Chapter 28

A year later since the old Williams farmhouse, part of which dated back to the 1840s, had been rented to a man who raised chickens, the usual Christmas supper of 1927 fell on Sammy and Polly who welcomed many guests before the holiday and Robert and his stylish lady friend on the day itself. The table had been set for eight with a highchair for Philip who was almost four years old. Six-year-old Janie squirmed on a pillow next to her mother and eleven-year-old Paul and his nine-year-old brother Michael got adult place settings and barbershop haircuts for the occasion.

The table talk came back to President-elect Hoover several times and to the virulent anti-Catholic nature of the recent Presidential campaign. Both Sammy and his wife said they had voted for Al Smith without any qualms. Neither Robert nor his guest could vote since they lived in D.C., and neither said for whom they might have voted, but the lean woman at Robert's elbow, her eyebrows shaved and then penciled in as half-moons, said that she thought it was Al Smith's position on Prohibition that had cost him votes outside the cities, that and "his terrible accent" on radio broadcasts. Sammy asked if they thought the women's vote had been significant again, and Robert's lady friend said that she was absolutely sure it was decisive.

"The dry vote was certainly telling, even in Maryland," the fey woman said, twisting her bright red mouth into a smile. "There'll be no drunks in our White House."

"Wonder how Harding would have felt about that," Sammy said, helping himself to more dressing.

"Well, Smith did lose Maryland," Robert said, "even with Governor Ritchie out supporting him hammer and tongs. And Hoover got Virginia and those other Southern states too."

"Embarrassing isn't it," said Sammy. "The Free State going for Coolidge and then for Hoover." He shook his head in wonder as he finished his roasted turkey. He had insisted that Robert sit at the head of the table, but when his brother absolutely refused, he sat there, asked the blessing and felt uncomfortable.

From the time dessert was served, the usual pair of pies, Robert held the floor and he lectured one and all on the glories of the roaring bull market and the opportunities that existed for prime investments in common stocks. Margin buying, he urged strongly, was the way to go, and he waggled his finger at Sammy when he said, "Didn't I tell you that farm prices would go sour?"

"He's right you know," Polly said. "One of our tenants is giving up and moving into Silver Spring to take a job in a garage."

"See there," Robert crowed. "Get your money out before the whole thing sinks and the sheriff's tax-sales begin. Buy stock. They're all going up."

"I don't know," Sammy said, after excusing from the table all the children who had finished their slice of pie, "the land's going to be there. Don't you think what goes up will eventually come down?" He fed Philip another bite of pumpkin pie and then handed him his napkin.

"Not this time. The Market is sound, brother, sound as a silver dollar. The banks are deeply invested. They can't let it fail." Robert smiled and stuck his thumbs in his vest. "I made more than $10,000 last year without breaking a sweat."

"On paper?" Sammy said and Polly looked daggers at him for she had tried to change the subject several times.

"On course on paper, but why would I sell? The top is not in sight." He pointed at the ceiling.

"And you are investing with borrowed money," said Polly, wrinkling her forehead but determined to underline her doubts. "What happens if the market goes down?"

"Well," Robert said, a bit sheepishly, "then I'd have to cover, to put up more cash, perhaps even sell here to pay over there." He gestured back and forth, his look growing less confident.

"It still sounds like gambling to me," Sammy said.

"And you sound like father," said Robert. "Come on, at least think about it."

Polly and Sammy did talk about investments for several nights before they slept as well as discussing the shortness of Robert's female friend's shapeless dress and her rather odd make-up. Using Polly's inherited money, they had bought three farms, all for $50 an acre or less, and all with successful tenants until recently. Polly had also managed to hang on to the Williams house after the death of Seth and Caroline by paying the other five children what would have been their inherited share of the place with the money invested at the D.C. bank. That had eaten up most of their savings, but the renter seemed a good one who planned to stay and increase his already-large flock of Rhode Island Reds so money was going back into that account. They were not sure whether the actors would be back for another summer in the barn.

"I looked at the paper," Sammy said, "it lists highs and lows, and Robert is right, many big companies' stocks are now at their highs or awful close."

"We have enough money," Polly said. "Why would we need more?"

"Those farms might go bust and if we tried to sell now, who knows what we'd get, probably a lot less than we paid."

"A good reason not to sell," said Polly. "You can have a paper loss as well as a paper profit. Go to sleep." She kissed his stubbled cheek. "Oh by the way, mister big-time investor, we are going to have another baby."

"Um," said Sammy, not completely surprised since he had been quite diligent in his love making and had been seeing some signs, particularly in the mornings before Polly got the boys into the car. "When?"

"Six months or so, June probably."

'Well, well, life is just full of little surprises," Sammy said after he kissed his wife's lips and patted her belly. "Who's the father?"

She hit him in the stomach and then climbed atop him and pummeled his chest, with her knees at his ribs. He grabbed her ears and pulled her willing mouth to his.

Before school went back into session after the holidays, Sammy had a serious talk with both boys about their schoolwork. He had been putting this chore off for some time, reluctant to play the taskmaster role or the strict disciplinarian. But the last two reports he had gotten from Kensington Elementary were discouraging and disappointing. They sat at one of the tables in the store when business was slack, and Sammy told them, looking from boy to boy, that he wanted to talk to them about their work at school.

"Them teachers hate us," Paul said, "and we get jumped on 'cause Ma got killed."

"Whoa," Sammy said, "back up. Did you say 'them teachers'?"

"Yeah," said Paul, nodding, "those teachers, all of 'em, they do. honest."

"We talked about this before," Sammy said, glancing at Paul's younger brother and seeing him smirk. "We try to use good English, and we say yes sir and yes ma'am, right? No more yeahs."

Paul nodded and pretended he did not see his brother making a face at him.

"Say it." Sammy insisted after taking a breath and telling himself to stay calm, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"Yessir," Paul said and then clamped his mouth tightly closed.

"You ain't our daddy," Mike said extra loudly, kicking his toes on the floor. "We don' have to do what you say."