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  “We start by approaching the city,” Frank finally said. “But if we don’t get anywhere, I guess we’ll have to come up with a Plan B.”

  “That’s the problem.” Melinda couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. “There won’t be time for a Plan B. Once word gets out you’re trying to hijack the city’s bank account to fix our family’s problems, it’ll be too late.”

  Frank’s dessert fork dropped to his plate with an angry clatter. “I just want to be treated fairly. Don’t you get it?”

  “I do! But everyone else won’t.” Frank was a smart businessman, but his lack of understanding about public opinion made Melinda’s head spin. He didn’t see the danger of what he was proposing. “You have no idea what this will do to your … our reputation. And the trouble’s already started. Look at you and Jerry, old friends who barely acknowledge each other anymore.”

  “Jerry and I get along just fine,” Frank said archly. “Didn’t you see us talking this morning? Nothing’s wrong.” Roger smothered a snort with his hand.

  “Well, don’t worry about it.” Frank’s tone turned icy. “Melinda, this isn’t your problem. You let me handle it.”

  “This is my problem!” She couldn’t keep her voice down. “I’m the one behind the counter, day in and day out. I’m the one who’ll have to smooth this over with people, if you go through with this crazy plan. I’ll have to answer the questions, smile down the glares. It’s going to fall to me, you know it will. I bought a farm the other day, for God’s sake. I’m all-in here.”

  Frank clenched his jaw, and Melinda knew she’d hit a nerve. He appreciated her staying on to help Miriam run the store, but it hurt him deeply that his health had forced him to step aside. Some mornings at the store, she could sense the sadness behind his quick jokes and laughter, the feeling that Frank no longer knew where he belonged.

  “As I said.” Frank’s voice was cold and defensive. “You let me handle this. It’s not up to you.”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Roger suddenly spoke up. Melinda wished he hadn’t. “Maybe Melinda gets two votes. She’s a member of this family, and she’s also an employee. And she has all that marketing experience. Frank, you’d better listen.”

  “I love that store.” Melinda turned to Frank, her tone softer than before. “I love visiting with all the people that come through every day, and how it’s such a big part of this little town. And I can’t stand by and let you ruin it just so you can tell everyone you’re right. What if this hurts our reputation and shrinks our customer base to the point we can’t keep the door open?”

  Frank smacked a fist on the table. “Who asked you to stay? It was your choice. And don’t throw all those fancy marketing terms at me. You already made your point, but you’re wrong. And Roger,” he pointed at his brother-in-law, “you need to stay out of this.”

  “He’s part of this family, too!” Diane jumped in. “We all are. Don’t you ever …”

  “Enough!” Miriam shouted, her voice thick with tears. Her sudden outburst silenced the room. She started to collect the plates with such force that Melinda was afraid she might break one.

  “Not one more word, Frank, about putting this on the city’s doorstep. Not one. I’ll remind you that Allen, and his father before him, have served this family long before you ever married into it. He won’t do squat without my say-so.”

  “Oh, so you’re going to play that card!” Frank sputtered. “I’ve worked hard to keep Prosper Hardware going. Just because it goes way back through your family, and not mine!”

  Melinda cringed, then wondered how many times Frank and Miriam had had this argument before. She felt as if she were eavesdropping on a private conversation. Miriam, however, seemed to have forgotten Melinda and her parents were even in the room.

  “Don’t start, Frank! Don’t start whining about that! This isn’t the time to be thinking about yourself, and your pride. And you apologize to Melinda, right now!”

  Frank muttered something and Melinda quickly nodded, just wanting it all to be over.

  “Good.” Miriam reached for the last plate. “Now, we need to have a discussion, not a brawl,” she glared at her husband, “about how we are going to fix this. The right way.”

  “I’m done.” Frank tossed his napkin on the table. “Roger, there’s a Cubs game on in ten minutes. I guess we’ll let the Shrader women figure this out on their own.”

