Chapter 3 - What Everyone Else Threw Away
Mabel Pike hated the idea.
That was how Harriet knew it had potential.
“No.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I saw the milk.”
“It isn’t milk anymore.”
“That sentence does not improve matters.”
Harriet set the bucket on the porch.
Inside was a thick pale mixture, smoother than whitewash and less chalky.
Mabel looked at it as if Harriet had brought a bucket of swamp water into church.
“The west wall needs coating.”
“The west wall needs proper paint.”
“Proper paint costs almost four dollars for enough.”
“And your bucket costs?”
“Thirty-eight cents in materials if the curd is free.”
Mabel blinked.
“That much difference?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because manufactured paint has to be hauled here.”
Mabel circled the bucket.
“And this?”
“The main ingredient was dumped into my barnyard.”
Mabel pressed her lips together.
Harriet waited.
Mabel had run a boarding house for twenty-two years.
She valued appearance.
But she valued money more.
“One board,” Mabel said.
Harriet smiled.
“One board.”
They chose a patch beneath the porch where failure would be easy to hide.
Harriet brushed on the first layer.
The coating went dull as it dried.
Mabel frowned.
“It looks plain.”
“It is plain.”
“I don’t pay for plain.”
“You haven’t paid anything.”
“Then I’m already getting what I paid for.”
Harriet ignored her.
Two hours later, they applied another thin layer.
By evening, the board looked clean and solid.
Not glossy.
Not elegant.
But fresh.
Mabel scraped a fingernail across it.
Nothing flaked.
She rubbed harder.
Still nothing.
The next morning, she threw a cup of water against the board.
Harriet stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing.”
“You could have warned me.”
“If you knew, you might have stopped me.”
Water ran down the pale surface.
After it dried, the coating remained.
Mabel placed both hands on her hips.
“How much for the west wall?”
Harriet named a price.
Mabel bargained.
Harriet refused twice.
They settled at two dollars and seventy-five cents, with Mabel providing lunch.
It was Harriet’s largest paid job in almost a year.
By midmorning, three boarding-house guests had carried chairs into the yard to watch.
By noon, six townspeople had stopped.
By two, Orson Bellweather appeared.
He stood across the street for several minutes before approaching.
“Busy,” he said.
Harriet did not stop brushing.
“Yes.”
Mabel sat in the shade shelling peas.
“Try not to sound so surprised, Orson.”
He ignored her.
“What exactly are you putting on that wall?”
“Paint.”
“That isn’t paint.”
Mabel tossed another pea into the bowl.
“If it covers a wall and stays there, I’m willing to stretch the definition.”
Orson looked at Harriet.
“What’s in it?”
“Materials.”
“What materials?”
Harriet smiled.
“The kind I own.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
Orson was not merely curious.
He was calculating.
“How much are you charging?”
Mabel answered.
“That is between me and Harriet.”
Orson looked at her.
“I didn’t ask you.”
“No, but you’re standing on my property, so I’ve decided to participate.”
One of the boarding-house men coughed to hide a laugh.
Orson turned away.
Before leaving, he inspected the wall again.
That afternoon, Edwin Marsh returned.
He had delayed his departure because the stagecoach had broken a spring.
He ran one hand across the dried section.
“This could sell.”
Harriet continued painting.
“So people keep telling me.”
“I’m not people. I sell things.”
“Last time you sold Mrs. Pike a potato slicer that took longer to clean than a knife.”
Mabel called from the porch, “That is true.”
Edwin looked offended.
“One unsuccessful item does not ruin a career.”
“Three,” Mabel said.
He lowered his voice.
“I travel from Cheyenne to settlements north of the river. Farmers are always coating barns. Shops need interior wash. Carpenters use glue.”
Harriet looked at him.
“And?”
“And if you can produce this consistently, I could carry samples.”
“What would you take?”
“Twenty percent.”
Harriet almost laughed.
“Ten.”
“Eighteen.”
“Twelve.”
“Fifteen.”
“Thirteen.”
