"Harvard Comes To Montana", Chapter Four
By Griz
umgriz@protonmail.com
*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.
All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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I slept. My dream was of me as a little kid, maybe four years old, before I was in school. My brothers Gus and Anders and I were in the shallow plastic sled, pulled behind Dad on the horse he had then, Ruby. We three loved snow, and would've been happy to live in it if we could. That was the first year we had a jacuzzi, so it made sense to go out and play in the snow so we could then simmer in the hot tub.
I woke to the wafting aroma of bacon and coffee. Mom was one to talk about food at the Empire, when her version might've tasted ten times better, but it was about as questionable in terms of healthy. We had endless fresh fruit in the house, which were our limitless snacks. We ate well, worked hard and rarely had any ailments. Something was going right.
After showering and deciding it was a good idea to tame my mane, I made my way downstairs. Mom was streaming Oldies music and seemed to have rested, too. She greeted me with her usual cheery "Good Morning". I hesitated in my response, which made her turn from the fridge to look at me.
"Sorry, Mom; Good Morning. You sounded.....like you always do. I guess that surprised me."
Mom sighed and looked at the bowl of eggs she took out.
"I doubt you remember this, but one year, we were wiped out. A week of hail storms took almost half the crops. We had crop hail insurance, but it doesn't cover 100% of the loss. It was catastrophic, and both your dad and grandfather had to almost beg the bank to extend the mortgage longer. They did, and the next day, we were out plowing the damaged crops under the soil. We carried on. Had to. I have to carry on. My boys are working. I am, too. Already I've learned even making breakfast keeps my mind focused and my hands busy."
"You're amazing, Mom. What can I help with?"
"Decide what kind of toast you want, and make lots. I'll use what's left for BLT sandwiches this evening."
Breakfast was my favorite: eggs over medium, bacon, toast and fried red potatoes. My mom, I'll tell ya. Once finished, I helped her clean up and then I went out to take care of the morning chores. Something was upsetting the chickens so I went to see what was up. They had cornered a mouse. Don't think for a moment a chicken will not kill and eat a mouse. They are not exclusively herbivores unless that's all there is to eat. I couldn't wait to see what color those eggshells would be.
The horses were ready to get out and stretch their legs, so I loosed them into the little pasture with the cattle. I cleaned out their stalls again and laid fresh straw in them, and them sprinkled some oats in with their hay for dinner. I'd groom them later that evening. It was now 7:00. It was a perfect day for a farm, a day Norman Rockwell never captured for a magazine cover. At any moment, I expected the "Oklahoma!" soundtrack to begin playing.
I decided to go check one section of barley on my own. I had my drone birthday present with me, so I'd not only see from my truck on the road, but fly over and check for any parts that laid down overnight. Sometimes a grain stalk will grow so fast and absorb so much water, it gets top heavy and will lean against another, then two more, then a dozen; domino effect, really. It's rarely an issue.
The other thing to look for is any trails that show deer or antelope wandering through. There's nothing we can do about them, and they never eat too much. I just want to see if any are making their homes in the field so I can scare them out before the combines come through. It's not uncommon to find out a doe and fawn have been scooped up and killed when they're suddenly scared and can't get away from the monster machine they can't see. We like to avoid that when possible.
An hour later, I'd flown high and covered some serious acreage. Drones are amazing for that. The color of the barley, more pale than wheat, suggested it was ready to come in. We grow high-protein, six-row barley; it's sold as grain for cattle feed and to be ground into flour for baking. I needed to order a truck out of Great Falls to come and follow the combines and get the harvest off to the train in Moccasin, Montana.
Mom stays updated on the commodity reports, and both rye and barley are getting decent----not great---bushel prices. My goal, Dad's goal would be, was to make a profit this year. For the reason other than money, it's to have the harvest this year be his legacy of being a great farmer among many good ones. I could still not believe he and Mom had talked about selling, particularly after I was seeing the barley from high up. I captured some of the footage and sent it over my phone to Mom and Anders. What the heck, why not? Marc, too.
