Daddy spoke up immediately, telling him, “We’d love to have you stay with us until you’re feeling well enough to drive, JD. We’ve got a spare bedroom you’re welcome to use. I’m afraid we can’t offer much in the way of entertainment, but there’s plenty of food and Lucy’s cooking is the finest in the county.”
Mama beamed and JD answered, “I’m much obliged, Hiram. That would be wonderful, as long as it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” answered my daddy. “It’s the least we can do.” He helped our guest to his room while Dorothy and I started back out to the fields, the excitement over for now.
That evening we received our second visitor of the day. The First National Bank in Olathe held the mortgage on our farm and the bank’s president, Elmer Dressler, had scheduled a meeting with Mama and Daddy for eight o’clock. I know that sounds strange in this day and age, a bank president coming to someone’s home for a meeting, but that’s how it was done back in those days, especially with farmers. People workin’ a farm couldn’t be expected to give up half a day just to travel into town for a meetin’, so it was common for the meetin’ to come to them.
JD was resting in his room, no doubt recovering from overstuffing himself on Mama’s turkey dinner, when Mr. Dressler knocked on the front door promptly at eight o’clock. Dorothy and I were shooed out of the sitting room when Mama ushered the bank president in, but that farmhouse was old and drafty and I could hear every word.
At the age of fourteen I wasn’t too interested in the boring affairs of adults, particularly my folks, but something in the strained tone of voice Daddy was using when he greeted Mr. Dressler got my attention and held it.
After the small talk that was considered a necessity back in those days was dispensed with, Mr. Dressler got right to the point. “Hiram, I’ve known you folks forever it seems like, and it hurts to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to foreclose on the farm. I went to bat for you with the board, but there is simply no way you will be able to make enough money this year from the wheat to meet your four thousand dollar obligation.”
Now, I was just a simple country kid. I quit school after the fifth grade to work on the farm, but that don’t make me stupid. Maybe I didn’t understand all the big words, like “foreclose” and “obligation,” but I knew bad news when I heard it. My daddy knew it, too. He responded by asking for a little more time, and Mr. Dressler told him the board’s decision was final, that Mama and Daddy had had all the time they were going to get.
After that, voices got raised and feelins got hurt. Mr. Dressler ended up storming out of the house with his tie askew, a sheaf of papers sticking haphazardly out of his fine leather briefcase, which he had obviously slammed shut in a hurry. Mama and Daddy huddled in the sitting room for the rest of the evening, sending Dorothy and me to bed and talking in low tones.
The next morning at breakfast, Daddy was still pale and Mama had been crying, you could tell. Everythin’ else was the same as ever, though. We ate breakfast way before sunrise and we still had chores to attend to. Neither Mama nor Daddy volunteered any information to us kids on what had happened during the meeting with Mr. Dressler, but I had a pretty good idea anyway. Like I said, I’m a simple guy, not a stupid one.
JD came down the stairs while we was eating and joined us. “Hiram,” he said, “as you know the walls are pretty thin in a lot of these old farmhouses.”
My daddy held up a hand, stopping JD. “Please accept my apology for interrupting your rest last night. I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand with Mr. Dressler like they did.”
“No, no,” JD exclaimed. “That’s not my meanin’. I’ve done farming in my life when I was a youngster, not much older than your handsome son is right now, in fact. Potatoes, it was, in my case, not wheat, but farmin’ is farmin’. I wanted to tell you that I understand your plight and I don’t think you should concern yourselves too much with what that banker fella said last night.”
A rueful smile crossed Daddy’s face and he said, “This ain’t the first time we’ve had to ask Mr. Dressler for an extension, but I’m afraid the bank has run out of patience this time.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” answered JD. “I’m just tryin’ to say that you shouldn’t be too worried about it. I have a feelin’ things are going to change for your family very soon.” He winked at Mama and grinned at Daddy, while they glanced at each other in confusion.
JD just nodded, almost as if to himself, and kept talking. “Yeah,” he said, “it’ll take them bankers a few weeks to get their paperwork together and all. By then, I’m sure everything will be all straightened out for you folks.” He spoke in an offhand manner, like we was discussin’ the weather forecast, not the fact that we were about to be evicted from the farm our family had worked for generations.
Daddy looked dubious but was too polite to call JD on his outlandish statement. I knew what Daddy was thinkin’ and he was right. Nothing was going to change over the next couple of weeks. Even if we could harvest the wheat and sell it, which we couldn’t, it was way too early in the season for that, we still wouldn’t be able to raise the four thousand dollars that Mr. Dressler had told my daddy and mama we owed the bank.
JD kept right on going, not seeming to notice the black mood which had settled over the kitchen. Great Depression, indeed. He finished his breakfast, draining his coffee cup at the exact moment he took his last bite of eggs, and said, “My ankle is feelin’ much better already. Lucy, I don’t know how you managed it, but in addition to bein’ the finest cook in the county, you are without a doubt also the best nurse. I’m goin’ to take my leave of you folks this mornin’ and continue my business trip. Lord knows I’ve imposed enough already.”
Well, Mama and Daddy tried to convince JD to spend at least one more day resting his injury, but his mind was made up and he would not be swayed. As we were heading outside to begin the day’s labors, JD walked to his Ford, limping only slightly, and slid behind the wheel. He fired up the engine and drove off toward Olathe, a cloud of dust trailing behind the car, waving goodbye as he went. We never saw him again.
The following week we started to understand what that mysterious stranger had meant when he said our fortunes were going to change. It had been eight days since we had said goodbye to JD and he had become just a memory. I finished my breakfast that mornin’ and walked outside toward the barn when I tripped over something propped against the back screen door. I stumbled but didn’t fall. It was still dark so I couldn’t immediately tell what it was that had almost caused me to take a header right off the porch.
I lifted the object and carried it inside. By the light of the kitchen I could see it was a fancy leather briefcase, a lot like the one Mr. Dressler had been carrying when he had paid us the visit last week. Taped to the front was a note folded neatly inside a plain white envelope.
I laid the case on the kitchen table and Daddy looked at it curiously. For a moment I thought he was just going to sit there staring at it, but then without a word he slit open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. Written in careful block letters was the following:
I TOLD YOU I UNDERSTAND THE PLIGHT OF FARMERS. I’M SORRY I DIDN’T HAVE THE CASH WITH ME LAST WEEK, BUT AS YOU CAN SEE I’VE RECENTLY COME INTO A BIT OF MONEY, AND I WANTED TO REIMBURSE YOU FOR THE $4,000 IN MEDICAL SERVICES RENDERED. THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY. JD.
All activity came to a stop in the kitchen as everyone stared at the briefcase. To break the shocked silence, Mama turned on the radio as Daddy slowly raised the cover of the unlocked briefcase. Inside were stacks of cash, neatly banded. It was more money than I had ever seen in one place, and probl’y more than Mama and Daddy had ever seen, too.