Alden's alarm went off at four-thirty the next morning.
He got dressed in the dark.
I heard the familiar sounds.
The bathroom door.
The faucet.
His boots hitting the floor.
The zipper of his travel bag.
I was already awake.
I had barely slept.
He came into the kitchen while I was making coffee.
"You got my lunch?"
I handed him the paper bag.
"Right here."
He checked inside.
A sandwich.
An apple.
A packet of crackers.
He nodded.
"Good."
He took his coffee and stood near the back door.
For a moment, I thought he might say something about the bank.
Perhaps he would ask whether I had understood his explanation.
Perhaps he would mention the new account.
He didn't.
He only reminded me that his good jeans needed washing before he came home.
Then he picked up his keys.
"Don't forget what I said about the lodge meeting."
"I won't."
He stepped outside.
I watched him climb into his pickup.
A few minutes later, his big rig started up near the garage.
The engine shook the windows.
Then the headlights moved down the driveway.
At five in the morning, Alden was gone.
Two weeks on the road.
Three days at home.
That had been our arrangement for thirty years.
But this time, something was different.
I stood at the kitchen window until the red lights disappeared.
Then I looked at the bank slip on the table.
I looked at the photograph of him holding his paycheck.
And I looked at the old family picture hanging beside the refrigerator.
It showed my daddy standing in front of the farmhouse.
He had one hand on the fence post.
I was standing beside him, young and smiling.
The picture had been taken years before I married Alden.
I walked over and touched the frame.
"Daddy, I wish you'd told me what to do."
Of course, he couldn't answer.
But I remembered something he had told me when I was younger.
He had always said that a person should know what belonged to them.
Not because money was everything.
Because knowing what belonged to you meant nobody could quietly convince you that you had nothing.
I took a deep breath.
Then I went upstairs.
I changed clothes.
I put on my good shoes.
I collected my purse, my checkbook, and the keys to my truck.
I wasn't going shopping.
I wasn't going to the feed store.
I was going to the courthouse.
The county courthouse stood in the center of town.
It was an old building with wide steps and heavy doors.
I had walked through those doors many times during my years delivering mail.
I knew the clerk's office.
I knew where the records were kept.
And I knew the woman working behind the counter.
Her name was Vonda.
She had been on my mail route since she was a little girl.
I remembered delivering birthday cards to her mother's house.
Vonda used to come running down the driveway in pigtails.
Now she was a grown woman with reading glasses and a careful way of speaking.
She looked up when I entered.
"Joanne! What brings you in this morning?"
I smiled.
"I need a copy of my property deed."
"All right. Do you know the parcel number?"
I gave her the information.
She began searching through the records.
I stood beside the counter with my purse hanging from my arm.
My hands were cold.
I wasn't sure what I expected to find.
I knew Daddy had left me the farmhouse.
I had been told that many times.
But there was something about seeing it in writing that I needed.
Something official.
Something that didn't depend on Alden's opinion.
Vonda printed the record.
She read through it.
Then she stopped.
She looked at me.
"Joanne, is everything all right?"
I swallowed.
"I just need to know who owns the property."
She turned the paper toward me.
There was my name.
Joanne Kittle.
The date went back to 1981.
The property description included the farmhouse and the forty acres surrounding it.
I leaned closer.
"That's all?"
Vonda nodded.
"That's all."
I looked at the paper again.
No Alden.
No joint ownership.
No second name.
Just mine.
My name had been there since the year before my wedding.
I felt something strange in my stomach.
Relief, perhaps.
And sadness.
Both at once.
Vonda watched me carefully.
"Your father left it directly to you?"
"Yes."
"Then that's what the records show."
She made the copy official and handed it to me.
I held the pages with both hands.
They were ordinary sheets of paper.
Nothing impressive.
No fancy decorations.
Just legal words and a county seal.
But those pages meant something I hadn't fully understood for years.
Alden had never owned the farmhouse.
He had never owned the forty acres.
Not one square foot.
I had known that in the back of my mind.
But I had allowed him to speak as if it were his.
I had allowed him to make decisions as if he were the only person with a claim to the place.
Vonda lowered her voice.
"Joanne, can I ask you something?"
I looked up.
"Sure."
"Is this about Alden?"
I didn't answer immediately.
She sighed.
"I've known you a long time. I know something isn't right."
I looked down at the deed.
Then I told her about the bank.
I told her about the pension.
I told her about the paycheck and the little performance at the supper table.
I even told her about the water heater.
When I finished, Vonda was quiet.
Then she said something I wasn't prepared for.
"Sweetheart, whatever decision you're making, you need to understand that it could change your marriage."
I nodded.
"I know."
"And Alden's family may not take your side."
I looked at her.
She continued.
"His sisters have always supported him. You know how they are."
I did.
They had never been particularly close to me.
But for years, I had tried to keep things pleasant.
I sent birthday cards.
I brought food to family gatherings.
I remembered their children's names.
I had done all the little things wives were expected to do.
Vonda looked at me again.
"Are you sure you want to go ahead?"
That question nearly broke me.
Because the truth was, I wasn't sure.
I wasn't sure about anything.
I walked outside with the certified deed in my purse.
The courthouse parking lot was almost empty.
I climbed into my truck and closed the door.
Then I sat there.
For several minutes, I didn't move.
I thought about the wedding.
I thought about the children.
I thought about the years we had spent together.
I thought about Alden sleeping in the other room whenever he came home tired.
I thought about the Christmas mornings.
The birthdays.
The funerals.
The ordinary days that made up a marriage.
Forty-five years was a long time to throw away.
I wondered whether I was being selfish.
Maybe I should simply accept what had happened.
Maybe I should wait until he came home and try to talk again.
Maybe a good wife didn't make trouble over money.
That was the thought that hurt me most.
A good wife.
I had spent so many years trying to be one that I had forgotten I was also a person.
I lowered my head onto the steering wheel.
And I cried.
Not pretty little tears.
I cried until my glasses slipped down my nose.
I cried until the windows began to fog.
I cried because I was tired.
Tired of asking.
Tired of waiting.
Tired of explaining why I needed things that should never have required an explanation.
I wiped my face with a tissue.
Then I looked at the deed again.
My name was still there.
It hadn't moved.
It hadn't disappeared.
And neither had my right to make decisions.
I took out my phone.
There was one more thing I needed to do.
The pension.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: I Made One Phone Call, Changed One Small Number, and Then Knocked on the Door of the Neighbor My Husband Had Turned Away for Three Years
My Pension Disappeared Before Breakfast, and the Woman at the Bank Told Me Something I Never Expected to Hear
Part 3 of 20
