Seeds of Sin: ''As You Sow, so Shall You Reap''

By Yvonne A. Hendrickson

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Seeds of Sin produce bad fruit filled with secrets. Secrets have a way of finding their way to the surface. Post World War II finds a farming family in the Yakima Valley of Washington State becoming aware secrets cannot be held in check. Walter Mason has never-ending problems of weather, Mexican migrant workers, the impending death of his wife, and after 18 years, long held secrets have risen to the surface. Secrets he thought would always be just that, secrets. Like ripples of a wheat field in the wind, one secret opens another. Secrets of adultery and adoption, lead to suicide, murder and more. The ripple spreads wide, becoming a wave that rocks residents of the peaceful farming valley Eat the apple that falls in your gardendo not try to learn where it came from and you will be content. (In the brief time this book has been available, readers are already asking for the sequel. It has proven to be a "page turner" with readers interested in more stories about the characters.Yvonne has started on the sequel.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 29, 2005
• ISBN: 9781465333711

Yvonne A. Hendrickson

Born and raised in historical town of Deadwood, in the Black Hills of SD. Yvonne’s first years of married life were in Lewiston, ID, then to WA State where she and husband Ken raised two boys and still reside. Yvonne’s urge to write had many false starts, never finding the time to become serious with writing until age 63 . The interest in migrant workers plight and knowledge gained from farming friends, combine in her first novel, a fiction interspersed with truth, creating intrigue and suspense. Other novels are in the works, with promise of more to follow.

Book preview

28769-HEND-layout.pdf    Chapter I

Introduction to the Masons—A Farm Family

The late summer day is oppressively hot and humid. Walter pulls the big bandanna from his back pocket, taking another swipe at sweat beading on his forehead and running down his face. It is most likely the hottest day of the summer. He should be used to the heat. He has endured many similar days during the years he has lived and worked on this land. Why should today be any different?

Walter Mason rests in shade provided by the porch he built. The porch stretches around the entire house, offering shade and a view, no matter the spot you pick to sit. The impressive house sits on a hill overlooking the orchard, the fields, and the barn. Beyond the barn sits Granddad’s old house. Walter was born and grew to manhood in the old house. Walter now permits the foreman and his family to live in that house. Enjoying a long drink from his glass of bourbon and ice water, Walter’s gaze shifts to the lower fields. His eyes survey the laboring Mexican migrant workers.

As a rule, Walter, a tireless worker, never felt the need for a break. Today would be the exception. As the summer grew longer, so did the pressures of everyday life. He could not seem to clear his mind of troubling thoughts. They were with him constantly. He was complaining more, letting the smallest distraction rile him. In short, Walter knew he was not presenting himself in the manner people were accustomed to, and he did not like the person he was becoming. Today he felt the need to sit in the shade a bit, have a cool drink, and take stock of all that was taking place in his life. He needed to take this time to sort it all out, put things in their proper order. He could feel the eyes of his foreman and the workers following his departure in the middle of the afternoon. He knew they were wondering what was wrong, why he was leaving work early. He was past the point of explaining to anyone, about anything. Walter loves the farm and enjoys working hard on it. The last two generations of his family had taught him to love it. He had learned to care for the earth and to respect the energy it held. Walter knew if treated right, it would produce wonderful fruit and vegetable bounty that never ceased to amaze him. Every harvest gave him the feeling of accomplishment that made all the work worthwhile. Nothing else in life could give him that same feeling. He felt as if he and the earth were in a pact. If he did right by it, it would do the same for him. He was born to grow things. Walter knew that. It was his calling, as it had been his pa’s, and his granddad’s. They had loved farming and so did he.

Walter had labored hard for the farm to become what it was today. The years of labor showed in his face; sun and wind had chiseled deep lines and made the skin both rough and tough. His hands were calloused. His body, however, was almost as lean as it had been at twenty. Walter had always been handsome and desirable to women, and at fifty, that had not changed. His hair was still thick and had slowly changed from blond to beautiful steel gray.

Walter had more than one chance to cheat on Vera, if he had wanted to, but there was never the thought of anyone but Vera for him. He had seen some rough years farming, but more good than bad. With the advancement of better equipment and pesticides, the farm was in the best shape it had ever been—no worries there. Yes, he reiterated to himself, I love this farm. Next to Vera, it was the most important thing in his life. The memories alone would keep him from ever leaving. He was born here and he would die here. That was as certain as anything he knew in this life.

