Some Luck by Jane Smiley Read Free Book Online Page B

on the nose. She said, “Rodney Carson, you make sure nothing happens to Jake and I’ll give you a nickel.” A nickel was equal to one egg, if she took it in trade. If she asked for money, she got four cents. But she got five dollars for the butter, and six in trade. Rodney Carson said, “Okay, Mrs. Langdon. Jake is a nice horse.”
    “Yes, he is,” said Rosanna. It was lovely how even the most elementary social intercourse lifted her spirits. Especially this time of year, when the farm was as dirty as could be, with thawing and freezing and damp everywhere. Just to put on your clean clothes and your clean shoes and your nice gloves and your best hat and drive the buggy out onto the road—well! She said, “I’ll be back in a bit, Rodney.”
    By the time she set the crate on the counter, Dan had the sweating block of butter out of the crock and was weighing it on his scales. Ten pounds. He said, “Well, I’m giving some of the other ladies only forty cents a pound, Mrs. Langdon, but I’ll offer you fifty, just because it’s in such demand. Of course, the time of year means it doesn’t quite have the flavor …”
    “I think you’ll find mine does,” said Rosanna, with a discreet toss of her head. “Our cows have very good hay, especially this year.” Then she said, “Do you mind?” And she walked away from the counter, toward the back of the store, as if there were something she’d seen from a distance. But there was nothing—she knew what she needed. In addition to the momentary charade of pretending that she was merely considering his offer, there was the pleasure of gazing at his goods, being seen to gaze at his goods, and exercising nonchalance. That was the most important thing. At least outside the farm, she was not going to fall prey to Walter’s ever-present state of worry-shading-into-alarm. She was going to comport herself as the town women did, greeting everyone from a bit of a platform, whatever it was, even if it was only that she carefully candled her own eggs so that none of them were ever addled, even if it was only that her butter was rich and delicious, even if it was only that she and Jake made such a pretty picture trotting down the road.
    Back at the counter, Dan Crest was waiting on an older woman Rosanna had never seen before, possibly the woman who owned the “coupay.” Rosanna stilled her movements and the rustle of her dress,and listened. Dan was saying, “Yes, ma’am. Wonderful fresh butter, right from the farm this morning. And the best around.” She couldn’t hear what the woman said, but then Dan said, “Seventy-five cents a pound, and I’m proud to say it.”
    “Goodness me!” said the woman.
    “There’s a French family in town—this is all they buy.”
    “Indeed,” said the woman.
    Only then did Dan’s eyebrow cock in her direction.
    “Well, I …” But he made the sale, two pounds, and she also bought some sausages. When Rosanna returned to the counter, he said, “Sixty-two cents, in kind, and not a penny more.”
    All Rosanna said was “I see you have some apples left.”
    “Oh,” said Dan Crest, “those are some russets from over to the east. You know the Schmidts over there?”
    Rosanna shook her head.
    “He keeps them in a cellar dug in not far from the river. I would have thought the damp would rot them myself, but they’re as crisp as they can be.” And so it began. There were so many things Rosanna could have been besides a farm wife, she thought. But it was not a source of regret—it was a source of pride.
    FRANK HAD a special place, and what he did was, when Papa was outside and Joey was sleeping and Mama was in the kitchen, Frank climbed the stairs and went into Papa and Mama’s room, and he lifted the corner of the blue-and-green quilt, and he lay down on his back and slid under there. The floor was slick against his back, and he got himself all the way to the far corner, right by the wall, and he put his hands behind his head and