“More than just to eat Mavis’s chicken dinner, you mean.”
You understand the old son of a gun, that old wheat farmer, wasn’t going to help me any. He was enjoying himself; it was better than a Sunday afternoon nap. Usually he was the sober type, steady and humorless as a corner fence post, but now with a straight face he was playing me like a calf.
“That,” I said. “And also to see what you thought of Mavis and me getting married.”
“Tell the truth,” he said, “I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Mavis has,” I said.
“Has she now?”
“Yes. Considerable.”
“And what does she think about it?”
“She’s in favor of it.”
“But you ain’t said nothing about yourself yet. Most times I believe it takes two to get married.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I said.
“Well, now,” he said, looking at me. “Well, now. She’s in favor and you say you don’t mind. I guess that’ll have to do, won’t it?”
He kept looking at me. He had the usual white forehead and burnt cheeks and neck that all farmers have, but I could see where Mavis got her eyes. Finally he bent down over his knees and began to untie the laces in his town shoes.
“I don’t like these tie-up shoes,” he said. “Always make my feet hurt. The missus says that’s so I’ll keep awake in church. Most times she’s right too.”
He didn’t take his shoes off—I was still company as yet—but merely loosened the laces good, then he sat up straight again and in his own time blew his nose thoroughly, one nostril then the other, loud, and put the handkerchief back in his hip pocket.
“I don’t know whether you know it, Sanders,” he said, “but I was well acquainted with your father. I used to see him at farm sales. He was a good man, your father was. I don’t know your mother.”
“No,” I said. “She doesn’t go to farm sales.”
“I suppose not,” he said. “Well, now. About this marriage business—it sounds like Mavis has her mind all made up.”
I nodded.
“She’s like that. So I don’t see where it would do me much good to object even if I wanted to. Can you?”
“No.”
“I thought as much. Well, it’s nice having girls in the house. I believe I’ll miss that.”
That was all he said. We talked about wheat prices and farm futures afterwards. Then the women came into the parlor with us, and after a while Mavis and I excused ourselves and went outside to walk along the windbreak planted westerly towards a slight hill.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?” I said.
“What’d he say?”
“Weren’t you listening from the kitchen?”
“Yes, but I want you to tell me.”
“Well. He said I was a damn fool to want to marry any daughter of his. You’re too hardhearted, he said. Then he asked me if I had any intentions to speak of.”
“He did not.”
“Sure he did. ‘What are your intentions?’ he said. Go and ask him.”
“All right then, what did you say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say a word. I told him I didn’t have any intentions. Other than throwing you down in bed every chance I get.”
“You’ve already done that.”
“I plan to do it again. Right now.”
“Don’t be silly. They can still see us from the house.”
“Hell,” I said. “We’re as good as married already, aren’t we?”