  Roger glanced warily at Diane. She rolled her eyes, then patted him on the hand. Once the men left the room, Miriam dropped into her chair and started to cry.

  “Oh, Miriam.” Diane came around the table and wrapped an arm around her sister’s trembling shoulders. “There’s got to be a way to smooth this over. I hate to see you and Frank fighting like that.”

  “He’s just exasperating. Grumbles all the time, anymore.” Miriam put her hands over her face. “That volunteer work for the city, it perked him up for a while. But then he found that awful map, and he’s not been the same since.”

  “He’s lost his purpose,” Diane said gently. “That store means the world to him. It’s the only reason he’s pushing so hard to make the city pay. He’s terrified.”

  “I’m sorry.” Melinda reached for Miriam’s hand. “I shouldn’t have needled him like that. But he has to understand how people are going to react. He’s not thinking it through.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Miriam wiped her eyes with her napkin. “He’s so busy trying to preserve the store’s legacy that he’s not thinking about its future.” She stared at the Shrader family photos that filled the wall behind the turned-post staircase.

  “Prosper Hardware’s only been in jeopardy twice, as far as I know. Grandpa nearly lost the store during the Depression. Times were hard, and people simply couldn’t pay. He had two clerks then, but refused to let them go. He bartered when he could, to keep the store from going under. It got so bad he couldn’t pay the taxes, and he was terrified to take out a loan.”

  Miriam rubbed the glossy surface of the family’s heirloom table. “And then, Grandpa got a little inheritance from a great uncle somewhere in Illinois. He and Grandma debated what to do: Let the store go up for auction and put the modest inheritance into renting a farm, or pour the money back into Prosper Hardware. Either way, it was a gamble. Thankfully, they made the right choice.”

  Melinda remembered something. “Aunt Miriam, didn’t you tell us about your grandpa running a ‘second business venture’ out of the back of the store?”

  Diane laughed. “That’s true, as far as I know. That was during the twenties, though, Prohibition.”

  “He sure did,” Miriam said. “The economy around here was tough long before the crash of ’29. That side gig made him a little nest egg that he dipped into when the Great Depression came around. But it was the inheritance that saved the store.”

  “The other time was during the farm crisis of the eighties,” Diane said. “So many businesses closed, both in Prosper and other towns all over. There were farm auctions every week, just terrible. We nearly lost the store again.”

  Miriam gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “And now, it’s our turn to keep it going. We’re the fourth generation … and the fifth.” She looked at Melinda. “It’s up to us.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The farmhouse’s calm silence gave no indication of the upheaval to come. It was a chilly, blustery Saturday morning, but at least it wasn’t raining, Melinda consoled herself as she filled the slow cooker with baked beans. And with at least a dozen Schermann relatives coming to clear out the house, she could look forward to a potluck of epic proportions at noon.

  There would be an auction next weekend in Charles City to sell whatever items the family didn’t want. As for the things they coveted, one relative volunteered weeks ago to catalog requests and settle any disputes. Ada had the list, and those sentimental items would be toted to her car before even one box was filled for the sale. And tomorrow, two moving trucks would arrive to cart everything else awa
y.

  Melinda was glad for the extended family’s help. Because it would take every available pair of extra hands and several strong backs to pack up all the items that had found a home at this farm over the past century.

  Every room was fully furnished, so much so that most of Melinda’s belongings were still in a storage unit in Charles City. The upstairs storage room was crammed with mementos and antiques, along with many other items of unknown value. The basement’s corners and shelves were the same. Rows of delicate glassware crowded the dining room’s built-in-buffet, and Horace’s mother’s tablecloths were still neatly folded in some of its drawers. Yellow-paged novels competed for space inside the living room’s bookcases.

  And that was just inside the house. The unused areas of the barn were dusted with clutter, and the machine shed on the west edge of the yard was so packed that Melinda had never been more than a few feet inside its entrance. Would two days, even with all these willing volunteers, hold enough hours to get it all done?

