How much is that? I don’t know what a section is.
There would be six hundred forty acres to a section. It’s mostly grass pasture, what we have. We put up a lot of brome hay every summer but we don’t do any real farming. Well, I keep saying we. I mean me now. I haven’t figured out what I’ll do about haying next summer.
How will you manage?
I’ll think of something. Hire somebody I expect.
It must be terribly hard without your brother here anymore.
It’s not the same. It’s not anything like it. Harold and me, we was together all our lives.
You just have to go on, don’t you.
He looked at her. People always say that, he said. I say as much myself. I don’t know what it means, though. He looked out the window behind her where the night had fallen. The yardlight had come on and there were long shadows in the yard.
She sat watching him. I was surprised to see you come into the tavern the other night, she said.
No, it ain’t like me, he said. I was surprised to be there myself.
Do you think you might come in again?
I imagine it’s possible.
I hope you do.
She sat with one foot folded up under her in his big recliner chair. Her red sweater looked very bright against her dark hair.
And I want to thank you again for inviting me to dinner today, she said.
Well, yes, ma’am. Like I say, Victoria is the one that did all that.
But you’re the one who asked me. I’ve lived in this area long enough to know quite a few people, but I don’t think I’ve ever been invited into one of these old ranch houses before.
Our grandfather homesteaded this place. Him and our grandmother. They come out in eighty-three from Ohio. But where do you come from yourself, can I ask you that?
From Cedar Rapids.
Iowa.
Yes. I was ready for a change.
Don’t they have good hospitals back there?
Oh, sure. Of course they do. But my life kind of fell apart, so I thought I’d come out here. I thought I’d start over, try out life in the mountains. But I only got this far and kind of broke down. I think I may go on to Denver yet, though.
When do you reckon on doing that?
I don’t know. I guess it depends. I’ve only been here a year.
Sometimes a year can be a long time, Raymond said.
Sometimes it can be too long, she said.
WHEN LINDA MAY WAS GETTING READY TO LEAVE, VICTORIA came out from the bedroom to say good night. They stood in the kitchen and Raymond took down Linda May’s coat and held it as she put it on, then he walked her out through the wire gate to her car. Outside in the cold air everything seemed brittle and the ground was frozen down as hard as iron.
Thank you again, she said. You make sure you come into town one of these days.
Be careful out there on that road, he said.
She got into her convertible and turned the key, and the engine turned over but wouldn’t catch. When she tried again it only whined and clicked. She rolled the window down. It’s not going to start, she said.
Sounds like it’s your battery. Is it a old one?
I don’t know. The battery was in it when I bought the car a year ago.
I better give you a push. Let me get my coat.
He went back into the house and pulled his coat and hat from the pegs in the kitchen. Victoria was putting the clean dishes up in the high cupboards. What’s wrong? she said.
I need to give her a push.
You better stay warm out there.
He walked back out past the Ford, where Linda May was still sitting behind the wheel, and crossed the rutted gravel to the garage and climbed into his pickup. He let it run for a minute, then pulled it behind her car and got out to see how the two bumpers would meet. When he walked up to the side of the car and opened the door, she was shivering and hugging herself.
Are you all right? he said.
It’s really cold.
You want to go back in the house?
No. Let’s go ahead.
You know what to do, don’t you?
Pop the clutch once we get going, she said.