back from her face with a ribbon.
Doc stood there, his eyes devouring her face, for a full minute before he breathed, “Caroline. Oh, Caroline . . .”
Chapter 5
“I F IT DOESN ’ T STOP RAINING , it’ll be Christmas before we get the corn out of the field.”
Joe sat at the table in his sister’s kitchen holding her year-old daughter on his lap while she cooked the noon meal.
“I remember the year when we had to leave it until after Christmas. Papa was afraid it was too wet and would grow mold.” Julie stopped by to wipe the drool from the baby’s chin.
“That year we picked just enough for seed and had to dry it on corn dryers hung in the barn loft. We let the hogs and cows eat out of the field. Had a nice fat deer around Christ-mastime.”
“Evan said we might as well feed it this year. A bushel of corn won’t be worth much. Wheat is twenty-five cents a bushel. Oats only ten cents. Thank goodness we’re not cotton farmers. They’re only getting five cents a pound.”
“Beef and hog prices are so low that some fool suggested the government go around to the farms, pay a measly price for the animals, then kill and bury them in order to bring up the price.”
“Evan told me about that. He doesn’t think Roosevelt will do it, although he’s determined to bring the country out of this slump.”
“He has his work cut out for him. Twenty-five percent of the workforce is unemployed. A man would have to sell nine bushels of wheat just to buy a pair of boots.”
“We’re lucky, Joe, that we live here on a farm that’s paid for. We’ll at least have plenty to eat.”
“Yeah, but unless prices come up, banks will be taking over those that have mortgages.” Joe held his niece up and away from him. “Hell and damnation, Nancy Ann Johnson! You’ve wet a bucketful.”
Julie laughed. “When she lets go, it’s a stream. Don’t worry, you’ll dry.”
“These are my next to good pants.”
“Going somewhere? I thought you’d come to spend the day.”
“I’m going to town,” he growled.
“Can I go, Joe?” The voice was followed by the slamming of the door leading to the rooms upstairs.
“Hello, brat.”
“Cleaning done already?” Julie asked.
“All but changing the beds.” Joy set the bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor and leaned the broom against the wall. “I’ll have it done before dinner. Can I go to town with you, Joe?”
Sixteen-year-old Joy Jones, the youngest of the Jones children, had gone to live with Julie and Evan when they married. Julie had taken care of the girl since the day she was born and was the only mother Joy had ever known. She was a small, slim girl with a mass of blond curls and large blue-green eyes. She had been doted on since birth, but Julie had tried hard to keep her from being spoiled by her older brothers and sister.
“Honey, I’m going horseback.”
“I don’t mind. We could walk. We walked to town before we got a car.”
“You’d be in mud up to your knees. Besides, I might want to stay in town tonight.”
“Well, shoot!”
“Do you have books to return to the library? You should have told Evan—”
“I want to see Mrs. Poole.”
“Whatever for?” Julie wiped her hands on her apron and lifted Nancy from Joe’s lap.
“She’s helping with the Y.P. harvest party. I’m on the committee, and I’ve got a fantastic idea I want to tell her about.”
“The young people at the church,” Julie explained to Joe when he lifted his brows in question. “Joy, you didn’t tell me that you were on the committee or that Mrs. Poole was in charge. I thought Opal Patterson was.”
“Mrs. Patterson had to bow out for some reason or other. When Mrs. Poole took over, she chose me, Sammy Davidson, Richard Myers and Evelyn Bradbury to be on the committee. Sylvia wanted to be on it, but Mrs. Poole chose Evelyn, who doesn’t know anything about parties.”
“I take it you do?” Joe teased.
“I know more than a twelve-year-old. Sylvia
Doc stood there, his eyes devouring her face, for a full minute before he breathed, “Caroline. Oh, Caroline . . .”
Chapter 5
“I F IT DOESN ’ T STOP RAINING , it’ll be Christmas before we get the corn out of the field.”
Joe sat at the table in his sister’s kitchen holding her year-old daughter on his lap while she cooked the noon meal.
“I remember the year when we had to leave it until after Christmas. Papa was afraid it was too wet and would grow mold.” Julie stopped by to wipe the drool from the baby’s chin.
“That year we picked just enough for seed and had to dry it on corn dryers hung in the barn loft. We let the hogs and cows eat out of the field. Had a nice fat deer around Christ-mastime.”
“Evan said we might as well feed it this year. A bushel of corn won’t be worth much. Wheat is twenty-five cents a bushel. Oats only ten cents. Thank goodness we’re not cotton farmers. They’re only getting five cents a pound.”
“Beef and hog prices are so low that some fool suggested the government go around to the farms, pay a measly price for the animals, then kill and bury them in order to bring up the price.”
“Evan told me about that. He doesn’t think Roosevelt will do it, although he’s determined to bring the country out of this slump.”
“He has his work cut out for him. Twenty-five percent of the workforce is unemployed. A man would have to sell nine bushels of wheat just to buy a pair of boots.”
“We’re lucky, Joe, that we live here on a farm that’s paid for. We’ll at least have plenty to eat.”
“Yeah, but unless prices come up, banks will be taking over those that have mortgages.” Joe held his niece up and away from him. “Hell and damnation, Nancy Ann Johnson! You’ve wet a bucketful.”
Julie laughed. “When she lets go, it’s a stream. Don’t worry, you’ll dry.”
“These are my next to good pants.”
“Going somewhere? I thought you’d come to spend the day.”
“I’m going to town,” he growled.
“Can I go, Joe?” The voice was followed by the slamming of the door leading to the rooms upstairs.
“Hello, brat.”
“Cleaning done already?” Julie asked.
“All but changing the beds.” Joy set the bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor and leaned the broom against the wall. “I’ll have it done before dinner. Can I go to town with you, Joe?”
Sixteen-year-old Joy Jones, the youngest of the Jones children, had gone to live with Julie and Evan when they married. Julie had taken care of the girl since the day she was born and was the only mother Joy had ever known. She was a small, slim girl with a mass of blond curls and large blue-green eyes. She had been doted on since birth, but Julie had tried hard to keep her from being spoiled by her older brothers and sister.
“Honey, I’m going horseback.”
“I don’t mind. We could walk. We walked to town before we got a car.”
“You’d be in mud up to your knees. Besides, I might want to stay in town tonight.”
“Well, shoot!”
“Do you have books to return to the library? You should have told Evan—”
“I want to see Mrs. Poole.”
“Whatever for?” Julie wiped her hands on her apron and lifted Nancy from Joe’s lap.
“She’s helping with the Y.P. harvest party. I’m on the committee, and I’ve got a fantastic idea I want to tell her about.”
“The young people at the church,” Julie explained to Joe when he lifted his brows in question. “Joy, you didn’t tell me that you were on the committee or that Mrs. Poole was in charge. I thought Opal Patterson was.”
“Mrs. Patterson had to bow out for some reason or other. When Mrs. Poole took over, she chose me, Sammy Davidson, Richard Myers and Evelyn Bradbury to be on the committee. Sylvia wanted to be on it, but Mrs. Poole chose Evelyn, who doesn’t know anything about parties.”
“I take it you do?” Joe teased.
“I know more than a twelve-year-old. Sylvia
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