded-up windows because all but the most essential stores had already gone bust. I saw how empty the collection plate was each week, and yet every Sunday, Pastor Williams took to that pulpit to thunder about resilience and hope and faith.
“Bow your heads and pray with me,” he said, at the end of the sermon. But as I bowed my head, I glanced across the aisle and felt a chill run down my spine. Everyone else was praying, but Judge Nagle was staring at Henry.
The judge wasn’t angry. He was heartbroken. Somehow, that was worse.
I tried to talk to Henry as we made our way out to lunch, but my brother was busy chatting up the older ladies in church. When I caught his arm, he waved me off impatiently. Being the most handsome and popular boy in town, Henry got a little vacation at church from the stress and isolation on the farm. Most weeks I was content to just find a quiet corner to wait for him to finish charming his way through conversations.
“Miss Davis. You look so lovely today,” a deep voice said. I glanced impatiently toward the source of the voice and found Chad Glass—a boy a few years older than me. He was handsome enough and polite enough, but he was also a mechanic. The last person on earth I’d want to date was someone who didn’t even have a farm to offer me.
“Thank you, Chad. Please excuse me,” I said, stepping around him to chase after Henry.
But my footsteps slowed when I saw that he was with Judge Nagle. The two exchanged some quiet words in the vestibule.Then Henry sucked in a breath as he followed Judge Nagle out the door. I walked briskly after them—reaching the door just in time to see them crossing the street and disappearing together into the courthouse across the road.
I hesitated for a split second before I slipped from the church, jogging unsteadily in Mother’s old shoes until I stood beneath the windows of Judge Nagle’s office. At first I couldn’t hear anything, but a sudden sliding sound fixed that—the judge was muttering about the heat and had opened the window. That allowed me to hear the low murmur of voices.
“...son, I understand. But I know you’ve seen Main Street. More than half of the businesses gone bust are in buildings I hold mortgages on. I still have to pay the bank, but no one is paying me rent. I can’t even sell those stores because this town is dying. I need you to repay me that money. All of it. Some of it. Whatever you can come up with.”
“I’m really sorry, sir,” Henry said. I could imagine my brother maintaining eye contact, looking cool and calm, as he started to panic inside. Part of Henry’s magic charm was his ability to appear neutral even when he was guilty as hell. “As I’m sure you know, the harvest isn’t looking so good this year for us either.”
“Surely you have an asset you can sell.”
“Sir, we don’t even have a tractor anymore. And I tried to sell the car, but no one was buying.”