Free Dorothy Garlock by More Than Memory Page A

things about Lute, Nelda got up and refilled their coffee cups.
    “Have you known Lute long?” she asked as casually as possible.
    “Four . . . no, maybe five years now. We’ve been here six years and met Lute as soon as he came home from the Navy. He’s sure come a long way since then. He farms the place left to him and his mother, and he bought some adjoining land. That boy works like a son of a gun. I understand he leases another section. He’s got equipment you wouldn’t believe—four-row planters, two-row pickers, and even his own corn sheller. After he shells his own, he shells for others.”
    Rhetta’s large capable hands turned her glass around and around. Nelda sensed the woman’s eyes
glued to her while she talked about Lute. A question about her and Lute was coming, and before Nelda could head it off, it was asked.
    “You’re Nelda, the mother of Lute’s little girl?”
    “Yes.”
    “I thought so. Nelda isn’t a common name around here.”
    After a slightly awkward silence Nelda was compelled to offer a reason for her being here.
    “My grandparents left me this farm. Earl Hutchinson is the executor of the estate, and he leased the land to Lute.” She laughed nervously. “I didn’t know that until I got here.”
    Nelda’s eyes were bright and her fingers tightly gripped her cup. She knew that Rhetta noticed.
    “Yeah, our Lute has done well for himself. He deserves it; he puts in long hours. Gary and I have wondered what drives him. Did he tell you that he owns the sale barn? I suspect that the bank owns a share of it, but not for long. Lute knows farming and cattle like the back of his hand. He’ll make a go of it.”
    “I’m sure,” Nelda mumbled.
    “Well, I’ve got to scoot. I’m on the committee to explore the idea of an indoor community swimming pool; and if I don’t want to be put in charge of raising the money for it, I’d better be there to say no.”
    When Rhetta stood, Nelda was surprised to realize how tall and sturdy her new friend was.
    “Why build a pool when you’re so close to a lovely lake?” Nelda asked.
    “The swimming season here is short for one thing, and there are so many cottages around the lake that it’s beginning to get dirty. Years ago, they tell me, the lake was so clear you could see to the bottom—so the name Clear Lake. It’s not that clear anymore, but we’re working on it.”
    “Stop, stop!” Nelda laughed. “I’m convinced.”
    “Good! I’ll get you onto the committee.”
    “I’m not
that
convinced!” Nelda protested.
    “Will you come to supper some night? It might be hot dogs.”
    “I love hot dogs.”
    “Ahhh . . .” Rhetta sighed with relief. “I thought that coming from the big city you’d expect Chicken Kiev, or something equally impossible for me to make.”
    “Just because I lived in a big city doesn’t mean I have gourmet tastes. I don’t cook much for myself. Alongside one of my usual meals, a tuna sandwich looks like a feast.”
    “That’s comforting to hear. I hate people who think everything worth doing is worth doing well. Thanks for the coffee and the chat.” Rhetta talked nonstop until she folded herself into the small Volkswagen, yelled “’Bye,” and slammed the door.

 
     
    C hapter S ix
    A S THE DAYS PASSED N ELDA BEGAN TO FEEL THAT the brief hint of a reconciliation with Lute had never happened. He was putting up hay, she knew. A tractor pulling a wagon piled high with bales had gone by while she was out with Kelly.
    A sense of belonging had settled over her, and she looked around the farmhouse with pride at what she had accomplished. She had worked all one day cleaning out the garage, carrying some things to the barn and piling junk in a heap to be hauled away. In a far corner on the floor among cardboard boxes, she discovered a fairly new clean blanket, an empty brown paper bag, and a Baby Ruth wrapper. Who had left them there? As she shook the blanket out and put it on the back porch, she