He and Vera had spent all their married life on the farm. Vera had taken on the life of a farmer’s wife as if it had been her calling, and she had never even been on a farm before. They had wanted children. They just did not seem to come. Vera had been pregnant several times but had always miscarried. Their old family doctor had told them they should quit trying. They had resigned themselves to never having the child they wanted so much, but fate seemed to have something in store for them. A friend, Wayne Sullivan, told them about a local teenager who had become pregnant and had no plans for marriage. Her folks were sending her over to Lewiston to have the baby and put it up for adoption, and they had asked for his help. Being a lawyer, Wayne could arrange a private adoption. Wayne’s wife had told him about Walter and Vera’s problems in conceiving. Wayne suggested they might want to adopt and immediately thought about them as prospective parents for the baby. Wayne knew the girl personally; he said she came from good stock. She had often babysat his own children, and that is why the parents had asked him to become involved. The girl would never know who adopted her baby. Vera thought it a perfect plan. She was ready to do it that very day. Wayne said it would be a few months yet before the baby was born. He would let us know when it happened, and then we would drive over to Lewiston, Idaho, to sign the papers and pick up the baby. God, was Vera happy! Other than on the day she got that baby in her arms, Walter had never seen her so happy. That was over eighteen years ago. How could the time pass so quickly? Eighteen years spent in such a brief time!

Walter recalled how happy he was the baby was a boy—the son he thought he would never have. To this day, they had not told Don of the adoption and that he was not their flesh and blood. The secret was safe. He knew that. They did not need to worry Don would ever find out. The first few years, it had been a concern to them, but after eighteen years—no worries there. The girl did not know who had adopted her baby. She continues to live in town to this very day. They had always known who she was. Walter could never pass her in the street without it causing him to reflect on the entire situation. What would she do if she ever found out we have her son? Walter mumbled aloud. She must wonder where he is. How could she not help but wonder? The girl married and had other children. It gave Walter comfort to know she was not childless, as they would have been without her. It was something Vera would say was meant to be. Yes, Walter thought to himself, the only one who knew besides Vera and me was Wayne Sullivan, and he had no reason to ever tell anyone. For that matter, Walter was never quite sure if the adoption was completely legal, going from Washington to Idaho to do it, and Wayne being a lawyer in Washington. He was quite sure Wayne would keep the secret. No worry there!

Walter knew he could not have loved Don more if he were his own blood. He could easily picture him years ago, chunky little boy with the brown curls and blue eyes. Neither Vera nor Walter had curly brown hair, and seeing it on Don used to raise people’s eyebrows. Vera always explained it as coming from her grandmother, and that seemed to satisfy most people. Walter had to smile when he remembered Don taking his first steps and how hard it was, once potty trained, to get him to go to the outhouse. He was always afraid of it. He would not go alone until he was almost ten years old. Don had grown accustomed to stepping behind a bush, where no one would see him, and to this day could still be caught doing that. The new house included indoor plumbing, and Don always said his favorite thing about the new house was no more outhouse!

Don learned to ride a pony and was a good rider. It was the one thing he did enjoy living on the farm. He loved to get on a horse and ride as fast as he could make the horse go. Vera held her breath every time he took off on one of his gallops, afraid some misfortune would befall him. I am sure she always said a silent prayer. Maybe that is what kept him from any serious accidents.

Donnie got a bicycle one Christmas. Vera had saved all year to make sure he would have a good Christmas. Vera always made sure Donnie had a good Christmas, but that year was about the hardest year we had experienced on the farm, and money was short. Donnie wanted his bicycle though, and he got it. Like everything else he thought he could not live without, once he got it, it was not that important. He would still rather get on a horse and gallop across the field to his friend’s farm than ride the bicycle down the road. Looking back, Walter surmised maybe they should have been stricter with Don, made him work more around the farm and learn more responsibility.

Don was Vera’s pride and joy, and Walter loved Vera. Consequently, Walter usually gave in to Vera’s way of handling any situation, and situations there were. That boy was always into some kind of mischief. He could be a real livewire sometimes. Don had Vera wound around his little finger. He knew how to get what he wanted and how to get away with things he should not.

Maybe if we’d had more children, she wouldn’t have always given in so easily, Walter reasons.

