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somewhere, “Things to say when I meet Leslie,” and each time I got a sense of her watching me, looking for cracks or
     possibly the same lewd behavior that my sister exhibited at the wedding.
    And now the next thing would be… Wait for it…
    “So how have you and your lovely children been doing?”
    Bingo. Okay, these were often the same blank phrases tossed out when people first meet. A conversational equivalent of letting
     your car run to warm it up. But with Gloria the conversation was always the same phrases in the same order and she always
     started with,”So,”—pause—“here you are,” as if my presence was something she'd have to get used to all over again.
    Today she had her long blonde hair tucked under a farmer's cap. She wore coveralls with a pair of gloves hanging out of the
     back pocket. In spite of the farmer attire, she still managed to look like she was setting some new fashion trend.
    I couldn't help but glance down at my clean blue jeans and pale pink jacket.
    “Sweet coat, Leslie,” Allison said.
    I didn't detect any irony in her voice, though I noticed too late that she and Tabitha were wearing faded and worn jackets
     and jeans.
    “What the well-dressed farmer's wife wears,” I quipped.
    “You won't be doing much,” Gloria said, waving her hand at me, dismissing my capabilities with the flick of her wrist. “So
     you won't have to worry about getting dirty.” Another twitchy smile.
    Down, hackles.
    “I'm a farmer's wife now,” I said with a blustery confidence that was ninety-seven percent fake. I still couldn't tell barley
     from wheat or hay from straw, but I was undaunted. “I can help.”
    “Well then,” was all she said.
    “Are the horses unloaded already?” Tabitha asked.
    “Dan and Dad are already headed out to gather up the cows. And Oma is getting the needles and medicine ready.” Gloria pulled
     the gloves out of her pocket. “We'd better get going.”
    “Wilma's here, too?”
    “Of course.” Gloria frowned. “The cows belong to her.”
    I nodded. My big attempt at integration struck aside by the reality of ownership. Wilma's cows. Dan and I were simply hired
     help.
    “We'd better get going.” Gloria's command became everyone's wish, so we started off. Nicholas babbled as Allison pulled him
     along in the wagon. Anneke sang. And I had to look back to make sure these happy children were my offspring. My long nursing
     shifts had left me with the tired and cranky version of my children after they had spent ten hours in day care. My mission
     had always been to pick them up, feed them, and clean them up before Dan came home, then get ready for another twelve-hour
     shift at the hospital.
    Beside us Gloria and Tabitha chatted about the weather, school, the cows, the farm. At one point Tabitha laughed and dropped
     her head onto her mother's shoulder.
    The little gesture made me feel a tad despondent. Gloria just seemed too good to be true. Like her mom. Inadequate me had
     been secretly looking for chinks in Gloria's armor that would make me feel less deficient, but so far she seemed well and
     truly in charge of her world.
    “So, what do we do with the cows?” I asked Allison, slipping my hands into the pockets of my “cute” jacket.
    “We process them. Give the calves shots for blackleg before we put them out on summer pasture in a few weeks. You never did
     this before?” Allison's voice suggested that processing cows was something normal people knew all about.
    “Honey, the first time I found out that the milk I bought in those nice cardboard containers actually came from a cow, I was
     physically ill.”
    Allison released another laugh, which netted us a curious look from Tabitha.
    “You've gotta come and see my dad's milking parlor,” Tabitha said with a touch of pride as she glanced over at us. “It's so
     clean you can eat off the floor.”
    “That might not mean much. I can sometimes eat off my kitchen floor, but that's only because I