Free Voices Carry by Mariah Stewart

you seen her since the wedding?”
    “June before last. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Now, what time would you like to go to the farm?” Genna changed the subject.
    “We can go after breakfast, if you like.”
    “Great. And when we get back, maybe we can take a swim, if the clouds lift.”
    “I should make a list,” Patsy muttered to herself and took a small notepad out of a nearby drawer. With the attached pencil, she began to jot down several items she wished to purchase at the farm, humming “She’s Got You,” being in the mood for a little Patsy Cline at the moment.
    An hour later, Genna was slowly driving up the long lane that led from Tolliver Road to the Frick farmhouse and trying to remember just how long it had been since she’d made that drive. Years, she thought as she slowed even more, anticipating the appearance of the rambling old house with its many additions that lay just beyond the walnut trees, and tried to recall the layout of the farm. With the windows rolled down and the air conditioning turned off, the interior of Genna’s car was beginning to fill with dust kicked up from the dry road.
    “I always forget how quiet it is back here,” Genna noted.
    “Even though there’s so much activity going on right now, there’s always that element of deep quietude. The men are working in the fields and tending to the animals and the women are either doing laundry or putting up some of the crops, but you hardly hear any of it. No machines, that’s why.”
    “It’s so hard to believe that people still live like this.” Genna stopped the car under a tree and sat with the engine at idle for a moment. “No real modern conveniences. I guess that’s why they hold such a fascination for so many of us ‘English.’”
    The front door opened, and a small girl poked her head out and disappeared. Seconds later, the door opened again and this time an elderly woman, who actuallylooked years younger than she really was, stepped out and waved.
    “Miss Wheeler, you’re welcome, as always!” The woman was drying her hands on a once-white apron as she walked toward her two visitors. “And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
    “Now, Mrs. Frick.” Patsy smiled broadly. “You know my Genna.”
    “Genna?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest and appeared to inspect Genna carefully. “So old you look.”
    “So old, I am,” Genna laughed. “How are you, Mrs. Frick?”
    “Good,” the old woman nodded pleasantly. “I’d be doing good.”
    “We’re glad for that,” Patsy told her. “And we’ll be gladder still if you have some eggs left today.”
    “Well, now, the boys left for the market in Erie early, but there may be a few eggs still in the henhouse.” Mrs. Frick turned toward the house and called, “Rebecca, take a basket down to the henhouse and see if there are any eggs that were missed this morning.”
    A young girl of about seven appeared in the doorway.
    “Get a basket, girl, and go along.”
    The girl closed the door behind her, presumably to return once the basket was located.
    “What else might I do for you this morning?” Mrs. Frick asked.
    “Well, one of Genna’s friends recently had a baby, and she thought perhaps one of your quilts might do nicely for a gift,” Patsy told her.
    “A boy or a girl, is it?”
    “A boy,” Genna told her, wishing she could think of some pretext that would give her access to another part of the farm so she could take a look around.
    “I do have some made, you’d be welcome to look. I’ll bring them out for you to see. The light’s better out here, if you can wait.”
    Genna nodded.
    “We’re in no hurry.”
    The child—Rebecca—emerged from the house with a small basket over her arm.
    “Rebecca, could I give you a hand?” Genna asked on impulse.
    Rebecca looked from Genna to Granny Frick—most likely the girl’s great-grandmother—as if she did not understand the question.
    “I mean, could I go with you