CHAPTER FOUR
Luke found out what Mother meant a few days later when he came down for breakfast. As usual, he opened the door from the back stairs to the kitchen only a crack. He could remember barely a handful of times in his entire life when someone had dropped by before breakfast, and each time Mother had managed to send Matthew or Mark up to warn Luke to stay out of sight. But he always checked. Today he could see Dad and Matthew and Mark at the table, and knew from the sound of frying bacon that Mother must be at the stove.
'Are the shades closed?' he called softly.
Mother opened the door to the stairs. Luke started to step into the kitchen, but she put out her arm to keep him back. She handed him a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon.
'Luke, honey? Can you eat sitting on the bottom step there?'
'What?' Luke asked.
Mother looked beseechingly over her shoulder.
'Dad thinks-I mean, it's not safe anymore to have you in the kitchen. You can still eat with us, and talk to us and all, but you'll be… over here.'
She waved her hand toward the stairs behind Luke.
'But with the shades pulled-' Luke started.
'One of those workers asked me yesterday, 'Hey, farmer, you got air-conditioning in that house of yours?'' Dad said from the table. He didn't turn around. He didn't seem to want to look at Luke. 'We keep the shades pulled, hot day like today, people get suspicious. This way is safer. I'm sorry.'
And then Dad did turn around and glance at Luke, once. Luke tried to keep from looking upset.
'So what'd you tell him?' Matthew asked, as if the worker's question was only a matter of curiosity.
'Told him of course we don't have air-conditioning. Farming don't make nobody a millionaire.'
Dad took a long sip of coffee.
'Okay, Luke?' Mother asked.
'Yes,' he mumbled. He took the plate of eggs and bacon, but it didn't look good to him now. He knew every bite he ate would stick in his throat. He sat down on the step, out of sight of both kitchen windows.
'We'll leave the door open,' Mother said. She hovered over him, as if unwilling to return to the stove. 'This isn't too much different, is it?'
'Mother-' Dad said warningly.
Through the open windows, Luke could hear the rumble of several trucks and cars. The workers had arrived for the day. He knew from watching through the vent the past few days that the caravan of vehicles came up the road like a parade. The cars would peel off to the side and unload the nicer dressed men. The more rugged vehicles pulled on in to the muddiest sections, and the people inside would scatter to the bulldozers and backhoes that had been left outside overnight. But the vehicles barely had time to get cold, because the workers were there now from sunup to sundown. Someone was in a hurry for them to finish.
'Luke-I'm sorry,' Mother said, and scurried back to the stove. She loaded a plate for herself, then sat down at the table, beside Luke's usual spot. His chair wasn't even in the kitchen anymore.
For a while, Luke watched Dad, Mother, Matthew, and Mark eating in silence, a complete family of four. Once, he cleared his throat, ready to protest again.
Resolutely, Luke stuck his fork in the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate and took a bite. He ate the whole plateful of food without tasting any of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Luke ate every meal after that on the bottom step. It became a habit, but a hated one. He had never noticed before, but Mother often spoke too softly to be heard from any distance, and Matthew and Mark always made their nasty comments under their breath. So they would start laughing, often at Luke's expense, and he couldn't defend himself because he didn't know what they had said. He couldn't even hear Mother saying, 'Now, be nice, boys.' After a week or two, a lot of the time, he didn't even try to listen to the rest of the family's conversation.
But even he was curious the hot July day when the letter arrived about the pigs.
Matthew brought the mail in that day from the mailbox at the crossroads a mile away. (Luke had never seen them, of course, but Matthew and Mark had told him there were three mailboxes there, one for each of the families that lived on their road.) Usually the Garners' mail was just bills or thin envelopes carrying curt orders from the Government about how much corn to plant, which fertilizer to use, and where to take their crop when it was harvested. A letter from a relative was a cause to celebrate, and Mother always dropped whatever she was doing and sat down to open it with trembling hands, calling out at intervals, 'Oh, Aunt Effie's in the hospital again…' or, 'Tsk, Lisabeth's going to marry that fellow after all…' Luke almost felt he knew his relatives, though they lived hundreds of miles away. And, of course, they didn't even know he existed. The letters Mother wrote back, painstakingly, late at night, when she'd saved up enough money for a stamp, contained plenty of news of Matthew and Mark, but never once had mentioned Luke's name.
This letter was as thick as some from Luke's grandmother, but it bore an official seal, and the return address was an embossed DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN HABITATION, ENVIRONMENTAL STANDARDS DIVISION. Matthew held the letter at arm's length, the way Luke had seen him hold dead baby pigs when they had to be carried out of the barn.
Dad looked worried the minute he saw the letter in Matthew's hand. Matthew put the letter down beside Dad's silverware. Dad sighed.
'Can't be anything but bad news,' Dad said. 'No use ruining a good meal. It can wait.'
He went back to eating chicken and dumplings. Only after his last belch did he turn the envelope over and run a dirt-rimmed fingernail under the flap. He unfolded the letter.
''It has come to our attention…,'' he read aloud. 'Well, so far I understand it.' Then he read silently for a while, calling out at intervals, 'Mother, what's 'offal'?' and, 'Where's that dictionary? Matthew, look up 'reciprocity.'' Finally, he threw down the whole thick packet and proclaimed, 'They're going to make us get rid of our hogs.'
'What?' Matthew asked. More serious than Mark, he had talked for as long as anyone could remember about, 'When I get my own farm, it's going to be all hogs. I'll make the Government let me do that, somehow…' Now he looked over Dad's shoulder. 'You mean they're just going to make us sell a lot at one time, right? But we can build the herd back up-'
'Nope,' Dad said. 'Those people in them fancy new houses won't be able to stand pig smell. So we can't raise hogs no more.' He threw the letter out into the center of the table for all to see. 'What'd they expect, building next to a farm?'
From his seat on the stairs, Luke had to hold himself back from going to fish the edge of the letter out of the chicken gravy and looking at it himself.
'They can't do that, can they?' he asked.
Nobody answered. Nobody needed to. Luke felt like a fool for asking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. For once, he was glad of his hiding place.
Mother twisted a dishrag in her hand.
'Those hogs are our bread and butter,' she said. 'With grain prices the way they are… what are we going to live on?'
Dad just looked at her. After a moment, so did Matthew and Mark. Luke didn't know why.
