The drought changed a lot of things and none of it made sense to me either. I still got out of bed and I still did my share. Mother, Henry, and I didn’t have a choice—we had to get used to a new way of operating because running the farm was a four-man operation. The price per bushel for wheat in the 1934 harvest was higher, and that might have been a relief had it not been our worst season ever, both in terms of the condition of the grain and the yield. We sold only six hundred bushels, each one fetching a miserable thirty-three cents.

We didn’t square the debt with Judge Nagle that year. We didn’t even manage to make regular repayments. Henry told me to “keep my chin up,” but I knew it was already too late. Even if we had buckets of rain, there would be no crop this year. I had no idea what we were going to do, other than to throw ourselves on the good graces of Judge Nagle and ask for more time.

“You look pretty as a picture,” Dad said, and if the shock on his face was any indication, he was as surprised by his remark as I was. I did a mock curtsy and mumbled something about it being Mother’s old dress. “Oh, I remember it well. She used to wear it back when we were courting. It suits you just as well as it suited her then.” He set the paper down on his lap and frowned at me. “Lizzie, you’re almost nineteen. When are you going to get yourself a boyfriend?”

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I said, raising my chin.

“Your mother and I were married by the time she was your age.”

“Daddy.”

“What? You know it’s true.”

“Maybe I’m not cut out for all that,” I muttered, embarrassed.

“Nonsense. Don’t you want a farm of your own? Children?”

“I…” I didn’t want to waste a rare good day by telling him no. “Of course,” I lied, convincing myself that it was okay to lie on Sunday if it was only half a lie. After all, I did want a farm of my own. That I would likely need a husband to go with it was an inconvenient reality I was still trying to make peace with.

“Then maybe make eye contact with some of the boys at church,” Dad suggested, picking his paper up again. “That would be a good start.”

I stopped at the linen cupboard on my way to the Model T, fetching a small towel to protect the dress, then stopped again to pat the horse and to check on her harness. Jesse and Joker were all we had left by way of livestock other than the chickens, and although the chickens still gave us plenty, the horses were the most valuable asset we owned now.