Dakota Born (13 page)

“What are we going to do if no one orders any pizza?” Mark asked.

Calla had slouched down in a chair to read a magazine. She glanced up at Mark's question.

“People will order,” Rachel said with all the confidence she could muster. She was determined to make a go of this venture. Driving the school bus paid barely enough for them to live on and kept her employed only nine months of the year. Hassie had her do the weekly bookkeeping for the pharmacy and that helped some, but not enough.

The pizza business was her dream, and she'd invested far more than her tomato crop in this venture. She'd invested her heart.

“Mom,” Mark said, interrupting her thoughts. “Remember when we were in Grand Forks last summer at the big grocery store?”

“Yes.” She replied absently as she reread the flyer she'd had printed. It was expensive, but the flyers, along with a large cardboard sign in the window, were the fastest way she could think of to get word out in the community. Every kid on the school bus had gotten the bright yellow sheet that week, and Mark had delivered the rest to everyone who lived in town.

“A lady in the store was handing out cookie samples, remember?”

Rachel nodded.

“Couldn't we hand out samples, too?”

Rachel stared at her son. He didn't look like a marketing genius, but that was exactly what he was.

“That's a fabulous idea!”

Her son beamed her a proud smile. “Bake a pepperoni pizza, Mom, that's your best.”

She nodded. It
was
good, but then anything she baked tasted worlds better than the frozen variety Buffalo Bob served, and he charged two dollars more than she did.

“Do you want me to help?” Mark asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

“You and Calla can take orders,” Rachel instructed, pointing to the old-fashioned black telephone on the counter.

“Okay.” His eagerness to be a part of the business was a real blessing, although Rachel often worried that he was growing up too fast.

The pepperoni pizza was hot from the oven. She sliced it into small squares, loaded them in a cardboard container and handed it to Mark. “This was your idea, so I think you should be the one to do the honors.”

“Me?” Mark's eyes grew huge with delight.

“I want you and Calla to walk up and down Main Street and offer a sample to everyone you see.” It was five o'clock, and there would still be light for hours.

Calla tossed aside the magazine and trotted out the door with Mark.

Rachel didn't need to wait long for her first customer, although his identity surprised her. Heath Quantrill wasn't exactly her favorite person. She didn't know what to think of him. Naturally she'd heard the rumors about his exploits around the globe. The majority of them couldn't possibly be true, she figured, but all the speculation concerning Heath Quantrill certainly made life interesting. He was handsome and she couldn't help wondering if he was involved with someone; she suspected he was. Women didn't let a man that good-looking slip through their fingers. But mostly he intimidated Rachel.

He'd turned down her loan the first time, and then apparently had a change of heart. She wasn't sure why and didn't ask. Fearing he might change his mind again, she'd ordered the pizza oven the same day he approved her loan.

“Hello, Rachel.” He paused, glancing around at the stark furnishings. “I see you're open for business.”

“I am.” She set the cheese grater aside before she sliced her finger. His coming into the restaurant flustered her and she tried to hide her nervousness.

“I was just given a sample of your pizza,” Heath told her. “It's damn good.”

“Don't sound so surprised.” She smiled to take the sting from her words.

“The price on this flyer is correct?” He held up the yellow sheet.

“Yes.” She'd specifically chosen a low price to attract customers away from Buffalo Bob's. Her pizza was better
and
cheaper.

“You aren't charging enough.”

“It's two dollars a pizza less than Bob's.” She didn't like Quantrill's attitude. He'd had money all his life and didn't understand that this business venture was everything to her.

“You're not allowing yourself a large enough profit margin.”

Rachel frowned. She'd given this some serious consideration and charging less than Buffalo Bob was the best strategy she could think of.

“If you'd like to come into the bank one day next week, I'd be happy to show you how to figure out a price that's competitive but will allow you a reasonable profit margin.”

“I can't do that now. I've already got the flyers printed.”

“Tell them that was an introductory price and you'll honor it this time.”

“I can do that?”

“Of course, and once they taste your pizza they'll order again.”

He was sincere, she realized, about liking her pizza.

“I will,” she said, grateful for his advice. “Thank you.”

“Good.” He set the flyer on the counter. “Now, I'd like to order a pepperoni pizza, and I'd like the introductory price.”

S
chool had been in session about a month and Lindsay was beginning to feel her way as a teacher. Each day was better. It wasn't easy instructing all four years of high school at one time, but she'd made contacts with other teachers in the area and she had help from the community. Most everyone was eager to get to know her and to assist where they could. Thus far, it seemed the community remained pretty evenly split when it came to their expectations of her. Still, everyone seemed grateful she'd agreed to take the teaching job and Lindsay supposed their reserve was only natural. After all, this was a small, rural community, one that was not only conservative and probably resistant to change but experiencing hard times.

