Songbird Season Page 10

  After lunch, the women started on the dishes packed in the dining room’s cabinet. Cut-glass vases, generous serving bowls and delicate tea cups soon sparkled on the table. Ada pulled the family wish list out of her jeans pocket and motioned for everyone to gather around.

  “First, we have to set aside the requested items. And please, check carefully, as there’s so many dishes and some look similar. As for the rest, some of them could use a wipe-down, but we’ll leave that to the auction crew.”

  “That’s what we’re paying them for,” Horace called out from the living room, where he remained barricaded behind his newspaper. Hobo was asleep at his feet.

  “Exactly.” Ada put the list on the table and picked up an emerald glass vase. “Oh, this was Aunt Henrietta’s. Wonder how it ended up here? She must have given it to Mother before she passed. Horace?”

  “Dunno,” came the answer from behind the screen of newsprint.

  “We could toss all of this out the haymow door,” Ada mumbled to Melinda, “and he wouldn’t care. When the guys get around to boxing up his tools, though, that’s when I expect the huffing and puffing to start.”

  One woman gingerly picked up a glass sugar bowl etched with geometric designs. “Well, here it is. The piece that started it all.”

  Ada shuddered. “Melinda, can you please put that thing somewhere safe? It’ll be on my head if anything happens to it. I’ll pack it in its own box later.”

  After snuggling the sugar bowl in a nest of towels in the upstairs linen closet, Melinda began to sort the tablecloths stacked in the buffet’s drawers. Many were for everyday use, patterned with plaids or checks, but one down in the bottom was crafted from a heavy cream fabric accented with Hardanger embroidery.

  “Oh, I haven’t seen this in years,” Ada said wistfully when Melinda handed it across the table. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “Just take it.” Jen handed her a plastic sack. “Don’t add it to the box.”

  “Wow, look at this!” Melinda held up a rose-colored glass vase that was elegantly simple, except for a band of starbursts around its rim. “It’s stunning.”

  “Have it if you want,” came from the living room.

  Melinda took the vase through the cased opening and gently pushed the newspaper aside. “Horace, you didn’t even see it. I’m no expert, but something like this? It has to be worth …”

  He snapped the paper back into place and turned a page. “Comes with the house.” Hobo thumped his tail in agreement.

  Ada joined them in the living room, then carefully lifted the walnut-framed clock from the fireplace mantel. Melinda sighed before she could stop herself.

  “I know, honey.” Ada shook her head. “You love it, and this house won’t be the same without it. But Betty’s got her heart set on this clock. I’m just glad Lyle backed off and we didn’t have to flip a coin.”

  “No, no, it has to go. I’ll find another one.” Melinda had been scouring the internet for weeks, searching for something she loved even half as much, but hadn’t found it yet.

  “See?” Horace reached down to give Hobo a pet. “That’s why you need to take the vase.”

  One woman was matching cups and saucers at the dining-room table. “There’s a few pieces left from Great-Grandma’s good china,” she told Ada, “the set that was divided among the women and girls years ago, but where are Grandma Anna’s wedding dishes? Surely she had some.”

  Ada smiled. “Oh, Marjorie, you must not know the story. Melinda, you wouldn’t, either.”

  “I think it’s time for a break.” Melinda pulled up a chair. She couldn’t get enough of the history of this farm. “Let’s hear it.”

  When Anna and Henry married in 1922, her parents bought them a set of cream china edged in silver, with delicate purple flowers painted along the rims. Or at least, that’s how Anna described the dishes to her youngest daughter. By the time Ada was born, the china had already disappeared from the cabinet.

  The Great Depression brought rock-bottom crop prices and a terrible drought. With the pasture’s grass turning brown and store-bought feed terribly expensive, Anna and Henry feared they would have to sell many of their cows. The cream from their herd’s milk was one of the family’s few sources of income, but there didn’t seem to be any other option. Then one desperate day, when Horace was only a toddler, Anna reached behind the glass doors and put a cup-and-saucer set in her husband’s palm.