  The rumble of tires on the gravel drive told her the first workers had arrived. Horace carefully unfolded his lanky frame from the front of Ada’s car and turned all of his attention to Hobo, who had dashed through his set of doggie doors before Melinda could even reach for her coat. Kevin parked next to his mom and helped her bring in containers of food and still-flat cardboard boxes.

  “We always knew we’d have to clear out this house,” Kevin told Melinda as she held the porch door open. “I guess I always assumed it would be empty of people when the time came. We’ll do it as quickly as possible, then be out of your hair for good.”

  “You’d better not be! You’re always welcome. Well, you and your Mom and Horace. And Wilbur, if he’s ever up to it. But a house full of Schermanns? That’s when things can get out of control.”

  “There’s the farmer!” Horace took her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “Have you done chores yet?” The longing in his voice made Melinda glad she’d delayed a few tasks for his benefit.

  “Not quite finished, since I’ve been getting ready for all this company. I could really use your help.”

  She nearly burst with pride when her twelve ewes, all healthy and happy, jostled at the barn’s aisle fence to get some attention from their previous owner. Even Annie put her diva attitude aside long enough to bask in Horace’s greetings and nose rubs.

  “They never forget you,” Melinda said with a lump in her throat. “No matter how many months go by.”

  “Well, I remember them.” That was all he said; there would be no rambling confession about how much he missed his sheep or his lifelong home. Melinda knew Horace well, and never expected one. But his emotions were all over his lined face.

  When he turned his attention to the seven lambs, gamboling about behind their mothers, his blue eyes brightened again. “Just look at them! They’re a frisky bunch, aren’t they? Glad to see you got those tails docked weeks ago, that’s the best time to do it.”

  “I put their ear tags in myself.” Melinda gave her best imitation of Horace’s trademark easy shrug. “Wasn’t too bad.”

  In reality, she’d wept quietly in the aisle while Karen and Doc castrated all but one of the male lambs, leaving the largest boy intact, then wrapped rubber bands around the bases of all her babies’ tails. She insisted on helping add the lambs’ ear tags, but still cringed when Doc put the puncher in her hand.

  “It’s really easy,” he had said in a soothing voice. “Keep away from the veins, and you’ll do fine. It goes so quick, they don’t even notice. It’s just like getting your ears pierced.”

  Both of the women glared at him. “Doc,” Karen had finally said, “that hurts like hell.”

  As Melinda and Horace walked slowly back to the house, she kept to his left side to block the brisk northwest wind. “If there’s anything else you want from the house, you just say so. I’m sure Kevin can drop it off for you.”

  Horace waved her concerns away. “We don’t need anything, like to keep things simple. As for the rest of it, I don’t care what they do with all that stuff.”

  Once they reached the kitchen, he eagerly accepted a mug of fresh coffee. Then he shuffled into the living room, where he lowered himself into Melinda’s overstuffed chair and disappeared behind a newspaper. He looked up long enough to acknowledge arriving relatives’ greetings, but kept his distance from the discussion taking place at the dining-room table.

  Hobo made the rounds, then was content to stretch out by Horace’s feet. As the yard filled with strange vehicles, Sunny and Stormy abandoned their usual post on the picnic table and escaped to the safety of the barn. Grace and Hazel were already tucked away in Melinda’s bedroom with everything they needed to ride out this day of upheaval and confusion.

  One important member of the Schermann family was also missing. Wilbur, who suffered from dementia, had stayed behind at Scenic Vista. Horace was rarely away from his older brother’s side, and the nurses had promised to tell Wilbur that Horace went shopping if he asked what was going on. The real reason, Kevin had told Melinda, would be too upsetting if Wilbur could even comprehend it.

  As the family meeting went on in the dining room, Melinda was relieved to remain in the kitchen and keep an eye on the oat-bran muffins that were still in the oven. This was her property now, but the Schermanns had lived on this land for more than a century. They needed this chance to say goodbye, and she was happy to let them have it.

