When he finished, he motioned toward our usual spot. We liked to sit a little ways from the house—just far enough from Mother and Dad’s bedroom that we could drink gin and stay up as late as we wanted. Once upon a time, our spot was covered in grass.

We perched ourselves on the low wooden chairs Henry made us one quiet winter. Just a slip of the moon was visible, which meant I could see more stars. I looked hopefully toward the barest wisp of cloud on the horizon and said a quick prayer that it might build to something. Beside me, Henry was drinking much more than he usually would.

“You went to see Betsy?”

“Nope,” he said abruptly. “Went to see Judge Nagle. I asked him if he’d lend us some money.” I felt a sharp pang at the thought of Henry begging his girl’s father to bail us out. “What choice do we have?” he argued. “We don’t know anyone else rich enough to help us, and we have to do something. Besides, he’s bought up half of Main Street in the last ten years. The man has more money than God. He may as well share some.”

“How would we even pay him back?” I said uncertainly.

“The same way we were going to pay the bank back—we sow a crop,” Henry said, shrugging.

“The bank would take the farm if we defaulted, right?” My brother nodded, and I said impatiently, “Well, Judge Nagle would do even worse! Do you really think he’d let you see Betsy if you let him down with a loan? Let alone marry her?”

“He was never going to let me marry Betsy, Lizzie,” Henry said softly, heartache beneath the words. “He told me as much tonight. Said he likes me and that’s why he’s let me hang around, but he really should have put a stop to things a while back.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, stricken.

“The judge was never going to let his daughter marry a man who can’t even afford a telephone to call her.”

“So if you break up with Betsy, he’ll give you the money?” I said hesitantly. “That sounds like he’s bribing or blackmailing you.”

“It wasn’t like that at all—we just had an honest and, frankly, overdue conversation and came to an agreement. And he’s not giving me the money—he’s lending it to me. We’ll be able to repay it next year when the harvest comes in.”

“But what if—” I started to ask.