While I was driving back toward the house, my phone rang. Sure enough, Kristi had heard from Rand about my dad. Kristi and I had known each other forever. She was my junior and senior prom date, and one of my two closest friends. As many gay boys do, I entrusted a girl classmate with my revelation. My news wasn't news to her. Of course not. She was a year older than I, and I felt that made her an older, wiser, mature woman. A big sister, really. I think I'll always feel that way about Kristi.
She seemed genuinely sad for me. She knew I was tight with my parents, more than most teenagers are with theirs. We talked for a few minutes, and agreed that we'd see each other at the funeral Mass. I told her about the barley and that I'd be busy the rest of the week getting it in. Kristi said she'd blast a text to all our friends about that, and to encourage them to let me work, and I'd see everyone on Wednesday. That was a welcome effort on her part, and I knew our friends wouldn't take it any other way. We phone-kissed and said goodbye. Kristi is one of my friends going to U of M with me. Well.....she's going. The jury is not in on my attendance.
I was back at the house. We were pushing 8:30. I asked Mom if she was ready to go, and she was. In total, seven jars of pickles, beets, peas, corn, Flathead Lake cherries, chokecherry jelly and gooseberry jelly were in a box, along with stalks and glass sample jars of five grains we were growing that year. I opened the jar of rye, my favorite, and inhaled deeply, twice. It's so heady. I can smell the soil, rain and Sun, all in one little jar. Some people get relaxed by lavender. For me, it's whatever sails through my open bedroom window at night, but I love the aroma of rye.
I carried them to my truck with Mom following and looking in her purse to make sure she had everything. All systems go, so off we drove. Other farmers were out in their fields. I honked and we waved at all of them. Jess Maartens was close to the road. He took off his hat and covered his heart with it. I loved that.
We reached town. A few people saw us and honked their horns. We waved, and both Mom and I were pleased to see our friends returned our smiles with their own, lending us strength. I drove to the back of the funeral home. I walked Mom to the front door and escorted her in. Jerry was finishing up a phone call, and came around from behind his desk. Mom told him her plan, and he actually did something even better. He took us to a private viewing room, and a moment later, we were joined by Dad on a kind of gurney. Mom inhaled a sob. I was holding her hand, and squeezed it gently. We had not expected to see him. In the soft, pink light of the room, Dad looked younger to me. He looked like Anders, actually.
Jerry said Dad had not been "prepared". Dad wouldn't be prepared, so he was kept at a temperature just above freezing. We were told a visitation during that state isn't possible for more than 45 minutes. Mom turned to me and asked if I would mind terribly if she was alone with Dad for this visit. I told her I thought that was perfect. I had been prepared to step out and update Marc that I wouldn't be joining him after all. I was suddenly looking forward to being with Mom and Dad again, by ourselves; but that would've seemed like I was excluding Anders, so when Mom said gently that I should "buzz off", I knew I'd see Marc as planned.
I left the home and sent him a text that I would meet him in a couple of minutes. Lewistown is really small; the whole town is less than one square mile in size, and only 5,000 residents. The Taylor house was barely six blocks from there. I pulled up next to the house. All three were there to greet me. I'm glad I was dressed better than I'd originally planned. When I got out of the truck and up on their sidewalk, both Mr and Mrs Taylor hugged me. They didn't say, "We're sorry"; instead, I got looks of genuine compassion for me at my father's death. Mrs Taylor asked me if she could get me something to drink, and Mr Taylor invited me inside. How does one turn down hospitality in a small town where everyone knows everyone else? Simple: one doesn't.
No sooner were we inside than another vehicle pulled right in their driveway. I didn't see who it was, but Mrs Taylor said,
"That's Earnestine Roland and Bev Knapp. I knew they'd want to come by and see what we weren't taking. Early Bird sale shoppers. Oh, well. You boys go in the den; I'll slide the doors shut and get them out of here as soon as possible."
She and Mr Taylor smiled at me. Marc and I went into the little room he said had held until recently hundreds of books on history, all local, state and national. I wondered if Mr Taylor had inspired Marc to take that interest. The double pocket doors slid closed. Marc and I both looked at the doors and then each other. With nothing said, we stepped toward each other and wrapped into a tight embrace.
Finally.
