“No. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.” She
stood by the sink, looking down. After almost a full
minute, she turned and followed Judith into the dining
room. Meg sat down with her purse in her lap and her
shabby gray coat unbuttoned. “I take cream,” she announced.
“Fine,” Judith said, going back into the kitchen. She
fixed Meg’s coffee and poured a glass of orange juice
for herself. “Are you headed for the airport?” she inquired when she was seated at the big oak table.
Meg nodded. “We got a flight out at two. If the fog
lifts.”
“It should,” Judith said. “So you always attend the
Iowa State Fair,” she remarked in a casual tone.
“Haven’t missed it since I was two,” Meg answered
with a hint of pride. “Best fair in the Midwest.”
“Do you and Walt own a farm?” Judith asked.
“A small one, just outside Riceville.” The corners
of Meg’s thin mouth turned down. “Walt’s dad sold
out to one of those combines years ago. They cheated
Mr. Izard. Now we’ve only got some chickens, a couple of cows, and a cornfield. It’s been a struggle, believe me.”
“Farming certainly has changed,” Judith remarked.
“But you must do okay. I mean, you and Walt are able
to take vacations like this one.”
“First time since our honeymoon,” Meg said, with
her usual sour expression. “We wouldn’t have done it
now except it’s our silver wedding anniversary. That,
and with—” She stopped abruptly, her thin shoulders
tensing under the worn wool coat.
Recalling Walt Izard’s gaunt frame, Judith gently
posed a question. “Is your husband ill?”
Meg scowled at Judith. “No. Why do you ask? It’s
none of your beeswax.”
“That’s true,” Judith admitted. “I’m sorry. It’s just
that I’m interested in people. Sometimes it gets me
into awkward situations.”
Meg’s face softened slightly. “Well . . . you can’t do
much about serious sickness. Trouble is, the doctors
can’t either. Folks like us can’t afford big-city specialists like some.”
“Maybe not,” Judith responded, then paused before
speaking again. “Shall I tell you a story?”
“A story?” Meg wrinkled her long nose. “Why do I
want to hear a story?” But a flicker of interest kindled
in her eyes.
“You’ll want to hear this story,” Judith said, placing
her elbows on the table and leaning closer to her guest.
“It’s about a young girl from a small town in Iowa who