  “Mother said she couldn’t let that fancy china just sit there when their animals were going to go hungry.” Ada shook her head. “She told Father to sell it, the entire set, and use it to buy feed. He hated to do it, but once she’d made up her mind about something, no one could change it.”

  The owner of the feed mill in Swanton was one of the few people in the area who wasn’t destitute. Henry asked to speak to him alone, then set the cup and saucer on the businessman’s desk.

  “Turns out, that man’s daughter was getting married in two weeks. He agreed to take the china set in exchange for credit at his mill.” Ada reached for a cut-glass serving bowl and began to pack it with crumpled newspaper. “Call it coincidence if you want, but Mother always said it was divine intervention.”

  “That was nineteen-thirty,” Horace said suddenly, the newspaper now in his lap. “The summer after the big crash. I was only three then, but I remember Mother crying as she boxed up those dishes. She said it was nice to have pretty things, but the necessities always came first.”

  “Oh, Uncle Horace,” Jen said sorrowfully. “The things you’ve seen and done in your time. Why, that was just the start of the Depression. I bet things got worse long before they got better. What else do you remember?”

  Horace stared at the floor. “Don’t want to talk about it,” he finally said. A flick of his wrist, and the newspaper was back up again.

  Tears stung the backs of Melinda’s eyes. If these walls could talk! But then, maybe it was just as well they couldn’t. “How about we get the rest of these vases wrapped?” she suggested. “I think we can fit a few more in this box.”

  The rose-colored vase went back on the china cabinet’s top shelf. She and Ada were debating how many books it would take to fill the otherwise-bare interior when Melinda’s phone buzzed.

  “You and Mom better get out here.” Kevin was nearly shouting over the noise and laughter going on around him. “I just can’t believe what we found! I guess that old story might be true after all.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Come out to the shed, and you’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The machine shed’s expansive door was rolled all the way open, something Melinda had never attempted given the dubious condition of its metal track. Stacks of scrap metal and wood, vintage chicken crates, discarded garden tools and so much other stuff she couldn’t identify now waited in piles outside the entrance.

  Ada glanced warily at the heavy sky. “I hope the rain holds off at least until tomorrow night. They’ll have a huge mess on their hands if this stuff gets wet before the moving trucks arrive.”

  Kevin waved them inside, where several men and two women were pulling even more artifacts away from the machine shed’s weathered-board walls and dragging them across the scabbed concrete floor. With part of the building cleared out, Melinda got her first good look at the run-down truck parked in one back corner. Kevin’s cousin Dave noticed her interest.

  “Yep, that’s Horace and Wilbur’s old ride. I’d say it’s at least twenty-five years old. When they gave up farming full-time, they pulled it in here.”

  Kevin reached for Ada’s arm and steered his mom and Melinda over to the far wall. “Yeah, who knows what shape it’s in. But that’s not why I called you out here.” He made a grand gesture toward a rotten wood-frame box and a dented metal bucket. “Can you believe it?”

  Melinda blinked. “Um, what are we looking at?”

  Dave and Kevin grinned. “That, ladies, is a still!” Dave let out a whoop.

/>   “As in, homemade booze.” Kevin rubbed his hands together. “Bootleg liquor.”

  Jack pulled off his work gloves and joined them for a closer look. “Maybe even moonshine. The kind you’d make out in the woods. And you’d have to hide your stash, too, transport it in the middle of the night, and …”

  “Wait a minute.” Ada held up a hand. “I see why you boys are so excited. But are you sure this pile of junk was my grandpa’s still?”

  “You mean it’s true?” Melinda gasped. “That really happened?”

  “Well, I guess maybe it did.” Ada threw up her arms in amazement. “There’s these stories, but I never knew what was real and what was just a bunch of talk.”

  “The word is Great-Grandpa Jacob started it all, back in the twenties,” Kevin told Melinda. “And Grandpa Henry and his brother Charlie were in on it, too. When Grandpa married and took over the farm, I guess they decided to keep their side hustle going. Until Prohibition was repealed, of course.”

