Free Down the Dirt Road by Carolyn LaRoche

so sorry.  I will do everything I can to get your packet to the top of the pile, OK?”   Susie patted her arm in a grandmotherly sort of way.  Jennie did her best to look as sad and forlorn as possible.  It was a real shame she would never have the chance to strike out on her own.  She would probably have done very well as an actress.
        “Thank you kindly, Ma’am.  I would sure appreciate that.  Momma would too, I know.  She just couldn’t bear to lose Daddy’s land.”
         If there had been an award for saddest farmer’s daughter, Jennie would have won it just then. The heavy drawl she placed on the words emphasized her sadness. There was no mistaking the deep pity in Ms. Susie’s expression as she patted Jennie on the arm once again and sent her on her way.
        
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    8.
        Two days later the phone rang. 
        The time passed quickly with all the things that needed doing around the far m; Jennie barely noticed that Trisha and all her friends and classmates would return to celebrate their senior year on the following Tuesday.  It was already the Friday before Labor Day when the call came from the paper factory.
        “Hello?”  Jennie answered in a breathless rush, wiping the garden soil from her hands onto her cut-off jeans.
        “May I speak to Jennie Marshall?”  The voice on the other end of the line was vaguely familiar.
       “Speaking.  How can I help you.?”
        “This is Hilda Worth at Econoline Papers.  I am calling in reference to your employment application.  Are you available to interview at nine on Tuesday morning?”
        A job!  They were calling her about a job.  Ms. Susie in human resources had come through for her after all.          
         “I definitely can.  Should I bring anything with me?”
        “Just your resume and a copy of your birth certificate . Oh, and your social security card.  You will be meeting with Jack Smithson and myself.  Ask for Hilda Worth at the front desk.”
         “I will. T hank you Ms. Worth, for calling.  I am looking forward to meeting with you.”
         “I am too, young lady.  I am very interested to meet the daughter of John Marshall.  If you are half the person your father was he will have left quite a legacy behind.”
         Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of her father’s name, followed by the in evitable moistening of her eyes but she cleared her throat and answered with determination.     
        “I hope that I can live up to your expectations, Ms. Worth.”
         The older woman clucked into the phone quietly.  A sort of well, we will soon see, won’t we?
         “We will see you on Tuesday morning at nine sharp.”  With a click the line went dead.  Jennie slowly replaced the handset onto the receiver.  They were one of the last families on earth to still have a wall phone with that ear splitting shrill ring of the eighties.   Her father was revered by more people than she ever could have guessed.  Could she ever fill his shoes?  Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea trying to get into his former place of employment.  With expectations so high, was she simply setting herself up for disappointment?
        No matter, she needed a job and they were willing to consider hiring her.  So what if it was only because she was John Marshall’s daughter?
       From somewhere in the house, she heard a loud crash.  Following the sound to the front room where Momma sometimes sat to read in front of the large windows that let in the natural light of the sun, she found her mother kneeling on the floor in front of a pile of soil and broken pottery.
       “Momma!  What happened?”  Dropping to her knees, she could see her mother was crying.  Large tears ran down her face and fell from the end of her chin in to the dark potting soil of her favorite