A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [100]
Daddy went from group to group, saying something with an air of deferential sociability. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and I longed to hear what he was saying. Harold followed him, too, his protector. Daddy had never been the mixing sort. He’d always stood in a convenient corner (convenient to the food) and waited for the other farmers to join him, to seek his advice, or try to impress him, or join with him in a duet of ritual complaints about the weather and the government. I watched him, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Rose was more brazen. She joined one of the groups and listened, smiling, as he talked. She didn’t move away until Harold actually caught her eye and glared at her. A few minutes later, she wandered past me. She said, “Get this.”
“I’m listening.”
“This is a quote, word for word.”
“Okay.”
“Terrible conditions. Their children put them there. I saw it myself. Their children put them there. Their children put them there.”
“What was he talking about?”
“The county home. Considering that Marlene Stanley’s ninety-six-year-old mother has been in the county home for ten years, I thought it was especially thoughtful of Daddy to mention it to her.”
“Well, everybody here has got some relative in there.”
“That must be why their eyes are glazing over. He’s going on and on about it. The same six sentences over and over.”
“What else?”
“About the children stealing the farms.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged. I looked up and saw Daddy staring at us as if he had just noticed us for the first time. I mentioned this to Rose, and she turned and stared back at him. I said, “Let’s not.”
“Let’s not what?”
“Let’s not look like we’re plotting against him.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me nervous. I want to talk to him.”
“Go do it, then.”
“Okay.” I took one or two steps toward him, and he turned away, toward one of the church ladies, who was handing him a drink. He smiled at her and thanked her, ducking his head as if truly grateful. I was amazed. I took another two steps, but he clearly backed away. I saw that I was going to have to sneak up on him unexpectedly.
There were some people by the soft-drink table, and I went and joined them, but only long enough to elude Daddy’s gaze. Then I scurried along the back wall of the room and ducked into a vestibule. I saw Rose by one of the front tables, looking around, but I didn’t catch her attention. I waited. After a few minutes that I spent smiling and nodding at the few people who noticed me, Daddy came near. I slid up next to him and said, “Daddy!” He froze, not looking at me, but searching the room for someone. The place was getting hot. Some men got up on chairs and pushed the windows to their widest. Henry Dodge brought in another fan, set it on a chair, and turned it on.
At last Daddy turned his gaze to meet mine. I was preoccupied with how I was going to phrase my question—Rose said, or did you, or I have to know, but all I got out was another “Daddy,” when he interrupted me and said, “Their children put them there. And the conditions are terrible.” His voice was not the usual aggressive rumble, but flatter, softer, more tentative. I looked him in the eye for the first time. He turned away at once, but not before I saw an abashed, questioning look. My voice vanished.
He walked away. After a minute, I went into the women’s bathroom, then I went and found Rose.
As soon as she saw me, she said, “Wait till you hear this. Mary Livingstone has been over to Harold’s twice. She thinks Daddy’s lost his mind.”
“I just talked to him. He—”
Rose muttered, “This enrages me.”
“What?”
“This ploy.”
“Rose, he—”
She lowered her voice, grasped the front of my shirt, and pulled me to her. “I know this. I know that his face is a black ocean