Word Down The Road
I did not make flyers. I am not a flyer kind of person. I made six phone calls Friday night and Saturday morning, and that was all it took, because a gravel road is its own kind of telephone.
I called the Vogts. I called the Ahos, the young couple, and the wife cried a little, which I did not expect, and said their four-year-old had never been on a hayride and she had been sad about that very thing.
I called the Schultes and it turned out the grandkids were there that weekend, so that was two more. I called Mr. Dittmer on the corner, not because he has children but because it was only polite, and he said, “Well now,” which is Carl Dittmer for yes.
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By Saturday noon I had calls coming back the other way. The Vogt kids had told the Hendrickson kids at the bus stop.
Somebody told the Pfaffs, who do not even live on our road, they live on the county road, and Linda Pfaff called and asked, a little shy, if her two could come, she would drive them over.
“Of course,” I said. The rule was anybody who comes to our road. I had made the rule wide on purpose.
And then, Saturday about three o’clock, the phone rang and it was Roberta.
I let it ring twice before I picked it up. My heart was going. I am not a woman who likes a fight, and I was sure that was what this was.
“Carla,” she said. “I am hearing you are taking a wagon out tonight.”
“I am,” I said.
A silence. I could hear her kitchen behind her, the radio she keeps on.
“The insurance on the church ride is a real thing,” she said. “If a child falls off a wagon, it is on somebody. I hope you thought about that.”
“It is my family’s wagon on my family’s road behind my husband driving at a walk,” I said. “I thought about it more than you’d believe.”
Another silence.
“Fine,” she said. And she hung up. No goodbye. Just fine, and the click.
I stood there with the phone in my hand and I will tell you honestly I shook a little. Not from fear. From the effort of staying level. Cold cruelty is easier to give than to take, and I was learning to do neither and just hold my ground, and it is tiring.