A year later, he added indoor plumbing (although he sensibly kept the backyard privy). He added a barn and a silo in 1919, and in 1920 he put in a deep well that pumped an unbelievable six gallons per minute. Harlan Cotterie, being far from stupid, prospered more than most. In the years between 19, even stupid Nebraska farmers prospered. If not of suffocation, then of starvation once their unspeakable pantry was exhausted. And down there in the dark they would die. I suppose a few of the rats must have been out foraging, but I had no doubt I’d immured most of them-including the one that had savaged poor Achelois-down there in the dark. By the time Henry got back (and in fine spirits he had indeed taken Shannon, and they had shared an ice-cream soda bought with change from the errands), it had hardened. I got it in at least two feet, and those last two feet I packed with cement. Back in the barn, while I waited for it to thicken, I poked the swatch of canvas even deeper into the pipe. I took a bag of Portland cement around to the house-well and mixed up a batch in an old pail. It was still plugged, but I was under no illusions it might take time, but eventually the rats would gnaw through the canvas. I first checked on Achelois, who seemed listless but otherwise fine. He would see what had happened to the cow, of course, and probably guess what had done it, but I thought I could still ease the knowledge for him a little.
But I couldn’t spend too much time wallowing in my feelings I had an important chore to do, and I’d sent Henry away so I could attend to it by myself. I suppose it’s something most parents feel the first time they see a child going away on his own and face the realization that if a child is old enough to be sent on errands without supervision, he’s not totally a child any longer. I had a stupid but very strong premonition that I would never see him again. There was a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I watched by the gate until our old truck disappeared into a ball of its own dust.
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