  Someone else was feeling out of place, too. A man in his early forties with sandy-blond hair popped into the kitchen just as Melinda opened the oven door. “Those muffins smell great. Want me to get the first batch on some plates? It’ll give me something to do, other than just be in the way.”

  Jack was Kevin’s boyfriend, and this was his first visit to the farm. Melinda hoped it wouldn’t be his last, as she already enjoyed his sense of humor. That, and how happy he made her friend.

  “There’s a few platters up there.” She pointed to an upper cabinet.

  Jack plated a dozen muffins, then paused to admire the kitchen’s scuffed, cozy charm. “This place is like a time capsule, with all this oak woodwork that’s never been painted. And this wooden table, here in the kitchen? I think I like it better than the fancy one in the dining room. The stories it could tell!”

  Melinda smiled. “It’s staying, thank goodness. I’m attached to it already. I get to keep the appliances, too. Unlike the dining-room table, they’re not worth much.”

  The meeting halted long enough for the treats to be passed around and devoured. Half of the crew volunteered to tackle the machine shed, and some of them paused to top off their coffee or reach for a second muffin before going out the back door. The women who remained gathered up the napkins and paper plates and awaited Ada’s instructions.

  “OK, everyone.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation. “Let’s see how far we can get by lunch.” She turned to one of her nieces. “Jen, how about you take a group down to the basement? Melinda, you can show them what’s what. The rest of us will start on the downstairs bedroom.”

  The root cellar still held a few potatoes and apples, along with several softening pumpkins Melinda was feeding to the sheep and chickens, but nothing to add to the auction’s sale bill. The back room was littered with scraps of wood and discarded tools, and the laundry room’s shelves were jammed with Horace’s expired veterinary supplies and outdated household cleansers.

  One woman kindly offered to bag up anything that could be taken to the county’s recycling center. “I appreciate it,” Melinda told her, “but I think we’ll need to focus on whatever might bring a good price at the auction. I’ll deal with the rest of it later.”

  “You’re right.” Jen put her hands on her hips. “I hate to leave so much for you to clean up. But a hundred years’ worth of stuff in two days, in two trucks? Yeah, we have to prioritize.” She turned back to the group. “Ladies, pretend you’re a bidder with money burning in your pocket. Let’s see what catches your eye.”


  “In there.” One woman pointed through the canning room’s open door. “Those really old jars on the far wall, the ones with the blue-tinted glass? People fight over those things.”

  They fetched a stack of newspapers and carefully packed the vintage containers into several boxes. “You know, they make new stoves that look just like Grandma’s old gas range over there,” Jen said as they worked. “Is Uncle Horace going to sell it?”

  “Kevin says it would be a huge pain to haul it out of this basement.” Melinda added another tray of jars to the canning room’s metal table. “I asked Horace though, just to be sure, and he shrugged and said, ‘comes with the house.’”

  Ada was in the kitchen, studying a sheet of paper, when Melinda came up from the basement with a box of jars.

  “Oooh, is that the list?” Melinda raised an eyebrow as she carefully set her heavy load on the counter. “I just hope you’re able to locate all those items. The last thing you need is anyone feeling like they didn’t get a fair shake.”

  Ada sighed and adjusted her glasses. “I can’t believe my nephew James wants that old toaster. I told him it’s a fire hazard, but he promised it will be for display only. Reminds him of spending the weekend with Mother and Father when he was little, I guess. It’s strange, sometimes, what people get emotionally attached to.” She gave Melinda a knowing look.

  “One dented toaster, coming right up.” Melinda slid over a metal stepstool and reached into a rarely-opened cabinet up under the ceiling.

  “And don’t forget to take home the recipe box,” she whispered. “I’ve got it upstairs in my room.”

  The small cedar box, which went back several generations in the Schermann family, was the one thing Ada wanted from her childhood home. No one else in the family seemed to care, or even know, that it existed, and the friends had conspired to keep it out of the movers’ sight. Ada had promised to copy its contents and share them with Melinda.