Or maybe they knew without knowing that she wasn’t shopping for a man.
She stayed on the farm for more than another year, all by herself. Didn’t seem right, even when you knew she was forty or whatever. A new Watkins man was going around, and when she answered the door to him, he asked if her mother was home. She did her own milking, dunged out her barn, gardened, fed her cows and chickens—stuff like that. Sold her team to Pa, though, and her hogs, and Pa agreed we’d farm her land for her on shares. She helped with things like shocking corn and oats, the way she’d always done. Even slim as she was, she was strong, and no one ever knew her to get sick, not even a cold.
At first Frank and I took turns going over and doing whatever heavy work there was to do; it was less than forty rod from our place to hers. But after a little, it seemed like it fell to me to do most of it, which I didn’t mind. It was all family. We kept expecting her to get tired of being alone like that. Figured she’d either marry or go someplace she had blood kin. Evansville, probably.
Finally, after more than a year, she asked Pa if he’d like to buy her place. If the terms weren’t too hard, he said, so they sat down together and worked out an agreement. That was in February; she figured to leave in April. And suddenly the whole family realized how much we’d miss her—Ma, Pa, all of us.
Right after that, I was over there with the spreader, getting her manure spread before plowing. I was pitching on a load when she came out to the barn and told me she was driving into town. (Will’d bought a Model A truck.) She said if I wanted to take a break, there was half a peach pie in the pantry; eat all I wanted of it. Then she left.
That sounded all right to me. Matter of fact, I got so excited, I couldn’t hardly hold myself till she drove off. And it wasn’t the pie I was excited about, it was the house! I didn’t even finish loading the spreader, just put the pitchfork aside and went out with half a load. Soon as I got back with the empty spreader, I went to the house, left my barn boots on her porch, and went in. I didn’t know what had got into me, but I was practically shaking.
I’d lived just down the road from it all my life, but never seen much of the inside; I’d hardly gotten farther than the kitchen. Our house was a lot bigger, so all the family get-togethers were held either there or at Max and Julie’s over on the Maple Hill Road, turn and turn about. Now, alone inside, I asked myself why in the world I was so shaky-excited about a chance to snoop around Varia’s house. I walked all through it, just walked through it looking around, and I realized that what I was looking for was pictures: family photos. Not of the Macurdy family, but hers! Seemed to me there ought to be some, and I wanted to see what they looked like. Wanted to see so bad, my chest felt all tight.
I didn’t find any on the walls, so I started looking through dresser drawers and closet shelves for albums, or maybe boxes that might have pictures in them. Not mussing anything up; what I surely didn’t want was for Varia to know. And when I didn’t find anything downstairs, I went up in the attic.
The first thing my eyes hit on up there was a chest. Unlocked. I opened it, and right on top was this big brown envelope that I knew had to have pictures in it. I went over by the window with it, and took out what was inside.
On top was what looked like a letter, a letter I couldn’t have read if I’d stood there all week. Could have been Chinese for all of me. Under it was pictures, snapshots. And if I hadn’t thought before that Varia was peculiar, the pictures would have done it for me.