We didn't move. I didn't breathe. I was content to just be where I said I wanted to be. I felt his warmth, the scruff on his face against my smooth skin. My chest pressed against his. I could feel how strong and solid he was. Marc's was not an embrace that was the polite-on-the-street hug. He held me like I really was more than some hick county kid. There's comfort in an embrace. I supposed it was a gesture and reaction common among all cultures. Maybe we evolved to hug to show we held no weapons and presented no threat. Over time, it maybe became based on things in common, and then affection. This was not the time for analysis. Whatever it was, at present for me, that hug meant so much, and brought comfort with it.
I finally had to exhale, which Marc felt, and tightened his grip on me. I inhaled and took right to my brain his scent. Not just the soap; not the shampoo. I could smell those on anyone. He added his own unique musk, and I could not describe it to you if you asked me to. If he was giving off pheromones, I was taking them in greedily. The reaction was instant. You know what I mean. Every man on the planet knows what I mean. I gasped a little and whispered,
"Oh, god.....Marc, I'm sorry....." His face was still against my neck. He chuckled a little.
"For what? Giving and getting a hug and maybe an involuntary reaction or two?"
"Well.....yeah. Geez. Thanks, Marc. This.....the hug, I mean.....is exactly what I needed and wanted. From you."
"It's not just in one direction, Jeff. I've always lived alone, and in the halls of academia, physical contact is so discouraged, one would think there has always been and always will be a plague of some kind. I like your hugs, I think."
"You think? That was one of my best."
"I'll need to be clinical about it. After several more, I'll be able to make a certain determination about your hugs."
"You're welcome in this lab, anytime. Until then, can we sit down for a moment, Marc?"
"That would mean we have to stop doing this."
"Marc, I'm gonna want a lot more of that, despite the condition it puts Paco in."
"`Paco'? Do farmers name everything?"
"All the time. It's how we can tell someone what we're going to do with so-and-so, and where; like `take Bolt and Stan to the big pasture'. Everyone knows who and where, and understands."
"So you'd tell your family that you'll `be back soon, but you need some time in the barn with Paco'?"
"I wouldn't have to tell Dad; he caught me doing it in the barn more than once or twice. He just laughed at me. Nothing phased him. Mom would freak out if she knew what that meant, and react not out of shock, but concern. I can hear her screaming `NOOO!!! You'll do that too much and run the well dry, and I won't have any grandchildren!!!'"
Marc laughed lightly against my neck. The shivers from that ran right down to my toes.
"Okay, Professor; I guess I can sit down now. You wanna?"
"Of course." Marc sat in a chair opposite the sofa.
"What are you doing over there? By me, I meant."
Marc got up and smiled, moving close to me on the sofa.
"Thanks, Marc. Distance is something I'm suddenly and keenly aware of. And after that hug.....to be further from you than I am right now would be a massive let-down."
Marc and I talked about my morning. He got my drone footage and remarked how picture-perfect the crop looked.
"`Amber waves of grain', indeed. But that's not wheat, is it? Looks more like corn syrup than honey."
"Good eye. It's barley. We've been using the same seed and its offspring for 130 years. When Mom grinds it into flour and makes pancakes or waffles, I'll be eating the very same grain my great-great grandparents ate, even if only a genetic, molecular level. The same soil, the same water, the same Sun all worked together to do that. Food isn't magic; it doesn't just appear in grocery stores. At the same time, it is kinda magic; at least to me, until it leaves the farm. My brother will be back this morning. We will check crops the same way, and then schedule harvesting. We'll be busy from now until September. These are the days I'll obsess about our crops being food, and forget to eat some, myself. How's your day going so far?"
"Don't change the subject. Jeff, do you realize how passionate you are about this? I don't know if it's just your own farm, or agriculture in general; but you are so invested mentally and emotionally in farming that I can't imagine what else you could possibly do professionally. Are you really only 17 years old?! You speak like you have all the experiences of your family combined into you. It's amazing, really."
"I am as old as our farm. I am all my ancestors' love and dedication and memories of our farm, and their hope for the future of it, too. I am here because of our farm. I wanted so badly to be homeschooled so I wouldn't have to spend even one minute away, but my parents had neither the time nor the inclination to be teachers. I know this will sound so sci-fi, but I woke up wondering if my dad died now so I would realize sooner than later the importance of what we do. If so, it's a blessing and a curse. I really want to go to school and learn business administration, and then become a veterinarian for our own herd, and for our neighbors."
