That shut Mud up. Debt was against everything the church taught.
“I’d have to get a loan,” I said, “and the supplies you’re suggesting would run me a good ten thousand dollars, Mud. For ten thousand, we can buy from the church and still eat organic, still put up veggies and fruit. Ten thousand is a lot of money, and we’d still need to buy seeds and plants and roots. And we still need to address upgrades for the house like air-conditioning and a real hot water heater and a redesigned bathroom and laundry room and maybe even central heat. And add to that the cost of child care until you reach the age of sixteen.”
“I don’t need no child care.”
“You can’t be here alone at night if I’m out at work. It’s expensive. We need all that to make this place a proper home for you, according to what the court is likely to require. That’s a much bigger part of the custody problem than not having a greenhouse.”
“I reckon that’s a lot.”
“It is. And it’s what it’ll take to bring us into the twenty-first century.” I studied my sister and said, “I have the list of upgrades to the house suggested by the lawyer. Brother Thad will have me an estimate soon.”
Mud took a breath as if diving into deep water. “You make more’n fifty thousand dollars a year,” she said, looking at her hands tightening into fists on the kitchen table. “And your living costs last year were around fifteen thousand. You being a tree for six months meant your income was less—due to you bein’ on disability and everything. But your cost of living while you were a tree was negalable so you came out ahead.”
Oho. “Negligible,” I corrected, wondering how Mud had figured out all this. JoJo had hacked into my accounts and paid my few bills while I was out on “disability,” but Jo would never give out my private information. My family thought I had been undercover, not on disability. The story had been a total fabrication to appease the Nicholsons until a solution could be found for calling me back from being a tree. Only Mud had known, and she must have gone through my bills, my bank statements, my mail, all my financial papers. “Somebody’s been sneaking around, searching through my financial records.”
Mud blushed at the accusation, though she looked more defiant than ashamed.
“And talking to an adult who surely gave you the logic and reason for this argument.”
“I ain’t told nobody. I sneaked through your’n private papers while you was supposedly undercover.”
My sister had just called me a lying sneak. Interesting. I leaned over the counter, bracing my elbows on the top.
“Then I got Sam to take me to the library and your friend there helped me research what happens to the money when a government employee goes on disability. When I knew most everything I could find, I added up all the money on the calculator on your computer, so I know everything. I should be ashamed.” Her face went mulish and she plowed on. “But I ain’t. Not really. I want a greenhouse.”
“And now we have the change in tone that says you’re trying to get your way as opposed to us working together, making good decisions for our family.”
Mud looked up at me with a fierce delight in her eyes. I had a sudden fear that I was about to be bested at this discussion.
“If I’m supposed to make good decisions, then I needed all the information to make them. Knowing family income is part of that decision making.” Mud’s glee spread. “That there? That’s what’s called being hoisted on your own petard.” When I didn’t reply she went on. “Petard sounds nasty, but it ain’t. What you’un did? Saying you’un was wantin’ me to be a modern woman all the while keeping me in the dark? That there is what a churchman would do.”
The insult landed on me like a roundhouse blow. “Not exactly,” I said, putting my feet flat on the floor and drawing through the wood to the land for calm and steadiness. “What I’m wanting is for you to grow up into an honorable woman, not a sneak. Churchwomen sneak around because that is the only way they can ever find out things. You and me? We aren’t churchwomen anymore and I don’t expect you to act like one.”
“That ain’t fair.”
“It’s totally fair.”
Mud’s lips firmed and she scowled. “But how’m I supposed to find out stuff if I don’t sneak?”
“You could have asked,” I said calmly. “I happen to think you’re old enough to know financial things, so I’d have told you the truth. But you didn’t give me a chance. If you’re going to live here, we both have to be honest and respect my privacy and my rules.”
Mud’s entire face puckered up in irritation and confusion and maybe a little culture shock, deliberating. She raised a hand and smoothed her hair as if noticing that it was bunned up. Absently, she removed the pins and finger-combed it down. “I’m sorry. I want to be an honorable woman. A city woman, but an honorable city woman. What do I do now to fix things?”
I sat down at the kitchen table, thinking over the chain of logic and arguments that led us to this point. “Apology accepted. As to your request, your argument was succinctly reasoned and effectively debated. Sam help you with that?”
“Only the sal’nt parts. But the delivery was all mine. So … Did my sneaking around keep us from getting a greenhouse?”
“Salient. But you used it properly. There’s a lot of ifs and buts. If the custody hearing goes our way, and if we can afford the cost of the house upgrades, and if Sam and Daddy want to provide greenhouse labor, and if I can afford the greenhouse materials too, then yes.”