Edwin studied her.
“You bargain harder than Mrs. Pike.”
From the porch Mabel said, “Because I taught her.”
Harriet did not correct that lie.
They agreed on thirteen percent.
The first sample order was small.
Six one-pound jars of adhesive.
Three buckets of dry base to be mixed at the destination.
Harriet did not know whether she could fill even that.
But she said yes.
That night, she sat at her kitchen table and counted figures.
Mabel’s wall: $2.75.
Repair work: $0.78.
Less salt, lime, chalk, cloth, and one replacement brush.
Potentially enough to cover nearly half her store account.
If Edwin sold the samples, perhaps all of it.
Harriet had spent two years calculating how little she could survive on.
Now, for the first time, she calculated how much she might earn.
The shift frightened her.
Hope made a person careless.
She closed the ledger.
A knock came at the door.
Thomas stood outside.
He held his hat in both hands.
“Evening.”
“Tom.”
“I heard about the wall.”
“So has everyone.”
He smiled.
“Mabel made sure of that.”
Harriet stepped onto the porch.
Thomas glanced toward the barn.
“Pratt has another spoiled batch.”
Harriet stared.
“How much?”
“Not three barrels. Maybe one and a half.”
“What happened?”
“Cooling room problem.”
“Is he offering it?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Thomas looked toward the road.
“Because Orson came to the creamery.”
Harriet went still.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“What did he want?”
“He told Pratt not to give you any more waste milk.”
Harriet laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
“He called it worthless yesterday.”
Thomas nodded.
“Today he offered Pratt two cents a gallon for it.”
Harriet looked toward her barn.
The remaining curd suddenly felt less secure.
“Did Pratt accept?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wants four.”
Harriet shook her head.
“Of course he does.”
Thomas hesitated.
“There’s more.”
She waited.
“Orson asked questions about your land.”
“What questions?”
“Whether the railroad survey crosses it.”
Harriet’s jaw tightened.
Thomas lowered his voice.
“I shouldn’t have listened.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I thought you needed to know.”
She studied him.
“Why are you helping me?”
Thomas looked surprised.
“Because I dumped three barrels of spoiled milk into your yard while people laughed.”
“That wasn’t your idea.”
“No. But I still did it.”
Harriet softened.
“You had a job.”
“So do I now.”
“What job?”
Thomas looked at her barn.
“Keeping Bellweather from buying your raw material before you can.”
Harriet almost smiled.
“Is that a job?”
“Could be.”
“How much does it pay?”
“A cup of coffee?”
“I can afford that.”
“Then I’m employed.”
They sat at the kitchen table.
Harriet showed him none of the ledger.
Not yet.
But she told him enough.
Glue.
Paint.
Possibilities.
Thomas listened without laughing.
That mattered more than she expected.
Before leaving, he paused at the door.
“Harriet.”
“Yes?”
“If this works, Orson won’t quit.”
“I know.”
“You don’t seem worried.”
“I’m very worried.”
“You don’t look it.”
She leaned against the frame.
“I’ve discovered looking worried rarely fixes anything.”
Thomas smiled.
Then his expression turned serious.
“I’ll talk to Pratt before Orson does.”
“Don’t lose your job.”
“I won’t.”
He stepped into the dark.
Harriet watched him ride away.
The next morning, before sunrise, someone nailed a notice to Harriet’s front gate.
She found it while carrying water.
NOTICE OF ACCOUNT REVIEW.
Bellweather General Store.
All outstanding accounts subject to immediate settlement upon reassessment of collateral.
Harriet read it twice.
Her debt was not due for seven more days.
But Orson was no longer waiting.
He had begun moving the deadline.
And underneath the printed notice, written in pencil, were five words.
Sell the south forty, Harriet.
She looked toward town.
Then toward the pale wall of her barn where yesterday she had tested her grandmother’s paint.
Everyone else had thrown the milk away.
Orson Bellweather had now decided it was worth fighting over.
May you like
That told Harriet more than any salesman could.
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