She did feel disappointed that she hadn't made more friends by now. Hassie was her confidant and mentor, but she'd barely exchanged more than a few words with Sarah Stern or Rachel Fischer. She wasn't sure about Sarah, but Rachel seemed friendly enough, just preoccupied with her pizza business. Lindsay suspected that given time, things would take care of themselves. She was still new, untried. And Hassie told her that she herself had encountered a similar reception when she'd arrived in Buffalo Valley as a young bride shortly after World War II.

More important, she'd struck a truce with her students. Once the ground rules had been established, she'd discovered they were eager to learn. She was new, young, and the kids considered her “cool.” They were all impressed by what they saw as her urban sophistication, especially when she asked to be called
Ms.
Snyder. No one used “Ms.” though, no matter how many times she mentioned it. After a while, Lindsay simply gave up. She'd never thought of herself as sophisticated, but to her students she seemed to represent big-city excitement. Lindsay cashed in on their goodwill and reintroduced programs that had long been abandoned from lack of funds, often using her own savings, meager as they were.

She brought in her camera when she learned they didn't have a yearbook and soon had a staff willing to put one together. Jessica and Calla volunteered to write a town newspaper; soon the entire class was involved.

One afternoon, quite by accident, she found Kevin Betts's sketching tablet and discovered that Gage's brother was an undeniably talented artist. He was shy about letting others see his work. After some cajoling, he'd volunteered, along with Joe and Mark Lammermann, to paint a mural on one wall of the classroom.

The guest speakers from the community added a whole new dimension to their Friday afternoons. She had a number of volunteers already and was drumming up more. Several times she'd run up against that small-town reserve, that reluctance. She didn't push, didn't pressure.

Joshua McKenna had been the first volunteer, and Lindsay was grateful. His family had settled in North Dakota in 1888, a year before it achieved statehood. He'd brought in the original homestead papers his great-grandfather had been given, as well as stories that had been handed down through the years. Stories of grasshopper infestations, drought and tornados. The session, for which Lindsay had scheduled an hour, went three, and her students talked about it for days afterward, adding tidbits of their own families' histories in the area. She felt their pride and strong sense of family, and encouraged both. In doing so, she experienced a surge of longing to know more about her own grandparents and what their lives had been like on the farm. Unfortunately she'd been too young to remember anything about the old homestead. By the time she was six, her grandparents had sold the land and moved into town. There was no one she could ask, since all the relatives on both sides had either died or moved away. Her own father had left right after high school, and she'd already heard all his stories about prairie storms and family gatherings.

Lindsay was just beginning to feel good about the way classroom life was developing when she experienced a new sort of crisis. It was a Thursday morning, the last week of September. Kevin walked silently into the classroom with an equally taciturn Jessica. Both slipped into their seats, looking sullen and uncommunicative.

At first, Lindsay thought they'd had a lovers' spat, but then the normally boisterous Loomis twins arrived, their demeanor just as serious. Calla frowned and slumped onto her desk, holding it with both arms as if she defied anyone to pry her loose.

“Hey, what's going on?” Lindsay asked, wondering at the strange mood. “Everyone's acting like it's the end of the world.”

“You don't know?” Kevin asked, looking surprised.

She shook her head.

“You didn't listen to the farm report this morning?” Calla challenged, as if it were understood that everyone did.

Lindsay shrugged. “I heard it was a bumper year for corn.” When she did turn on the radio, she noticed that the conversation generally centered on crops. There was a lot of talk about options and pork bellies and other subjects that didn't affect her one way or another. At least that was what she'd naively assumed.

“A bumper corn crop is right. Problem is, no one's willing to pay a man a decent wage for his efforts.” This came from Stan Muller, a freshman who was obviously parroting his father's comment.

“My mom was crying when I left for school,” Jessica said. “She didn't want us kids to know, but it wasn't like she could hide it. It means another year of doing without, and we need so much.” She sounded close to tears herself. “My dad said I can forget about college when I graduate.”

“It was bad enough that the wheat prices were lower than expected, but corn, too. It just isn't fair.”

“Gage was pretty upset,” Kevin volunteered. “Mom told him the Lord would provide and Gage said he didn't think the Lord was listening. We're going to need all the help we can get if we're going to make it through the year.”

One by one, her students relayed the effects the devastating news was having on their families. Even the kids who lived in town took the news hard, and so did those involved with ranching, although there were more farms in the vicinity than cattle ranches. Lindsay supposed that was what community meant—you cared what happened to your neighbors.

She ran into Gage in town that afternoon. She'd seen him only once since the kissing episode on her front porch. That had been a week earlier, when they'd met on the sidewalk outside the post office. Gage had taken delight in getting a rise out of her, telling Lindsay that he was waiting for her to invite him for a beer. Flustered, she'd hurried on, certain that at least four people had overheard the comment. The sound of his laughter had followed her.

Thursday afternoon she caught sight of him outside Buffalo Bob's. This time, she was the one to seek him out. “Gage,” she called, raising her hand to get his attention.

He waited while she crossed the street. He wasn't smiling. “I wanted to remind you about the sixth,” she said.

His stare was blank.

“I have you down to talk to the high-schoolers about honeybees.”

“Right.”

