Glamorous Illusions Read Online Free

section. Make a way, Lord. Make a way for this water to sustain this field. And Lord? You know my heart. Learning, Lord. Teaching. I want to teach so badly… Please. Make a way. Make a way for us all. Make a way for this miserable wheat. Coax it back to life. Amen.

CHAPTER 4
    ~Cora~
    We watered. We weeded. We prayed. But in the end, we knew there wouldn’t be anything to harvest. Papa retreated inward, replying to Mama and me in monosyllabic words, blaming himself, even if every other farmer on the eastern slope had suffered the same outcome.
    And our fear grew. We had not plowed the north forty. Each morning, he made no move to hook up Sugarbeet to the plow, nor did he head to town for the sacks of seed I knew we needed. He took to walking the east forty for hours, treading the paths where the winter wheat had so utterly failed. Mama baked bread, taking loaves and the extra milk to sell to the mercantile every morning, returning with meager supplies. I fed the horse and chickens and pigs, mucked the stalls, milked, and helped Mama with the garden. But we were each waiting, really, in mute helplessness, unable to do more.
    One morning, Mama stood beside me at the east window, and we watched Papa. Dragging his left foot along, bending to pick up a handful of dirt, and then crumbling the clod, watching the dust fly away.
    â€œIt’s like he’s visiting a grave,” I muttered. “We have to get the north forty planted, or the bank will be coming to throw us out of the house.” I was guessing, but by the look on Mama’s face, I knew I was right.
    â€œWe can’t, Cora.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She turned to me, so pretty, even in middle age. So strong. “There’s no money for the seed. My bread and the extra milk are bringing in enough to buy the necessities, but no extra. Thank God we have a garden and animals to keep us fed.”
    I paced away from her, thinking. Then it came to me, the solution. “I have to go to town.”
    â€œFor what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
    I ignored her question and just went to my part of the house, through the drawn curtain, and sat on my bed. Next to my bed was a nightstand with a deep drawer. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached in and pulled out the elegant box, running my fingers over the lid. J ASPER’S , the logo read in a fine script. N EW Y ORK , N EW Y ORK.
    I flipped open the lid and wondered anew over the triple-strand pearl choker with the rhinestone clasp. Out of all the fine birthday gifts I’d received over the years from a nameless benefactor, this one that had arrived on my sixteenth birthday was undoubtedly the finest. Papa had teased me about a secret admirer. But I’d caught the worried glance he and Mama shared, the one they shared every year. I knew they knew something about it, but they wouldn’t tell me, no matter how much I pestered them. And I pestered them plenty that year. They simply gestured toward the crumpled packaging. “No return address, Cora. How are we to know who would send you such a thing?”
    It was extravagant. And beautiful. I’d tried it on so many times, lifting my hair, fantasizing about my hair in elaborate curls and a gown to match the necklace. Wondering and wondering about who had sent it to me and never coming to any suitable answers. Most of Mama and Papa’s relatives were dead or distant. And none of them were well-to-do.
    It was a treasure. My treasure. But really, where on earth would I wear such a thing? Once I had my teaching credential, I’d likely be out in the country. Even if I managed to find a position in one of Montana’s cities, there would be no ball or society function fancy enough where I could wear a necklace such as this.
    â€œCora?” Mama asked, hesitating outside my curtain.
    â€œPlease, Mama,” I said. “I can’t talk right now.” She’d only try to talk me out of it. But I was