The Coupon Book I Mailed My Daughter in Law

Madison came out behind us. She stood at the edge of the calf yard in those good tan boots, in the mud, and she watched her daughter feed a calf. After a while she came over and put her hand on Patches’ head, very carefully, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed.

“She’s soft,” she said, surprised.

“They’re all soft at that age.”

“I used to love the baby pigs,” Madison said quietly. “Before all that. I used to love going to the farrowing barn.”

“You can love them again,” I said. “Nobody here is going to snort at you.”

She laughed, and it was a better laugh this time.

Nolan’s pickup came up the lane at seven-thirty, right after we finished milking and Rick was hosing down the parlor. He’d woken up to an empty house and no kids and the coupon book gone off the counter where Madison had left it, and he’d figured out where they were.

He got out of the truck and stood in the yard the way he had a year ago April. Rick turned off the hose and came out of the milk house and stood beside me. Madison came out with the kids behind her.

Nobody yelled. I’ve said that I’m not a yeller, and Rick isn’t either, and it turns out Madison isn’t either. We just stood in the yard in the cold and looked at him.

“Mom,” Nolan said. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell her.”

“No you weren’t,” Madison said. Not mean. Just tired. “You were never going to tell me. You were going to let your mother pay it until the sun burned out.”

Nolan looked at his boots. He looked at his dad.

Rick has never been one for speeches. He walked over and put one hand on our son’s shoulder, and said, “Son, a man can lose his job. That’s no shame. Happens to good men every day. But a man doesn’t lie to his wife about it. And he doesn’t let his mother carry it for him.”

Nolan nodded. His jaw was working.

“The co-op’s hiring at the feed mill,” Rick said. “Running the mixer and loading out. Pay’s not what Waterloo was. But it’s steady, and they’ve got insurance. Gene told me Sunday after church they’re short two men.”

“I didn’t want a feed mill job,” Nolan said quietly. “I wanted my old job back.”

“I know you did,” I said. “We all want our old something back.”

He went to the co-op that morning. He was on the floor of that feed mill by the following Monday, running the grinder-mixer and loading bulk feed for the same farmers he grew up with. He comes home smelling like ground corn and molasses, and Madison says she doesn’t mind it a bit.

They made the November payment themselves, with the late fee. Madison drove it to the bank and handed it to Janet herself. Janet stamped it and said, “How are the cows milking?” and Madison said, “Fine, I think,” and the both of them laughed.

The second Friday Nolan worked at the mill, he drove out to the farm after his shift with an envelope. There was a fifty-dollar bill in it.

“What’s this?” I said.

“First payment,” he said. “Fifty a week. Till it’s paid.”

“Nolan, you don’t have to pay it back.”

“Yes I do, Mom.” He put it in my hand and closed my fingers over it. “Yes I do.”