Over the years, Walter had been reconciling himself to the fact that Don would probably not be taking over for him. From the beginning, he could see Don did not like working on the farm. He did not have the same feel for the land or for growing things, as Walter did… a feeling that Walter could never remember not having. Walter had tried his best to instill in Don the same love he had for the farm. The interest was never there on Don’s part. He hated every chore he was asked to do. As he grew, he would often remark how happy he would be when he did not live on a farm. No, Don would not stay on the farm. Walter knew that, and it was a worry to him. Here he is going off to college soon and no idea whatsoever what he wants to do with his future, how he will make a living for himself. Walter was beginning to feel in some ways he had not done right by Don. Had he failed him? What might I have done that would have made Don think more like me? All the years I tried to impress my beliefs and way of life on him. When he took a good long look at it, somewhere along the way, he had failed. It had not panned out at all as envisioned. He could not help but wonder, as he had so often done before, who was the person who made Margaret Davis pregnant all those years ago. Was Don more like him? What had his real father done with his life? Walter had considered it was probably Margaret’s high school boyfriend. He sometimes searched the faces of the young men at the Grange meetings, the ones about Margaret’s age, to see if Don resembled any of them. Did his real father still live in this area? This was something Walter would never know. Wayne had told them he had no idea who Don’s father was. Margaret had never divulged that to anyone. Walter was enjoying his bourbon and ice water and continued his reminiscing. He had always liked the house his granddad had built, and it would have pleased him to live in it the rest of his life. Vera wanted a new house, modern with bigger rooms, bigger windows, and lower ceilings. A house that would be hers. A house no one else had ever lived in. Walter could never say no to Vera. When they could afford to build it, Walter drew up the plans and built it himself. After a day in the field, he would put a few hours in every night. A few migrant workers, anxious to make extra money, stayed on after the harvest. Their help enabled Walter to have it finished by Christmas. The first Christmas in their own house was wonderful. As bad as World War II was for the world, farmers had prosperous years because of it. Walter felt guilty he had been able to do so well… during such a terrible time for so many people. Because of those good years, he was able to build that dream house for Vera.

Walter thought about the war, how it had changed their lives. He thought about his younger brother Tom, who had served his country and died in that war. The image of his mother’s face while reading the telegram, the one that informed them Tom was missing in action, was still with him and always would be. Vera, Donnie, and he were still living in his granddad’s house with his mother and father. His mother cried every day for weeks. Walter believed she probably cried every day for the rest of her life. She just didn’t allow others to see her cry. Through all their tears and heartache, his folks had never once blamed the country for Tom’s death. By the time the second telegram came, they were able to handle it better. Mother said they did not need to send her a telegram, she could feel he was gone and never coming home. They put a gold star in their window for Tom. It remained there until after Walter’s mother died. They were so proud of Tom. He had done right by his country.

The folks were never the same after Tom’s death. It seemed to take the joy of life right out of them. The only thing that could make his mother smile those days was Donnie. She loved that boy dearly. She called him our miracle boy, the grandson she believed she would never have. His mother had called Tom the same thing when he was born. Tom had come along when Walter’s folks believed they would not have more children, fifteen years after Walter.

Walter had never been able to shake the guilt he had carried since Tom’s death. He knew the war effort needed farmers, and he had probably been too old to enter the service. Vera often reminded him that very thing when he would get to digressing about Tom’s death, but it never helped much. Tom had worked hard on the farm, just as he had. Maybe not as many years at it, but all the years he did had been good years. Tom had the same feel for farming as he did, and Tom was not afraid of work. Walter felt Tom deserved to be alive to share the joy of living and working on the farm right beside him. Fifteen years older than Tom, Walter had looked over him and taught him so much. It was great having a little brother look up to you. Walter knew he was Tom’s idol, and he had always done his best to live up to that image for Tom. He had loved that boy so much. Tom would never leave the farm, as he knew Don was going to do. He could have counted on Tom to be there, when he, Walter, was dead and gone. What would happen to the farm when he was dead? Tom had not married, no children from him. No other relative to take over.

He had not concerned himself with such thoughts until recently. He was only fifty; there had not been any reason before now to think that far ahead. Walter had expected he would have plenty of time to make plans. However, even the best plans could go wrong. Who would have thought fate would deal them the hand it had. Out of nowhere, Vera gets terribly sick. Who would expect at forty-nine she would come down with cancer and be on the way out with what remained of her life. What would he do without her?

What if he became ill? For God’s sake, who would run the farm? Don would no doubt sell it. Walter could not bear to think of someone he did not know running his farm. He did not want to think about it anymore. He had to get a grip on himself. He was dwelling on the past too much. All these worries about the future, they would work out. They always did. Maybe Don would even change his mind about farming once he got out in the world and saw how rough life off the farm could be. Maybe he would be glad to come home again. Walter had known other farm boys who had wanted no part of farming, but once they got out there on their own, they were glad to be able to run back to the security of the folks’ farm. Yes, there was a good chance Don would feel that way someday. That thought was comforting to him. Walter realized he was drinking a little more than he was used to, probably the reason for all this worrying and meandering of thoughts. Walter never could put up with a man that could not hold his liquor, and the sight of a drunken woman was something downright disgusting. Just a few months ago, he would never have come in from the field to have a break in the afternoon, let alone have a hard liquor drink. He was going to have to cut down and change his ways. He never used to drink more than a beer on a hot evening.

What had gotten hold of him anyway? He questioned if he was getting old, or was he just starting to let things get the best of him? As Walter pondered these thoughts, he surmised perhaps he was looking at the past so he would not have to look into the future. He knew what the future held, and he did not want to accept it. Walter also knew he would not have a choice in the matter. It was certain it would hit him head-on someday, sooner than he wanted, much sooner. He could only hope he would be ready for it.

