House Divided by Ben Ames Williams

Now that Chimneys is in such splendid condition.” Enid was about to speak, but the older woman caught her eye, warned her to silence. “You’d enjoy that, I expect.”
    â€œIt would be a hard pull.” Yet she saw the stir of interest in his eyes. Great Oak would challenge his capacities.
    â€œI expect you like a hard pull, don’t you? Is Mr. Fiddler still overseer? I remember he was here when you and Enid were married.”
    â€œYes, he’s a good man.”
    â€œWell then, with him in charge, Chimneys would go on all right.” She would tell Tony, some day, how deftly she had prepared the way for him; it would amuse him to hear how she had played on Trav.
    â€œYes, James Fiddler could handle things,” Trav reflected. Clearly, she had set him thinking, so the fight was half won.
    â€œCould Great Oak be brought back, do you suppose?”
    â€œOh yes, certainly.” On firm ground now, his tone was sure, and quick with interest. “Yes, it could be done. Edmund Ruffin found out years ago how to revive worn-out land. Manure did it no good, but he decided that was because the land was sour——”

    â€œHeavens, I didn’t know land could be sour—or sweet either, for that matter. What do you mean?”
    â€œWhy, sour land has too much acid in it. Some of it comes from rotting vegetation; and some plants, the roots throw off acid. Mr. Ruffin decided that lime would counteract acid, and there were plenty of marl beds—full of fossils, really lime—on Coggin’s Point, where his farm was; so he dug up a lot of marl and spread it on fields where he’d been getting five or ten bushels of corn or wheat to the acre, and even the first year he doubled his yield.” There was a high admiration in his tone. “I wanted Tony to try it at Great Oak, but he never would.”
    Enid made an impatient sound, weary of this conversation; but they ignored her. Mrs. Albion asked, in lively interest: “Do people know about Mr. Ruffin’s way?”
    â€œOh, yes. He used to publish a farmer’s magazine full of advice about using marl and about draining wet lands and about farming with machinery. Then he gave his Coggin’s Point place to his son and bought a worked-out farm up on the Pamunkey. He named it Malbourne and in three years he had it producing again.” Well-launched, he became eloquent. Let him talk; he would persuade himself. “Yes,” he concluded. “All those old fields at Great Oak could be put back to work.”
    â€œThen it’s certainly a pity to let Great Oak go downhill.” But she must not press him too hard. Men hated to be hurried. “Is your mother well?”
    â€œFor her age, yes.”
    â€œToo bad you can’t see more of her. Do your brothers and sisters get home more often than you?”
    â€œFaunt does, and Cinda; but she and Brett have been abroad all this last year.” He added, his thoughts still on farming: “Clayton’s managing the Plains. That’s their place, down near Camden. Clayton’s their oldest son, and he’s a good farmer. He came up here when he was eighteen and spent the summer, and I took him to see Mr. Ruffin. He wanted to learn all he could.” He reflected, half to himself: “Clayton could run Great Oak, but Brett needs him at the Plains. Brett’s more of a business man than a planter.”
    â€œIf Clayton can’t do it, perhaps you should go back to Great Oak.
The place needs you, and—you’d be with your mother. She won’t live many more years.”
    He hesitated, shook his head. “I can’t imagine leaving here.” Yet there was no finality in his tone. She smiled to herself, contented with the progress she had made; and that night before she slept she wrote to Tony.
    I came down for a little visit with Enid, shan’t be returning to Richmond. [To reassure him, to make him understand that