You Will Never See Any God: Stories - Plot & Excerpts
He lived on the hill at the east end of town, up away from the river, in a shabby old frame house that had been white once but was turning gray. A house never made money for anybody, he always said. That’s what he told the wives of his farm tenants whenever they would timidly suggest wallpaper or calcimine for their chicken-coop houses. Old Schwier owned thirty-one farms, spread around Charleston in all directions, even across the river in South Dakota. He owned the creamery and one of the town’s two grain elevators, too. Schwier had come to Charleston from Schleswig-Holstein when he was seventeen. He worked for a year as a hired hand for a bachelor, whose name no one remembered anymore, on a farm northeast of town until one day the bachelor got kicked in the head by a horse and was killed. Schwier brought him to town in a buckboard and they buried him. Schwier kept on farming out there and it wasn’t long before it was called the Schwier place. He was a hard-working man, no one could deny that; before he was twenty-five, he had two other quarter sections.
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