Back Abra
Chapters (18)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. Abra
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14

“Well that seventy acres you’re on now was for sale at the time, and I guess it seemed like a lot to them, although all of us knew it was nothing, wasn’t worth anything, wouldn’t grow anything. We warned them not to buy it, but they were young, I don’t think he could have been more than twenty-six or seven and she was maybe twenty-five, I don’t know, and they wouldn’t listen. They’d worked hard and now they were ready to own some land, and the price up here was right. The lad said he’d start with the seventy acres and buy up more as time went on; he just wanted a start, he said, that was all.

“They were right on the line after they bought the place, so the first thing they had to do was get a loan from the bank. They didn’t have much trouble with that; everybody around here borrows, there’s nothing unusual about it, it’s expected. I don’t think old John Forrest, he was manager of the bank over there at the time, thought they’d make it, but he gave them the money anyway. They were a real nice young couple, and people hoped they’d make out, but nobody figured they would.

“Anyway, young McAllister bought forty head of cattle, which was stretching it hard for the amount of grazing land he had there. He wanted to get clear as soon as he could, though, and I guess by then he’d heard so many people saying they wouldn’t make it out there he got stubborn, wanted to prove he could. That was back in the days when people believed you could do anything if you worked hard enough. I suppose people know better now; anyhow it’s different.

“Say, are you sure you want to hear this? It’s not that nice a story.” I nodded.

“Well then let’s get comfortable. There’s lawn chairs over there that beat leaning on a counter.” I nodded again, and we moved off to a corner and settled into two plastic chairs, while Frank glowered behind us.

“Okay then. McAllister built a stretch of chicken coops and handed them over to his wife. She was supposed to keep the chickens and sell the eggs. Everything counted, he said, especially the pennies. I thought at the time she didn’t look as happy about it all as he did, but then nobody could have been as happy and hopeful as him.