Flo cooked, now and then, whenever she and J.D. felt the need for a roast or some other meat dish. Most of the time, however, the meals were soup, soup and more soup. “And don’t forget, bread, bread and more bread,” Flo grumbled. They had taken to baking their own bread, as it meant fewer trips to town and ovens were already here. Still, Flo continued musing, That “duenne suppe” stuff and a slice of bread just isn’t a substitute for a pot of coffee with bacon, eggs and toast. Guess we’ll all have to get used to it, though.
* * *
Chores were done and everyone had cleaned up from the day’s work. They were all waiting for J.D. and Mary Ellen to arrive. Some of the younger children had already been fed and were being prepared for bed by Anna and Ilsa.
Johan and Wilhelm were taking this opportunity to discuss possibilities for expansion. “Will need more space someday, Flo. Even with Brillo, will be good increase in sheep next year. Should prepare for it.” Wilhelm was an ambitious man.
“I know, Wilhelm, I know. We’ll look into it. Right now, I’d like to know what’s keeping J.D. and Mary Ellen . . . Never mind, I think I hear the truck now.”
J.D. pulled the truck up in front of the garage. What’s he doing with a stock trailer? Flo wondered. And isn’t that Farley Utt? What’s he doing here? I thought he was off with the army.
Mary Ellen was smiling as she brought forward a pretty brunette. “Flo, I’d like you to meet Margaretha . . .”
“Maggie. I will be Maggie in my new life, please,” the young woman interrupted.
“Very well. Flo, I’d like you to meet Maggie Utt. She and Farley were married this afternoon. I thought of you when Maggie told me her story. Gary and Maylene have a full house already, anyway.”
“I have a fairly full house, myself, Mary Ellen. Why would you think of me? I know Farley from church, but . . .”
Flo looked up as J.D. shouted her name.
“Because of these, Flo.” Mary Ellen was grinning from ear to ear as she pointed at the trailer. “They’re Maggie’s dowry. She’s been disinherited, but her father gave her these.”
The ewes, which appeared to be at least three-quarters Merino, weren’t interested in trying the ramp yet. But the ram, the beautiful, heavily fleeced, mature ram, stalked down the ramp as though he knew exactly why he was here. He was there to breed.
* * *
Oh, shoot. The rabbits Flo thought.
Flo glared at the rabbits. Then she glared at Johan. By now Johan knew that it wasn’t really directed at him. At least he hoped it wasn’t. He had talked to J.D. about it. Flo took a great deal on herself and got upset when she made mistakes. All of the people around all the time wasn’t helping. She was concerned about their welfare, Johan’s family and the other down-timers, and afraid she might make a mistake. Plus, she was almost out of that vile coffee stuff she liked so much.
“Okay,” she asked, “how many?”
“Twenty-five.” Johan said. Last night three of the does had litters of baby rabbits. The others were pregnant. More of that marvelous angora hair. They were going to get so rich.
“Okay,” she said, “each of the does has had an average of eight babies, right?”
Johan nodded cautiously. There had been something in Flo’s tone. Like she was trying not to yell.
“So in the next couple of weeks we’ve got a lot of baby rabbits coming. Half of which will be female, or a bit more. We had forty does from the last cycle. Plus the ten mothers. Fifty does. Average of eight babies. Every three months or so . . . that’s a lot of new rabbits in three months . . . half of them female . . . plus what we started with . . . that gives us about two hundred breeding does . . . Is that right?” Flo looked up at Johan. How did she seem so big. She was only five foot one.
“Two hundred and fifty,” Johan said. “Then one thousand two hundred and fifty at the next cycle. Very good ratio.” He pronounced the word carefully. “Rabbits are very good return on investment. But it won’t happen that way.” He added regretfully. “We use separate cages to limit the breeding.” Then he grinned. “No Brillo rabbits to break into the does cages.”
Flo wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. Some of those bucks are mean.”
“Meat.” Johan’s voice was flat.
“They’re not exactly bred for meat,” she pointed out.
“Hardly matters,” Johan said. His blond hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head. “Meat is meat. We want only the best. Best wool. Easiest to manage.”
