A Thousand Acres_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [41]
“Selling it to the Stanleys, the boy and the two nephews. We’re gonna live there through harvest, but they bought the crops in the field, too.”
“The house?”
“House and everything. We got a trailer down in Bradenton, Florida, for the winter, and then next spring, Dad’s gonna buy us a place up near Hayward, Wisconsin, for the fishing. A nice little two-bedroom cabin on a lake, or something like that. They got some places up there with two or three little cottages for when the grand-kids come.” She stretched out her legs and stared at them for a moment. “Nothing big or fancy. There’s just the two of us.”
“We’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“I’ll miss some people.”
One of the Livingstone sons had been killed in Vietnam, the other in a car accident between Pike and Zebulon Center. I wondered why neither of the daughters wanted the farm, with land prices going so high, but that could be a touchy subject, so I didn’t say anything. Mary looked at me. “It was Marv Carson who told us what a good time it is to sell. We’ve got more than a million dollars now. Can you believe that? I never thought I’d see that. We kept some out for new places to live, and a new car, but we put the rest in these treasury bills.” My gaze followed hers over to Linda and the boys. Linda was laughing, and the boys were, too. Mary said, “We never had savings before. One time in the Depression, all we had was a dollar to last us a week. That was right after we got married, before Annabeth was born. You know Annabeth’s girl is going to Grinnell, now? Smart girl.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of good news, Mary.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ll see if it’s good. How’s your dad?” She gave me a piercing look, and I wondered if she had seen him on one of his odysseys. I said he was fine.
“How about Rose? I heard Rose got cancer.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pammy wince. I said, “She’s fine. She’s really made a good recovery.” Pammy took off her sunglasses, folded them, wrapped them in her towel, and tucked them inside her swimming bag. Then she said, in an even voice, “Aunt Ginny, I’m going to go swim now.” She went over to a spot along the edge of the pool about ten feet from Doreen Patrick and her group, and dove in. Mary said, “These girls know about Rose’s cancer, don’t they? I didn’t mean—”
“Of course they knew about it, but Rose has kept it very quiet. I’m sure she wants them to know it’s there, but not to think about it.”
“I always thought—I always thought kids on farms should be made to face facts early on. That’s their only hope, seems to me.”
We watched the swimmers and sunbathers and I thought about this. Had I faced all the facts? It seemed like I had, but actually, you never know, just by remembering, how many facts there were to have faced. Your own endurance might be a pleasant fiction allowed you by others who’ve really faced the facts. The eerie feeling this thought gave me made me shiver in the hot wind.
Mary said, “We might not see you before we leave. Dad isn’t much for going around and saying good-bye, and I’m not, either.”
“It isn’t for months yet. I’m sure—”
“Well, I want to tell you something.”
“Oh.”
“This thing with Rose reminds me. You girls were about this age when your mom was sick, and your mom used to call me. She was afraid she would die, so afraid.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was a remark that shouldn’t have shocked me—aren’t we all afraid to die—but did, because I remembered her illness and death as very sober, almost muffled. When Rose and I cried, we did it under the covers in her bed or mine, with the corners of our pillows stuffed into our mouths. We did most of our crying during the sickness, and what we told each other was that if our mother saw us cry, it would scare her and disturb her.
“I said I would help.”
“Pardon me?”
“She was so afraid for you girls, and I said I would help. I said I would be a real friend to you.”
“No one can help a dying person—”
She looked at me. After a moment, she said, “Ginny, your mother wasn’t afraid for herself. She was never afraid for herself. She had true faith. She