Free The Unplowed Sky by Jeanne Williams

sparkling life in the monotone of his tanned skin and brown hair.
    â€œI ain’t a Wobbly,” Rusty said in his deliberate manner. “But I don’t hold with a man havin’ it all his own way because he’s rich.”
    â€œFair is fair,” Henry Lowen agreed. He spoke with a German accent. “Always it is the best way. The one threshed first one year in a neighborhood comes last the next year.”
    Jim Wyatt and Baldy Tennant nodded. Pat O’Malley frowned. “I’m saving up for a jalopy. I won’t get it this year if we pass up crops like Raford’s.” He turned to Rich Mondell. “You teach eek—economics, professor. Is it good business to fall out with your biggest customer?”
    â€œI think Garth’s right,” Rich said gently. “And evidently the rest of the crew does, too, except for maybe Cotton.”
    Cotton shrugged. “I guess we have voted. I’ll go along with the crowd.”
    â€œNot that it matters,” said Rory, “but for the record, I call it damn foolishness to lose that much money over an agreement that’s not in writing and not enforceable.” He flashed a defiant stare at his brother.
    Garth didn’t wince visibly, yet Hallie got the distinct impression that he had. After a long, baffled look at Rory, he said slowly, “Anyone who’s not satisfied with how I do business is welcome to draw their share soon as we’re finished here. The day my word’s not as good as some contract a lawyer draws up and a court enforces is the day I quit making agreements.”
    Pat’s thin young face was sullen. “I never made no promises.”
    â€œYou didn’t,” Garth agreed. “I sure don’t need a hand who thinks he can find a better job.”
    â€œI may just try.” Pat turned to Rory, but the young engineer avoided his eyes.
    Garth looked wearier than even a day’s threshing should have made him. “If that’s what you decide, lad, I’ll give you your money and wish you luck as soon as we’re through here.”
    An uncomfortable silence fell. Rich Mondell broke it by saying, “I wonder if Coolidge will go ahead and run in the fall election. He must be pretty broken up over losing his son.”
    â€œThat was a shame,” Hallie said. “The boy was only sixteen.” Just a few days before Felicity left Jackie with her, the papers and radio had been full of the sad news that the president’s son had cut his foot while playing tennis. Blood poisoning had set in, and doctors could do nothing.
    â€œOh, I expect Coolidge will run,” Buford said. “After all, he just stepped in when Harding died last August. I bet he’ll want to prove he can be elected.”
    â€œSeems like lots of the high and mighty are dyin’ pretty close together,” Cotton mused. “That Roosian, Lenin, that ran Russia after they killed their Czar—he died in January this year, and Woodrow Wilson passed on in the next month.”
    â€œCongress the same as killed Wilson when they wouldn’t let the United States join the League of Nations,” Buford said.
    â€œAw, that’s a bunch of craziness!” Cotton blurted. “We ought to stay out of foreigners’ affairs and make sure they stay out of ours!”
    â€œThat won’t work, Cotton,” Rich Mondell said. “Planes can fly around the world now. News flashes by radio and telegraph. We need foreign markets, and they need us. Like it or not, there’s no going back to the way things used to be.”
    Cotton’s heavy lips thinned. “Well, we’d better get rid of the foreigners that’ve dug into us like maggots, or this country is bound straight for hell!”
    â€œI’m foreign born, Cotton,” Garth said. “And so were your ancestors back along the line somewhere—unless you’re an Indian.”
    â€œIndian!” Cotton