The conclusion. . . .

The banker sat in his car for a moment, surveying the house in front of him. The home appeared to be in good condition, the lawn surrounding it, neat and well-raked with patches of new green poking through the remaining brown of winter. He could see laundry on the clothesline in the backyard, snow white sheets flapping in the warm spring breeze. There was no sign of a car, but the front door was open.  Obviously, the occupants were home.

He left his car, briefcase in hand, walking briskly toward the porch, noticing the freshly tilled flowerbeds bordering it. A sturdy, comfortable-looking rocking chair occupied the space at one end of the newly-scrubbed porch, a large swing, the other. He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, as Anna and her daughters greeted him.

"Morning, ma'am," the banker said, with a tip of his gray flannel hat. "Is your husband home?"

"No, sir," Anna replied, pushing the screened door open.  "You must be from the bank."

"Yes, ma'am."

The man got a whiff of fresh baked bread, the aroma mixing with the delicious smell of food cooking. "Do you expect him shortly?"

"No, sir, but won't you come in?" Anna stepped aside, allowing him to enter the living room.  She gathered her daughters close to her. The toddler was down for his morning nap.

The banker found it curious, if not disgraceful, that the man of the house was absent in the face of  his family's dilemma.  The image of the young woman, her thick, dark hair pulled neatly away from her face, tied with a pretty bow at the back of her neck, wasn't at all what the man was expecting.  Anna stood in front of him in her starched and ironed print dress, wearing a white organdy apron and a pretty smile upon her otherwise ordinary face.  Her daughters were dressed in frilly little pinafores over pink gingham dresses, each wearing white stockings and shiny black shoes. Their honey-colored hair was braided tightly, and secured with matching satin bows.

The mother and daughters stood in the center of the well-organized, though obviously well lived-in, room.  The windows were shiny and clean, not a streak or a speck of dust anywhere.  Neatly arranged, colorful pillows were tucked here and there, giving the faded and worn furniture the lift it needed.  Crisp, white tieback curtains adorned the open windows. He could see a large pot, its lid jingling, on the stove in the kitchen.

"Sure smells good," he said, trying to ease his own tension, more than anything else.  The three in front of him seemed perfectly calm.

"Just some potato and onion soup," Anna replied.  "The girls like it."

Getting right to the point, the business man removed his hat, sat down on the sofa, and opened his briefcase. "I'm sure you know why I'm here, ma'am. The bank has been very patient, given your husband plenty of time to make the overdue payments."

He paused, something capturing his attention in the other room.  "We can't continue to carry the mortgage on your house," he continued, as his eyes swept over the perfectly made bed, glimpsing the large handcrafted cloth rug on the linoleum floor beside it.  The man hesitated for a moment. An old sewing machine in front of another open window had captured his attention.

"I know," Anna said, "My husband has tried so hard to find work, and he does have some prospects." She kept her voice steady, surprising herself with the ease of the lie coming out of her mouth.  But her heart raced.  The banker listened, pulling his attention away from the bedroom.

"I know you have your job to do, sir," she continued as confidently as possible, "but if there is any way, could you give us another month? That's all. Just one more month."  Anna hugged her children, looked the man squarely in the eyes, and waited.

The truth was, she knew of no such prospects for work.  Her husband had given up, apparently deserting his family in their greatest time of need.  The loaf of freshly baked bread on the table had taken almost all of the flour in the bin.  The soup on the stove would have to be rationed, for the potatoes and onions were all that remained in the store house.  She had some beans, very little cornmeal, and a handful of rice in the pantry.  The cow hadn't freshened yet, and the two remaining hens laid sparingly. She had not planted the seeds saved from last year's vegetable garden.  What would have been the point, with the impending eviction?  The truth was, the clothes they wore were the best they owned, last year's Easter dresses.  The well-worn shoes had been carefully repaired and polished.  The truth was, Anna hoped for a miracle.  In her pounding heart, she knew that was all that could save them.

Again, the man looked toward the sewing machine.  "Do you sew?" He asked.

"Yes, of course," she replied, something quickening in her brain.  "I've been sewing my clothes since I was a girl, and now I make everything we wear.  Everything in the house.  Nothing is store-bought," she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, laughing a little at the absurdity of store-bought dresses.

"Have you considered sewing for the public?"

Anna shook her head no, all the while wondering why she had not thought of doing that.

"Well, ma'am, you obviously have a real talent, and there's no reason you shouldn't be able to earn a living putting that talent to work.  I know my wife needs a seamstress.  Her dressmaker has retired." He closed his briefcase.  "I can send you more work than you can handle, if you're willing.  And yes, I'll give you a month's extension."

Anna gasped, but quickly regained her composure as the man continued.  "If all goes well, we can refinance your mortgage.  If you can pay the overdue interest on the loan by this time next month, we can bring your account back to current status."  The man stood, replaced his hat, and picked up his briefcase. "I look forward to doing business with you, ma'am," he said, offering his hand to Anna.

"Likewise," she replied, shaking his hand firmly.

Later in the afternoon, the fine lady in the black car returned, this time pulling into the driveway.  Anna was surprised, but glad that she would be able to give the woman her good news.  She also was pleased to have a chance to present herself more favorably, ashamed that the woman had found her in such a sad state the day before.  On the porch, Anna greeted her visitor, noticing the large basket on her arm, piled high with beautiful fabrics.

"I'm Jeanette Hart," the woman said, flashing a brilliant smile, "the banker's wife. And I need a dressmaker."