Flo swallowed the bile. “Fine, Johan,” she said. “We’ll breed the best, and keep the rest in separate cages.” Johan could tell that Flo didn’t like it either. He hated giving up the fur they could produce. They were a resource he hated to lose, but the feed situation, not to mention the space situation, was going to get out of hand real soon. Johan wished there were some way to spread the load.
* * *
“You’ll like her,” Mary Lee Newhouse said. “She’s about as down to earth as anyone ever was.” They were walking up Flo Richards’s long drive. “See?” Mary Lee flipped her hand, indicating the farm. “She’s got her stuff together.”
Clara Kunze, or Kunzin as the Germans would say, the wife of Herr Junker from Badenburg who had sold the Lehen on a farm to Mary Lee’s husband, looked at her. She lifted a pale eyebrow. “This friend of yours, Flo? She’s the one who claims that her wool is better than any wool in Thuringia? Why should I believe that?”
“Because it is.” Mary Lee said. “I’ve known Flo for years. Went to school with her.” Had been there for the infamous cheerleader episode. Had cheered Flo on, for that matter. Quietly, of course. Grantville was a small town. It didn’t do to make more enemies than you had to.
“Flo,” Mary Lee said, “will have an answer for your widows.” She hoped. There were widows in Sundremda and she knew from Clara that there were others. Every village had them; more now, because of the war. They made their living, what living they had, by spinning wool. Flo knew about wool; maybe she would have an idea.
Mary Lee knew that wasn’t all of it. Clara was worried about a number of things. Only one of them was the plight of the widows in the villages her husband held Lehen on. Mary Lee wasn’t real fond of the stuck up Claus Junker but she at least respected the fact that he wouldn’t put a widow or orphan out, rent or no rent. Still, if those women could make a fairly decent living, it would help. Clara had made it very clear that what she didn’t want was another Guffy Pomeroy. They’d reached the porch. She rang the bell and hoped.
She rang the bell again, when Flo didn’t answer.
“I know she’s here,” Mary Lee muttered. “I checked with J.D.”
After the second ring, Flo pulled the door open. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you, Mary Lee. Come on in."
Flo waved them in. She looked . . . well, while Mary Lee hated the term, Flo looked stressed out. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“C’mon to the kitchen,” Flo said. Grumpily. A glance told Mary Lee that Clara was not pleased with this lack of manners. Clara was pretty down to earth as upper class town women went, but even the best of them didn’t care for being ignored or treated rudely.
Mary Lee and Clara followed. “Flo,” Mary Lee said, “do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Flo’s bangs fell over her eyes as she looked fierce. “I,” Flo said, “am sick of this place. The problems. Trying to deal with it. All of a sudden, I’ve got too many rabbits and not enough angora. I’ve got a ram that doesn’t have wool, he’s got steel wool. And he keeps getting loose. I’m afraid he’s going to get to Jen’s Merinos, that . . . thing.” Flo’s face was flushed. “And not only that . . .” She gestured around the room . . . “I’m having to cut back on coffee.”
“Oops.” Mary Lee stifled a grin. Flo had been hooked on coffee since she was about eight years old. “That bad, huh?”
Flo glared at her. “You can laugh.” Then she looked at Clara. “Sorry,” she said, then blushed a bit. “I’ve forgotten my manners. May I offer you something to drink?”
Clara Kunze, who clearly recognized a woman on the edge, grinned at her. “I don’t suppose you have any of Mary Lee’s frozen limeade about the house, do you?”
Flo grinned. “Who, me?” she asked innocently. “Me?”
Mary Lee gave Flo her own glare. “Tootsie, I saw that sale at Costco, didn’t I?”
Flo blushed. “Jeez, Mary Lee,” she said. “You’ll give away all my secrets, won’t you?”
“Only if you’ve run out of tequila.” Mary Lee grinned. “Of course, we can always do daiquiris, can’t we?”
“Tell me about these rabbits,” Clara said sympathetically. “Are they getting into your garden?” Mary Lee could tell that Clara was feeling her way and she was thankful for it. She had gone to some trouble to arrange the meeting and Flo had almost blown it in coffee withdrawal.
Flo laughed. “No. Not that kind of rabbit. These are angora rabbits. They have marvelously soft hair; you spin it with wool.” Then, seeing Clara’s expression. “It’s true. Here, I’ll show you.” She fetched a scarf made from merino wool and angora hair.