Mud threw back her head and shouted, “Whoop!” and proceeded to dance around with a total lack of decorum. I was elated to see my sister being so happy.
“We’ll still have to get a loan,” I said, over her whoops.
Mud stopped. Scowled at me.
“We’ll need a full plan, which also has to include legal and court fees for the custody papers. Bids for bathroom, laundry, AC and heat, and more solar panels. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing to do it right. Pavers, raised soil beds on both sides, and a path next to the walls. A separate cistern so I can make an aerated compost tea to feed the plants, add fertilizer, and deliver it without mess.”
“You been thinking about this too,” Mud accused.
“Forever. What’s a plant-girl without a greenhouse?”
Mud spluttered in laughter.
“I didn’t have the money until I started working for PsyLED. I barely have ten thousand dollars in the savings account, and even if I did, I don’t want to drain every single dime, because we’ll need a good ten thousand for me to get custody if Daddy contests it.” Mud started to argue that Daddy had said he wouldn’t contest it and I held up a hand to stop her. “Just in case. I’m not touching that money. And getting a loan takes time.”
“Or Daddy could—” Mud stopped.
“Or Daddy could loan us the money? Mud, was Daddy part of the discussion for this greenhouse?”
“Yes.” Her scowl went deeper. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the table, avoiding my eyes. “I reckon this is more a my sneaking. I’m sorry. Again.”
“Did you tell Daddy about my finances?”
Mud’s eyes jerked to me, hazel gray and shocked. “I’d never tell that. That’s family business. Our family, you and me.”
Something warm spread through me at the words. “Okay. Good. In that case, as soon as I have estimates and know the court costs, I’ll talk to the bank. And we can have our first serious family talk about finances.”
“Second. ’Cause this’un was pretty serious.”
That decided, we started putting a meal together while chatting about the lawyer we had seen the previous week, in the first steps to custody. Discussed the upgrades to the house. Chatted about the public school Mud would be attending starting in August. She had been tested to see where she fit in scholastically. Mud was twelve years old, but a fierce desire to read everything and anything had placed her at tenth grade level in English and biology, and eighth grade in math. She was at sixth grade in computer, chemistry, and history.
She would start school in eighth grade with remedial classes and be adjusted as needed, attending Cedar Bluff Middle School. The school’s emblem was a large green tree, and the motto was Go, Giants. The emblem was like the hand of God, or maybe Fate, pointing us in the right direction. We also talked about getting a scholastic tutor for the subjects she was behind on, and a computer tutor for immersion in the how-to of the future. And a new wardrobe.
• • •
We were in the middle of a late lunch when I felt an unfamiliar vehicle coming up the road. Mud looked up. “What?”
“Someone’s coming.” And no one from PsyLED had texted me to say they were on the way up.
Mud rushed to the windows and looked out. Checked the weapons that I kept near the front windows, under a chair. I placed John’s old single-shot, bolt-action shotgun across the chair arms and took up the double-barrel break-action shotgun. Both barrels held three-inch shells. I might dislocate my shoulder, but if I hit them, the trespassers’ blood would feed my land.
Mud appeared at my side and lifted John’s lever-action carbine .30-30 Winchester. “Keep your hand off the trigger,” I said.
“We shoulda given me more lessons,” Mud said.
“We’ll remedy that soon. I promise.”
A truck appeared between the trees on the one-lane road that led to my house, passed out of sight as it turned into the drive, and reappeared as it slowed to a stop. I hadn’t noticed the heat in the house until now, and I started sweating, feeling it trickle down my back. The overhead fans turned, pushing cold air around from the window-unit air conditioner. Not enough coolness in the heat of a late July day.
A man got out of the truck, early twenties, lanky, medium height. Carrying a wilted bunch of flowers. I recognized the face but couldn’t place the name.
“Dagnabbit,” Mud said, sounding frustrated.
“Who is it?”
“That’s Larry, second son of Brother Aden. Him and his first wife, Colleen, done signified an intent to court me.”
“Daddy told him no,” I said. I’d heard about the interest of the Aden family back when one of the Adens had wanted to court me. “The church voted to disallow marriage of underage girls. They agreed to follow Tennessee law on marriage age.”
“Don’t look like Larry is of a mind to listen to Daddy or the law neither,” Mud said.
Larry started up the steps. He was an average-looking man with an obstinate jaw and broad shoulders. He looked capable if not kind, determined if not affable.
“Has he been coming around?” I asked. “When you’re at Mama’s or Esther’s or Sam’s?”