Walter’s glass was empty and the ice melted. He decided he best get back to the fields and check on the workers. They were used to heat, but this was a scorcher of all scorchers today. He had seen pregnant women and some of the old ones suffer sunstroke before. He had seen fainting in the fields. He wished he could keep the old people and the pregnant women out of the fields, along with the sick, but he did not have the heart to deny them the work. It required all members of a family to make any kind of living at all, and they barely survived as it was. Being sick or young did not keep you at the migrant’s camp. From the youngest to the oldest they came, mothers bringing the children along with them. Children began picking early. Sometimes it was more play than work, but after a few years, they learned how necessary it was for them to be serious about the work. Walter had once seen playing children accidentally kick over several flats, spilling them. Mexican mothers were usually mild tempered, and he seldom saw them cry. On this day, the mother had completely lost her composure, first screaming at her children and then sobbing at the hopelessness of it all. Walter was full of empathy for her. He knew the little bit of money those picked flats would bring meant a lot to her. Come count time, Walter made sure he was there, upped her count by two. The smile on her face made the day for him. Walter had to be careful the story did not get around. He could not have anyone thinking he was soft. Walter needed these people. His farm depended on their labor. He would not make it without people who were willing to work for low wages, and it was another guilt borne by Walter. He was one of the few growers who wanted to make it easier for them. If he tried to pay a few cents more or provide better living conditions, he met with the wrath of his fellow grange members. For the most part, they thought he was too easy and did not want him setting any precedents that they might have to follow.

Walter knew most of the camps for migrant workers were terrible. Many lived in tents or slept in their cars. Some camps did not have running water. His chickens lived in better coops than some shacks for the workers. During the summer, the weather cooperated, but early spring could still bring freezing temperatures. As a rule, they did not have warm clothing. Many would work their way up from Texas and California, where there was no need for warmer clothing. After the war, some things had started to get better. A few Grangers were beginning to listen to him. For most of them, however, money in their pockets was the biggest concern. Walter had tried to do what he could. He made sure his camp had running water. He had started to build small cabins for them, with a small amount of furniture such as table and chairs and cots. They still had to cook over the open campfire and use outhouses, but he was planning to try to get a shower building erected this winter. It would be one side for the men and one side for women and children, with an inside toilet on each side. His workers called him El Patron, which was an honor in their minds. He was one of the growers who would leave flats or crates of fruit and vegetables in the field for the workers’ use. Walter knew the wages they earned could not provide enough food for them, especially those families with fewer members to help pick. Yes, in his own way, he did try to help them. He would like to do more, but he knew he had to make the improvements slowly or he would be moving too fast for the satisfaction of the other Grange members. Today, he would go tell them to quit early if they wanted. It was unusually hot, which would probably set a record. Walter knew, however, that none of them would quit, maybe just slow down a little. He would make sure they had plenty of water cans around and were drinking enough water.

Migrant workers were not paid by the hour but by the box or flat. That is the way it had always been. They worked fast and long hours. Walter had always admired the Mexican people for their endurance. Some of the local people looked down on them. Walter read about their heritage and knew their suffering. They were mostly good people, proud people. They always seemed to get the short end of the stick. They were clean people. A man’s proud possession was a white shirt that he could wear to El Pueblo when they went to buy their supplies. It was his hope to give them hot water to wash those shirts in, maybe even a washing machine. He had plans he would fulfill someday. It hurt him to see those men sleep in their cars, if they were lucky enough to own one. Most slept on the ground. He knew how tired those bodies had to be at night. He worked right alongside them. That is what had kept him so lean all these years, all that hard work. He never regretted a day of it. He would go to the orchard and field and see how everyone was holding up in this heat. First he would go in and let Vera know he was going back out. Walter hated looking at Vera these days. She was deteriorating before his very eyes, and he could do nothing about it. Doc Johnston had told him that. Had it only been six months since he had finally gotten her to go see Doc? It seemed longer. Vera had gone downhill so fast, completely retired to her bed the past three months. When Vera no longer had the strength to make it up the stairs to their bedroom, Walter moved her downstairs. Walter had not wanted Vera to know there was no cure for her. Vera was a smart woman; she knew all on her own, and like everything else in life, she took it in stride. She had seen people die from cancer. She had bathed, hand-fed, and taken care of Walter’s own mother and hers before they passed on. Vera knew when someone was near death, and she knew that about herself.