His eyes, which she'd thought of as beautiful, seemed cold and lifeless just then. Lindsay didn't know what to say or how to say it, but she couldn't let the moment pass without some word of encouragement.

“The kids told me about the corn and grain prices. I'm so sorry, Gage.” She placed her hand on his forearm and he stared at it for a moment.

“So am I,” he said, and with that he headed into Buffalo Bob's, as though standing on the sidewalk making polite conversation was beyond him. Lindsay felt Gage's barely restrained anger and suspected that his frustration had reached a breaking point. She fought the urge to follow, to sit and talk with him. If nothing else, she could listen, but he wasn't looking for someone to share his worries and he'd made it plain that he didn't welcome her company.

The next person Lindsay talked to was Rachel Fischer inside Hansen's Grocery. She'd dropped in to pick up a few necessities for the week. “You heard?” Rachel asked when they saw each other at the produce counter.

Lindsay nodded. “I didn't realize how important…It was naive of me, I suppose.”

“You can't know until you've lived it.”

“Are you worried?” Lindsay asked. Rachel had wagered her future on her fledgling pizza business, and it would be a shame if it went under without having had a chance to get off the ground.

“Damn straight I'm worried,” Rachel confessed. “Pizza's a luxury item and farmers around here were counting on grain prices being good this year. It's a blow to everyone.”

“Is there anything anyone can do?”

“That hasn't already been tried, you mean?”

“But the government—”

Rachel shook her head. “Farmers feel like the government's sold them down the river. It's tragic—America's small farmers are being destroyed. A lot of people won't make it through the winter now.”

Lindsay realized she still had a great deal to learn. “What's going to happen?”

Rachel looked away, as though even speaking the words brought her pain. “The bank won't have any option but to foreclose on mortgages and debts. Some people will be lucky enough to sell their land, and others—others will simply walk away with nothing to show for their blood, sweat and tears. Nothing but crippling debt.

“Some of the farming families in this area have held on to the land for three and four generations, only to lose it all now. It breaks my heart. Imagine—to survive the Great Depression, the dust bowl years and everything else and have to sell out now.” She paused. “It does something to a man's pride when he can't support his family. He feels cheated and angry. People here have always had a strong work ethic.”

Lindsay nodded; she'd certainly noticed that. “I wish there was something I could do.” For years, she'd heard about the plight of America's farmers but she'd never fully understood their problems.

“We're going to lose more people this year, and the town's already half the size it was while I was growing up.”

Marta Hansen saw them talking and walked over to join them. “This is the final straw,” she announced. “I told Jacob this morning that we should sell out while we can.”

“Mrs. Hansen,” Rachel said gently, “things will get better.”

Marta shook her head. “People have been saying that for years, and it only gets worse.”

“You're not leaving Buffalo Valley, are you?” Lindsay asked.

“Jacob doesn't like to listen to my talk about leaving, but this morning when he heard the corn prices, after what happened with the wheat, he just shook his head. He agrees we can't stay any longer.”

“You're not going to close the store, are you?” Alarm made Lindsay's voice unnaturally high.

“It's for sale,” Marta said. “We're getting out while we can.”

 

Dinner was miserable for Joanie. The grain prices had been released that morning, and Brandon had disappeared for most of the afternoon. She almost always knew where to find him, but not today. It was as if her husband had wanted to hide from the world. And from his family. He'd closed himself off, didn't want to talk to anyone, not even Joanie.

The kids sat around the dinner table, barely touching their meal, while Joanie made an effort at conversation.

“How was school today?” she asked Sage.

“Fine.”

“It was okay,” Stevie said with a shrug. Joanie wasn't sure her six-year-old son understood the significance of what was taking place, but he appeared to realize that whatever had happened was bad.

Brandon picked at his dinner, despite the trouble Joanie had taken to make lasagna, one of his favorite dishes. She wished he'd talk to her. They were partners in the farm, a team. She felt hurt that he'd shut her out now, especially since they'd made some real progress lately.

After dinner, the kids went up to their rooms to do their homework, and Brandon sat in front of the television, staring at the set. He hadn't spoken more than a few words all day.

“I talked to Heath Quantrill this afternoon,” she said, joining her husband.

That got Brandon's attention. “About what?”

“A part-time job, remember?”

Brandon's eyes flared with anger. “Forget it, Joanie. You call him back first thing tomorrow morning and tell him the whole thing is off.”

Joanie's heart stopped at the hard edge in his voice. It took great strength of character and her love for her husband not to react with anger herself. “We talked about my getting a part-time job a few weeks back. Don't you remember?”

“And you chose today of all days to apply?”

Actually she'd submitted her application earlier in the week. “Why does it matter what day I spoke to Heath?”

His gaze narrowed. “It matters.”

“But—”

“I support this family.”

“Brandon, it doesn't have anything to do with that. We already discussed this, remember?”

He didn't answer her. Instead, he bolted up from his chair and headed out the door. Joanie wasn't going to let him walk away from her. Not this time. Too often in the past she'd sat by and silently swallowed her pride, but no more.