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evening. He threatened that if I don't put an end to my
Women's Gazette,
he'll recommend to the board of deacons that my name be removed from church membership. How dare he? My Harlan donated the monies to build his church. Monies I could surely use just now. But enough of that. Let me show you about, and then you can share your moneymaking idea with me. You've brought me one, haven't you?"
    "Yes, ma'am, I have, but there is something I need to tell you first."
    "Oh my, from the look on your face I'm guessing it's something I won't want to hear. Can it wait?"
    I nodded.
    ***
    Eliza's house was much grander than I'd imagined it. The Judge's wood-paneled library was lined with more books than even I could have made believe. The dining table was large enough to seat my whole family, with chairs to spare. The upper floor housed a second indoor necessary, which was different from the first only in that it contained a claw footed bathing tub. There were five sleeping rooms, one of which contained everything a small child could dream. Among its furnishings were a crib with faded yellow ribbons woven through the rails, a house for miniature dolls, a wooden rocking horse, and a pint-sized table, set as if for a tea party about to start. Though it was a warm, sunny room, there was something in the air that caused goose bumps to pepper my skin. "My daughters room" was all Eliza said before quickly returning to the hall.
    Eliza apologized for the cellar before we were halfway down the wooden steps. "Dark, dank, place. Gives me the shivering willies." When we got down there, it was clear to me that Eliza had never lived in a sod house. The cellar walls were built of stone. The many windows, though high up, invited light to flood the cement floor. Even the lacy dust webs looked content to be living there. Before we returned to the first floor, Eliza fed a shovel of coal to the belly of the boiler, solving the mystery of the hot water that flowed from the taps.
    After I'd seen all there was to see in the main house, Eliza led the way into the one-story structure, which
was
as I'd imagined it. Eliza invited me to sit in one of the two rocking chairs that were pulled up to the cold potbelly stove. She sat in another, then said, "I'm anxious to hear your idea."
    "If I were you, ma'am, I'd support myself by turning this space into a resting room for farm women."
    Eliza rocked forward. "Tell me more."
    "It's hard for farm women to come into town because there's no place for them to bide their time once they've made their trades with the merchants. They must wait in the wagons, sometimes for hours and in all kinds of weather, while their husbands do their business. If they have children, and most do, there's no private place for them to feed or change their babies."
    "Are you proposing that I charge a fee for the use of this room?"
    "No, ma'am. Charging a fee would never do. Some few farmers have prospered, especially those who have many sons to help work the land. Though most, like my papa, still struggle to make ends meet. Even if there were a penny to spare, farm women wouldn't think to spend it on a comfort for themselves. If the resting room is to make a go, it must be free to all, but not a charity. You will earn your profit by accepting freewill donations—a mold of butter, a pound of home-cured bacon, a jar of chokecherry preserves—in trade for a homey place to wait. That's our way."
    "I'm intrigued, but how do we turn butter and bacon into cash?"
    "There are a couple of ways you might go about it. First, if you are paid in bacon, you have bacon for your table and save the price of buying it from the butcher. Same with eggs, butter, and the like. Second, if you have more produce than you can eat, you trade the extra at the grocer for the things you need but don't have. Lastly, you might skip the merchants altogether and sell the extra produce to the women here in town. The merchants double, sometimes triple the price between the