Vera and Walter did not need to say a word between them. They both knew Vera’s time was short. Maybe by not talking about it, she would be with him longer. He knew better than that, he told himself. The truth was he would not be able to talk to her about it without breaking down. Walter would not allow Vera see him do that. He had always been her strength, and she needed him more now than ever. The only time she had ever seen him cry was when Tom died. Vera cried frequently, her emotions easily affected, feeling things deeply. She was one of those women who cried not only when she was sad but also when she was happy. Walter tried to think as Vera did. She had often said, When it’s your time to go, you’ll go—not any sooner and not any later. That’s the way the Lord wants it, and that’s the way it will be. She liked to point out to him about John Dempsey. John had gone all through the war without a scratch. He came home, went to work clearing land on his farm. His tractor fell over, threw him off and landed on him, killing him. Now figure that, she would say, a boy who knows all about farming and tractors, nothing about fighting Germans, and where does he die? Not in a German field across the Atlantic but right here in his own field. I think that proves my point." For the most part, not many disagreed with Vera on her way of looking at life, and Walter could not recall anyone disagreeing with her on that point. Nevertheless, Walter felt Vera’s time to go would be much too soon. They still had too much living to do together, things to do. He always promised her they would go to Hawaii on their fiftieth anniversary. Vera had always wanted to go there. He would take her tomorrow if he thought she could stand the trip, but he knew she could not and would not. In his heart, Walter knows Vera will never see Hawaii or any of the other places they had talked about visiting someday. Tom was taken from him too soon, and now it would be the same with Vera. Life sure as hell was not fair!

Walter strains to hear the voices coming through the open screen door. He easily envisions the scenario taking place inside the house. Don and Francisca are with Vera. Vera, pale and gaunt, is flat on her back in bed. The gray pallor of death he had watched creep into the faces of both of his folks was beginning to show itself on Vera. That pasty color was unmistakable. It was harder every passing day for him to put a smile on his face for her. Every morning, he would creep downstairs silently so he would not wake her. He would look at her and breathe a sigh of relief she was still alive and be grateful she was still with him. At first, it was impossible to go to sleep at night. He missed the warmth and closeness of her next to him, the sound of her breathing softly. Walter dreaded the thought of what he might find some morning—maybe the next morning.

Doc Johnston had suggested that a glass of wine might help him doze off. Walter felt wine was a woman’s drink and chose a couple glasses of bourbon instead, finding they did a much better job. It had become a ritual now, those drinks before he fell into a fitful sleep. If Vera was awake in the evening, he would stop and be with her first. They would listen to the radio or he would read to her. That would usually put her to sleep. At first, she had no trouble staying awake to be with him. Lately, due to the higher doses of medication, she was sometimes already asleep. As she slept, he would sit by her, sometimes laying his head by hers. Holding her hand, he would remember how good it was when they had lain in the same bed together. Once he had fallen asleep in the chair, and when Vera awoke and saw him, she made him promise he would not do that again.

You work much too hard, Walter. You cannot possibly get the rest you need sleeping like that. I want you to promise me you will make sure you get upstairs into your own bed every night. Of course, he had promised her; he never said no to Vera. However, he knew he could not get to sleep without the bourbon every night, and he ignored his conscience telling him he should try to cut down.

Thinking about Vera, a picture of her came into his mind of the first day they had met. She was in town visiting and had gone to a dance with her cousin. Walter had gone to that dance. He looked at her across the room and knew that very night he had to have her for his wife. He had never really thought about marriage before; after all, he was only twenty. However, this girl, she was something special. That he knew for sure. Walter had never experienced this feeling before, this flush that made him feel everyone in the room must be looking at him; everyone must know the giddy thoughts he was having. Walter had the strange craving he had to be with her as much as possible. He had hated to see her leave him that evening and made plans to meet her in town the next day, a Sunday. She was going to church with her relatives before she could see him. Walter had never been much of a churchgoer since his folks stopped making him go a few years ago, but he found himself up and dressed and eager to get to town. Mother took one look at him in his Sunday best and knew it was not the ordinary. He slipped out the door before she could question him.

Walter was too impatient to wait until the time set to meet Vera later in the day. He headed straight to the church where he knew Vera would be. Why, Walter, said Vera’s cousin Shirley when they met him going into the church. I didn’t know you belonged to this church. Would you like to sit with us? Walter would not have had it any other way. His first date with Vera had started in church and, no doubt, that would be where the last date would take place. Vera seemed even more beautiful that day than she did the night before. Her hair was beautiful. It had reminded him of corn tassels shining golden in the sun. He knew if he were to touch it, it would feel as silky; it did. She had those blue eyes that competed with the sky, even on the bluest days. When she wore the blue dress he liked so much, they were even bluer. She was just the right size for him, fitting into his arms as if they were made to hold her. He loved Vera as much today as he did then. No, he thought, I love her more, much more. It’s so hard to see her like this, so damn hard.