  “Side hustle,” Ada muttered. “Makes it sound so shady. My father would never …”

  “I think it’s cool,” Dave put in. “Aunt Ada, the twenties were really tough for farmers. The Great Depression just spread that trouble around the rest of the country.”

  “We were just talking about that,” Melinda said. “Ada was telling us how her mother sold her wedding china to feed the livestock.”

  “Guess when they couldn’t bootleg hooch anymore,” Dave said with a smirk, “they had to find other ways to make ends meet.”

  Finally, Ada laughed. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. There’s been whispers for years, but I never saw any proof. When you’re the youngest of eight siblings, you miss out on some things.”

  Melinda narrowed her eyes at Kevin. “So, how are you guys such experts on this stuff?”

  “Dave looked it up online. I’d say this is the biggest find of the day.”

  Jack grinned and held out a dented bucket crammed with wood and metal scraps. “But it’s not the only one. Melinda, look what I just found.”

  Hiding behind some strips of lathe was a vintage outdoor thermometer, its red lettering impressively bright on its aged metal surface. “Prosper Mercantile! And … 1927? Ada, come look at this! Am I imagining things?”

  “What a conversation piece! Now you just have to decide where to hang it. I guess your family weathered the tough times better than ours did.”

  Melinda started to laugh.

  “What?” Kevin asked.

  “OK, I can’t prove this, but I’ve heard stories, too, about my great-grandpa Shrader, that he sold bootleg booze out of the back of the store. It had to be in the twenties, the same time as …”

  “You don’t think …” Dave’s brown eyes lit up.

  “Now, just a minute.” Jack set the bucket down. “Prosper’s what, five miles from here? Would your families have known each other?”

  “Well, everyone from miles around shopped at Prosper Hardware,” Melinda said. “And my mom told me once that some of her ancestors lived only two miles from this farm.”

  “Everyone’s roots go way back in a rural community like this one.” Kevin clapped his hands in excitement. “Oh, it’s gotta be true!”

  “Let’s take a break,” Ada said mysteriously, her voice low enough the other relatives couldn’t hear. “I think we need to visit the barn.” She motioned their little group outside.

  “Mom, what are you keeping from us? Tell us, right now.”

  Ada’s blue eyes twinkled as she opened the barn door. “I’m not completely sure. But we’re about to find out.”

  Melinda couldn’t believe she’d never noticed it before. The ceiling in the barn’s small grain room was clad with beadboard, unlike the open rafters found on the rest of the first floor. A trip up the haymow steps and a few taps on the loft floor, and Kevin lifted a loose board that revealed a hidden compartment.

  “Oh, my God.” Dave crouched next to his cousin. “The perfect depth to stash rows of bottles. Aunt Ada, why didn’t you show us this before?”

  She shrugged. “I knew this section of the haymow floor was like this, but when I was a girl, we just thought it was a fun place to hide our treasures. When you’re part of a big family, there’s not much storage space. Or privacy. But now …” she shook her head in amazement.

  “Well, I have to say, I’m impressed.” Kevin grinned as he carefully slipped the board back in place. “Great-grandpa was a sly one, even if he was a criminal.”

  ✽✽✽

  Most of the volunteers went home later that afternoon, but Kevin, Ada and Jen were going to spend the night. Melinda wedged her way through the boxes stacked on the back porch to reach her chore gear, then spent a relaxing half hour tending to her animals.

  The mood in the chicken coop, however, was far from calm. The hens were skittish, stirred up by the strangers roaming across the farmyard as well as the blustery weather. “Don’t get your feathers in a bunch, Miss Pansy,” Melinda said as she poured out the chickens’ grain. “One more day, and you can have things back the way you like them.”

  As she latched the coop’s door, she spotted a flash of grey-and-white inching down the trunk of a nearby tree.

  “Oh, Stormy.” She waited for him to reach the ground before starting for the barn. “I’m sorry you were so scared.”

  Sunny caught up with them halfway across the yard, dashing out of the windbreak with his orange tail on alert. “Lots of changes going on, huh? Tell you what, I mixed a can of tuna into your usual supper to try and make up for it.”

