A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [131]
Ty sat across from Rose. For the first hour of the consultation, Ty sat forward in his chair, his legs tucked against the rungs under the seat. A couple of times he stretched, and once he must have bumped into Rose’s legs, because he jumped as if he’d been scalded and curled his legs tight again. He wouldn’t look at her, and when she answered a question, he held his breath, then let it out suddenly when she’d finished speaking. She cast him two or three annoyed glances, but didn’t say anything. Mr. Cartier asked him twice if he had anything to add. Each time, Ty shook his head.
It is hard to know whether an air of self-confidence precedes or follows success. Certainly, though, when we entered into the world of Jean Cartier, a lot of things began to seem different, less impossible than they had before. Nothing changed, but it all coexisted more agreeably, as if the march of time that would soon make everything crash together were suspended.
In the second hour of our consultation, Ty stretched his legs out again, and when they bumped Rose’s, he just shifted them to one side after a quick apology. Rose glanced more often toward Pete, as if deferring to his opinion, not a habit of hers. Pete hitched his chair a little closer to hers. Mr. Cartier had his secretary bring in coffee. I slipped off my high heels, which were tight, and ran the sole of one foot over the toes of the other. Mr. Cartier came back to the subject of Daddy. “I gather,” he said with a smile, “that Mr. Cook is in the habit of doing what he wants.”
“You can say that again,” said Rose.
“And in the habit of having others do things his way?”
“More or less,” said Ty.
Pete said, “Ha!”
“I see from records that he was arrested for DWI in late June?”
Rose said, “Yes, they served him with that shortly after he left our farm.”
In all the excitement, I had forgotten about this, but Rose seemed never to have forgotten a thing.
Mr. Cartier looked at his papers, then said, “A substantial fine has apparently been paid by Ms. Cook?”
Rose said, “That would be the way it would go.” She sniffed.
After a moment of looking at each of us, Mr. Cartier said, “In my experience, passing down the farm is always difficult. If there aren’t enough sons, then there are too many. Or the daughter-in-law isn’t trustworthy. Wants to spend too much time having fun.” He smiled again. “Every farmer remembers what an unusually sober and industrious young man he was himself.”
Rose coughed impatiently.
“Even though these aren’t precisely the problems here, it’s well to remember that this transition is always always difficult.” He looked directly at Rose. “And that, in most cases, once the transition has been made, and the older generation is taken care of, things can go back to normal for twenty years or so.”
“God forbid,” said Rose.
Cartier’s smile took on a particle of uncertainty. Pete said, rather mildly, “If you don’t mind my saying so, it seems to me that the only course of action is to have all the ownership problems cleared up. That’s the basis for any future, whatever it is.”
“Oh, they’ll be cleared up,” said Cartier. “No two ways about that.”
I felt a tightening in my chest at this remark, as if, should we get the farm, Daddy would be consigned to wander around in the rain for the rest of his life. Then I thought, what in the world are we going to do with him?
As if in answer to my fear, Mr. Cartier said, “One thing at a time, though.” He looked down at his notes. “You four do intend to farm it, however?”
“Of course,” said Ty.
“Isn’t that the point?” said Rose.
“We’ll see,” said Pete. Rose looked at him in surprise.
“I don’t know,” was what I said, but this doubt fell unregarded into the flow of everyone’s expectations.
“Well,” said Mr. Cartier, looking at his watch and folding together his papers, “one thing at a time. The ‘mismanagement or abuse’ clause in the preincorporation agreement is pretty undefined. From what you tell me, they’re certainly not going to be