Here we go again
"Fine, thank you. She's still teaching music at the Holcomb School."
"Haven't been that way lately. Any changes?"
"Oh, there's some talk about paving the streets. But you know Holcomb. Actually, I don't spend much time there. This is my junior year at K. U.," she said, meaning the University of Kansas. "I'm just home for a few days."
"That's wonderful, Sue. What are you studying?"
"Everything. Art, mostly. I love it. I'm really happy." She glanced across the prairie. "Nancy and I planned to go to college together. We were going to be roommates. I think about it sometimes. Suddenly, when I'm very happy, I think of all the plans we made."
Dewey looked at the gray stone inscribed with four names, and the date of their death: November 15, 1959. "Do you come here often?"
"Once in a while. Gosh, the sun's strong." She covered her eyes with tinted glasses. "Remember Bobby Rupp? He married a beautiful girl."
"So I heard."
"Colleen Whitehurst. She's really beautiful. And very nice, too."
"Good for Bobby." And to tease her, Dewey added, "But how about you? You must have a lot of beaus."
"Well. Nothing serious. But that reminds me. Do you have the time? Oh," she cried, when he told her it was past four, "I've gotta run! But it was nice to have seen you, Mr. Dewey."
"And nice to have seen you, Sue. Good luck," he called after her as she disappeared down the path, a pretty girl in a hurry, her smooth hair swinging, shining - just such a young woman as Nancy might have been. Then, starting home, he walked toward the trees, and under them, leaving behind him the big sky, the whisper of wind voices in the wind-bent wheat.