Vera was very ill. She was suffering, trying her best to keep anyone, especially Walter, from knowing how much. She could feel how much he was hurting and wanted to make it easier for him, if that was possible. Vera never looked in the mirror these days; she did not want to see what he saw. Her once rosy cheeks would never see pink again. As warm as the day is, Vera remains pale, although she is perspiring profusely. Walter has put an air conditioner in her window, but it seems to do little to help. Vera thought the constant hum of it would drive her mad at first, but now she seems to be growing accustomed to it. Walter worked so hard on it. It is easier to let him think it is wonderful. She is aware anything he can do for her gives him happiness, and Walter has so little to be happy about these days. Vera worries about what he will do when she is gone. Life must go on; she knows that. Still it is going to be especially hard for Walter. She can only hope that Donnie will provide the needed comfort to help him get through it. As she thinks about Donnie, he enters her room.

Ma, why do you insist on staying here when you could have all those nice young ladies in their starched white uniforms filling your every whim? Dad and I could go into town to see you every evening, and you’d probably get better faster if you were in the hospital.

Now stop it right there, Donnie. I have heard all I want to hear out of you. If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, I am not going into the hospital! I’m the one dying, and I’ll damn well die where I want to, and I want it to be right in this house your father built for me.

Don knows his mother is not one to swear, even if she only said damn, he had best keep cool about it for now. He did not want to get her upset. He still thought it would be the best place for her, and he wished she would quit calling him Donnie. His name was Don; he was not a kid anymore. He had quit putting Donnie on his school papers when he was fifteen. He was eighteen now and going to college soon. Donnie was not a name for a college man. Don is what he now wanted to be called… even by his mother. As Don leaves the room, Vera cannot help but wonder how much more she can take today. If it is not Don badgering her about going into the hospital, it is Francisca’s whimpering as she is frantically scurrying around tidying up before she leaves with Jose. Between the two of them, Vera has about had it. Donnie’s incessant plea she would be better off in the hospital. He will not understand why she does not want to go. He is getting on her nerves more every day. Vera wishes they could be closer at this time. Walter understands why she wants no part of the hospital, and even Doc Johnston has given up on her going. Donnie just does not want to accept I will not go. I am going to die in my own house. I’m going to make sure of that, Vera says to herself. Vera hates it when she lets herself become riled over things. She has trouble breathing, and becoming upset causes spasms, and she has to wear that damnable oxygen gadget that Doc Johnston brought out for her. As Vera reaches for the oxygen, she thinks how she had not wanted to admit to Doc Johnston it helps, but it does.

Donnie will be going off to school soon, and Vera fears she may not see him again, but she will feel relief when he is gone. It has been a long spring and summer of suffering for her and getting harder everyday to keep up the pretense of feeling better than she does. If Donnie knew how sick she really was, he might try to use it to keep from going to college. The only reason he is going at all is that it is work on the farm with Walter or go to college. Heaven forbid he should stay on the farm! Vera thinks. It has never been a secret how much Donnie dislikes working on the farm. It does not make any difference if it is in the orchard, the fields, or the barn; Donnie hates it all. He loved riding his horse, does to this day. Mucking the horses stall out—that is another story. He could always find some poor field worker to do it for him for a small price. Donnie had never been interested in any of it, and she knew how much that hurt Walter, although Walter never came right out and said so. She and Walter had always had a way of understanding and knowing how the other felt. There never did have to be many spoken words between them. She had known the first day she met him that he was something special, and he had felt the same way about her. Walter had not really proposed in the usual way. Instead of saying, Will you marry me? Walter had asked her, When are we going to get married?

They had surprised everyone when they married so quickly, but they both knew it was right; all their years together proved that. The memories came easily to her, Walter sitting in that old chair he loved by the fireplace or on the porch swing. Walter would be reading a farming magazine, and she would be knitting. They also listened to their favorite radio programs Jack Benny, Fibber McGee and Molly, the Shadow. Those were her favorites, and of course, Ma Perkins, but she would listen to that alone during the day. Walter and Vera did not need to talk; they were perfectly happy just being in the other’s presence. They even knew when they were both ready for bed. With just a glance, they would put their things aside and go up the stairs together. Yes, it was true, they really did not need anyone else to fill their needs or make them happy.

Lying in bed these many months, Vera had ample time to think about the past, the good times and the bad. She thought so much about Donnie. Had she loved him enough? Had she always let him know how much he meant to them? She thought she had, she had tried to, she knew that for sure. A farm is a busy place, lots of work for everyone, always short on time. Had she put as much time as she should have into finding who the real Donnie was? Had he ever felt they did not need him? My god, she hoped he had never felt left out. Was that why God had not let her give birth to her own babies? Did God know how hard it would be for a child to enter this circle of special love she and Walter enjoyed? Did he want to spare a child that? No, that couldn’t be, she told herself, or he wouldn’t have let the adoption come to us out of the blue. She had always thought it was fate and meant to be.