  The farmhouse was blissfully silent when Melinda came in from chores. Kevin wasn’t yet back from dropping Horace off at the nursing home in Elm Springs, and Jen was on her way into Swanton to pick up Chinese takeout and more cardboard boxes. As she kicked off her boots, Melinda decided it was the perfect night to get a blaze going in the fireplace. They could make s’mores, and maybe Ada had more family stories to share. It had been such a special day, Melinda didn’t want it to end.

  “Ada?” She flipped another light switch as she came through the kitchen.

  “Out here.”

  Melinda padded through the dining room and opened the front door. Ada was in the porch swing, her lap covered with a thick fleece blanket topped by Grace and Hazel. Hobo, who was stretched out on the gray-painted floor, waved his tail in welcome.

  Melinda squeezed in and lifted Hazel into her lap. “What a day, huh? But we got so much done. My parents will be around tomorrow, and I think Ed and Mabel, too. They didn’t want to be underfoot, since this is such a big step for your family, but we could call in reinforcements if we need more help.”

  Ada only stared out the wall of storm windows to where the shadows were gathering on the front lawn. The maple tree was just starting to show its tender new leaves, and the bird feeder anchored to a lower branch swayed in the wind.

  “Ada?” Melinda tried again. “Are you crying? Is everything OK?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I was just thinking about all of us staying over. It’s the last night any Schermanns will spend under this roof. Ever. The last time.”

  Melinda grasped her friend’s hand. “It must feel like such a loss; something that’s such a big part of your family coming to an end. You worked so hard to keep Horace and Wilbur going out here. And if it wasn’t for you and Kevin, I wouldn’t have survived even one month. So Ada, you go ahead and cry if you want.”

  “I haven’t lived here since I was nineteen, when I got married.” She sighed and gave Melinda’s hand a squeeze. “I guess I didn’t think this would hit me so hard. I’m thrilled you’re taking over the farm, dear, but today … it just came at me all at once, after everyone left.”

  “I just hope I can fill Horace’s boots. I’ve learned so much, but sometimes I wonder if it’s going to be enough.”

  “You’re strong, Melinda. Stronger than you might think. What you’ve done with the place already is amazing. Mother and F
ather would be so proud. I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

  “And I want you to see it, always. Don’t be a stranger, Ada.”

  “Never.”

  Everyone gathered around the kitchen table, one of the few flat surfaces not piled with boxes, and gleefully stuffed themselves with takeout and second helpings of pie. Melinda prepared a breakfast casserole and stashed it in the refrigerator, then they gathered around the fire for a relaxing hour before taking their aching limbs off to bed.

  Melinda’s door was open, and she could faintly hear Kevin snoring down the hall in Wilbur’s old room. Right below her, Jen and Ada slept in Horace’s old iron bed, Hobo curled up at the foot of the crazy quilt.

  She laid there in the dark, Hazel snuggled on her neck and Grace draped across the pillow, and thought about what Ada had said.

  The farmhouse felt different tonight, with its rooms in disarray and all of its beds full. As its shelves were emptied and the moving boxes were filled, something had started to shift. She couldn’t put a name on it, but she could certainly feel it.

  ✽✽✽

  The morning dawned bright and not as chilly. Melinda found herself humming as she put the breakfast casserole in the oven. The Schermanns’ time at this farm was coming to an end, but hers was just beginning.

  Two blue jays greeted her with noisy squawks as she came out the back door, and a squirrel was already scrambling around above them in the oak tree’s branches. But the farm’s critters weren’t the only ones getting an early start on what promised to be a beautiful early-spring day.

  Dave’s SUV came up the drive before Melinda even got back to the house. He paused long enough to greet Hobo, then answered her surprised look with an eyebrow raise of his own.

  “Do you know what time Horace called me this morning?” he hissed. “At five. Five! ‘What time are you coming over, I’ve got my coat on,’ he says, like we do this every day.”

  Dave yawned and started around the truck to help Horace out the passenger door. “I tried to tell him everyone else wasn’t coming until eight, but he wouldn’t listen.”