Vera considered the pain pills she had to take. They were making her have these crazy thoughts and confusing her thinking, and on top of that, they were not helping with the pain all that much. She and Walter had loved and wanted children. They were elated to adopt Donnie. They loved having a child. Still there was something between a man and wife a child would never understand. She had heard women speak of the feeling between a mother and child that a father could not understand. She was not sure she had that feeling with Donnie. There had been times when she thought Donnie and she were close to experiencing it, but then it would slip away from them. She loved him dearly and knew she would gladly have given her life for him. All their friends in the Grange thought she spoiled him something terrible, she knew that. It was easy for her to tell herself they were wrong. She just loved him so much and wanted him to be happy. She understood Donnie; not everyone did. Vera allowed her mind to scan the last eighteen years. She knew the truth of it too late. They had been right. She had overlooked so many of Donnie’s faults, made excuses for him, forgave him too easily. Had she tried too hard to make up for the fact he was adopted? Is that why she did not have the special closeness some women had with their children? Was it because he was adopted?

Vera had always been remorseful she had not given birth to Walter’s own child. She knew Walter loved Donnie as much as she did. However, what if he had been their own baby? Would he be more like Walter, look like him, and most of all, would he have the love for the land and farming Walter had?

What if, what if, Vera said aloud. My god, she thought, what is it with me? She had to rid her mind of all this garbage. She was not making sense. There would be no changes. Much too late for that. Life was what it was. It was the way God wanted it. I have always said things usually happen for the best. There is usually a good reason, although you cannot see it at the time. Yes, that is exactly how I think. Some people believe our life is planned for us, even before we are born. Could that possibly be true? Surely, we must have a say in it somewhere along the way. She hated herself when she got like this, regretting the past when there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. What’s done is done, was another of Vera’s favorite quotes. Vera wished she had the strength and desire to knit or crochet. It would make time pass more easily. She had never tired of doing what Walter called Vera’s fancy work. She loved being able to display it in the house Walter had built for her, seeing it every day as she went about her work. She did not even have enough strength to get out of bed anymore. Doc Johnston had brought out a bedpan for her to use, and she hated it. The only one she would let help her with it was Francisca. She absolutely did not want Donnie or Walter to assist her. They had always been very private in their home when it came to bathroom necessities, and that was not going to change. In the last few days, however, she was having trouble eliminating, so now Doc had put a catheter in her. That was something she would be glad to have gone but feared she would have the rest of her days.

Vera’s thinking returned to her fancy work. What would become of it when she was gone? Should she tell Walter to give her friends their favorite pieces, the ones they had always admired? It was beautiful and had taken many hours of work. However, what if Donnie should marry and his wife or daughter might want them, or even Walter? Maybe Walter would not want her fancy work to leave their house. He watched her make every piece during their quiet evenings together and was pleased with everything she ever made. This was getting to be too much for her. There was too much to think about. She had not planned to die this early in life. God should have given her some hint so she would be better prepared. What would happen to it all when Walter was gone? She was lucky to have found Walter. She reflected on an article she had read in one of those new magazines. It was about a new age coming and how every one of us has a soul mate somewhere and should try to find that person. Finding our soul mate to share life on earth with would provide the ultimate happiness. Well, if she did have a soul mate, she knew it had to be Walter. She lucked out on that; however, what would Walter do without her? They had never talked much about dying. At their age, they had no reason. They expected death to be a long way off, probably from old age. She had known in her being that something was not right. Cancer was the furthest thing from her mind. The night she coughed up blood cinched it. The next day, Walter drove her into town to Doc Johnston. That was only six months ago. We buried both our mothers with cancer; why did we think we couldn’t get it? At first Doc Johnston tried to make her believe his little black bag might hold a cure. It was not long before he quit playing games with Vera. She knows, and she knows Walter knows there is not going to be a chance for her. To this day, they have not talked about her dying, but they know she will and that it will not be long. Vera tells herself, We all have to go someday; that is the one thing certain in life. Some just go sooner than others.

Vera had looked forward to being a grandma someday. She would love to be a grandma. She had such fond memories of her own grandma. It is true, she thought, when people die, you do remember and keep them in your heart by your memories. She could remember her grandma as if she were sitting in her rocking chair right there beside her. She had loved her grandparents, especially her grandma. Just remembering the day she knew she would never spend time with her grandma again, Vera could feel the pain of it all over again. Donnie was Mother Mason’s only grandchild. She was almost as happy as Vera was when they came home from Lewiston with that boy. She had dealt with the idea of never becoming a grandmother. Walter was the remaining child. Tom, killed in the war, had never married or had children. With Vera’s first pregnancy, Mother Mason started making baby clothes the day after they told her. Losing that baby was almost as big a blow to her as it was to Vera and Walter. The next pregnancy, she did the same thing, thinking this pregnancy would be the one that took. After Vera lost that baby too, she gave everything to Walter to give to the migrant workers. She never spoke about it again.

If anyone should ever have been a grandma, it was Mother Mason. She knew just what to do to keep a smile on Donnie’s face. Sometimes I think she may have had a closer bond with Donnie than I do, Vera thought. A smile appears on Vera’s face thinking about how their adopting Donnie gave so much happiness to Mother Mason, happiness she would never have otherwise enjoyed. Donnie took it very hard when his grandma died. He did go to the funeral but would not look into the coffin and see her dead. I think if he had, it would have helped him to see her look like she was just sleeping and how at peace she was. She looked better than she had in months, much better than the last time he saw her alive.

Vera was becoming more reflective as the afternoon went on. She started to think about Donnie’s adoption again. Donnie had never been told he was adopted, should he be told now? Had they made a mistake not telling him? They, especially Walter, had wanted Donnie to believe he was their own. Vera still cried easily whenever she thought about the babies she had lost and how much they had wanted those babies. Tears came into her eyes; even after all these years, it still hurt. Vera was never sure the adoption they did was legal. They were so happy to get a baby, they did not want to upset the apple cart by asking too many questions. It had been a very hush-hush adoption. Wayne Sullivan had done it for them. Only she, Walter, and Wayne knew about it. Wayne had promised the adoption would be kept secret on his part, and for eighteen years, he had kept that promise. Mother and Father Mason had known. They were dead now. It was still a secret and probably best that it stayed a secret.

All her friends at the Grange had thought she and Walter were blessed with the baby, their prayers had been answered. Vera had to go to Lewiston, Idaho, to care for her mother before she died. As luck turned out, it was the same three months before Margaret Davis had her baby. Vera knew before she went to care for her mother that Margaret Davis had gone to Lewiston to be with relatives and have her illegitimate baby. She would put it up for adoption, and Wayne would arrange for her and Walter to be the adoptive parents. Marion Davis, Margaret’s mother, had already explained Margaret’s absence at home by telling everyone she had gone to be with a grandmother who was ill and needed her help. Marion herself could not go, as she had other responsibilities. It was easier to let Margaret go for a while. She would go to school there and return when her grandmother’s health improved. Margaret going to Lewiston seemed like too much of a coincidence. After deriving a conclusion, they asked Wayne if Margaret Davis could be the mother of the baby they planned to adopt. He admitted she was the mother. He made them promise they must never let her know they had the baby. They agreed. Margaret was not going to know he was the lawyer that arranged the adoption. Wayne was doing it as a favor for her parents, and he did not want her coming to him asking about the adoption. Vera remembers how very careful she was in Lewiston, trying to make sure she did not run into Margaret. She did not want either Margaret or her mother embarrassed by the fact she had learned their secret by seeing Margaret pregnant. Vera later found out that although Donnie was born and adopted in Lewiston, Margaret had been living in Asotin, Washington. Vera worried for years that somehow Margaret would find out they were the adoptive parents. Eventually, she let herself believe the secret was very safe. She confirmed in her mind Donnie should not be told—that was definitely for the best.

A faint smile came to Vera’s face as she thought back to how easily they had fooled everyone into believing that she had given birth to Donnie. Vera did not like lying to friends; however, they considered this a necessary fib. It would be for the good of everybody. No one had seen her for three months. Now home with the baby, Vera told everyone she had been sure she was pregnant and it was lasting longer than her other pregnancies had, but she had not wanted to jinx it by telling anyone. Her old family doctor had passed away, and she had not found a new one yet. She planned to see a doctor while in Lewiston caring for her mother. The pregnancy confirmed, she would tell friends when she returned from Lewiston. One month stretched into three and her mother died. Walter, of course, went to help with the funeral. The stress of everything caused her to give birth a month early, but all was well and they were home now. Margaret gave birth to her baby during the time of the funeral, making Vera’s story work perfectly. Wayne came over to Lewiston and arranged for the adoption. Margaret never saw her baby. At the time, Vera never thought much about Margaret’s loss, she was too happy becoming a mother. In retrospect, however, she could not help but feel sorry for Margaret and her entire situation. Vera made herself think of more pleasant thoughts. Vera laughed to herself as she recalled an incident that had happened just after returning home. Doris Anderson, a friend, had telephoned her. Now, Vera, you didn’t really think you fooled me, did you? I knew all along you were pregnant. I told Jim you had gained weight and I just knew you were in the family way.

Vera replied, No one could ever put anything over on you, Doris.

When she hung up the phone, she was giggling so that Walter came in from the living room to