"You speak passionately about school, too, Jeff. And it all makes sense; look what you've accomplished in only 17 years. Graduated a year early, took the top academic honors for your class, and scored scholarships for college."
"Wait.....how did you know all that? I didn't tell you my age, or about scholarships."
"Grammy did. She kept track of exceptional students. You were her favorite. She said this morning, `Well, at least one of my kids paid attention and stayed awake!'. You obviously did!"
"Heh.....that's nice of her. Well, my dilemma is this, Marc. I am now the farm boss. My brother will stay and help through Summer. I am so grateful to him for that. Mom will also take on some of the chores I've traditionally done; the ones nearest to the house. Chickens, horses, the barn. Dad and I have worked well together for five years, just us, to plant and harvest the crops, raise a small herd of cattle, and we've not been in debt for a long time. He hired a couple of men to help for a few weeks over the years; I can't discount their efforts in our success.
Mom told me last night she and Dad had talked for a few years about selling the farm, since I'd be going to college. That floored me when she said that. I told her there is no sense in me going to college to learn how to be a good farm businessman and veterinarian if there's no farm for me to do both of them on. The farm has passed on to a sixth generation. Everything we've all built since homesteading. I can't just agree to selling."
"No. No, I don't think you can, Jeff. If I may, though....."
"Sure. What?"
"I can't imagine you not unfettering that.....brain for a few years to accumulate even more knowledge and street sense. I don't see reasonably or logically how you could do both, given only 24 hours in a day. It's not like you have a college right here."
"Sure we do. It's an extension school, essentially a junior branch, of the University Of Great Falls. Associate degrees in a few things."
"Oh? I didn't know that."
"It's in the old St Leo's High School building, behind the church."
"Jeff....."
"Oh, I see where you're going with this."
"Do you?"
"You said I'm smart, right? Ray Charles could see where you're going with this."
"AHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, my gosh. So, I know it's really too soon to think about anything beyond the importance of this week and your dad. I will say nothing else now. But I will bring this up again, Jeff. You realize, right, that my entire career has been and is about inspiring young minds to grow, explore, absorb----and then use the results. It's all I'm good at, like you know you are with farming."
"I think our hugs rank up there pretty high, Marc; at least yours does."
"I've never had better!"
"I think that's true for me, too. Admittedly don't get a lot of them out on a farm."
"If your horses could hug you, I think you should consider opening a circus, in addition to a farm."
"They do, in their own way. Uh, Marc.....what your grandmother told you about me, like my age. Does that bother you?"
"Nope. Besides, SHE said you're 17 years old; you just told me you're 130. Clean living and hard word has certainly preserved you well, Jeff."
"I'm 18 in October. Or 131, depending on your sources. Ummm.....anyway.....Marc, this place looks ready to either photograph or sell. What do you have left to do here?"
"Interview realtors with my grandparents, decide on a price, load up a trailer and move them to New Mexico. Then I'll return and manage the auction, the sale of the house and of the truck. Considering the condition this house is in, as well as the truck.....well, I don't think there'll be much work involved."
"No, I'd guess not. Now that I've seen the inside of this house, I like it even more. I was always fascinated by the big windows and the wood ceiling. I'm sure your grandparents don't want to leave it. But why aren't they selling it, and the truck and stuff?"
"They want to take possession of their new home as soon as possible. Once they unpack and settle in, their entire group is taking a 21 night cruise in Europe. It's all a timing thing, and I've not begun my school year yet.
They actually don't think this house is all that remarkable, and that it'll take too long to sell. They have no idea, Jeff. I told them this house and a quarter acre of property in Cambridge would go for close to two million dollars. `Lewistown isn't Cambridge', they reminded me. Oh, how I know. In one day here, I've come to really like this house and area. If I had this house there, I'd live all my days in it, beyond happily."
"I can get that. I like all the trees around it, too. A forest in the city. Marc, I really have a dilemma here, and the weight of my responsibility hasn't fully hit me yet. I know that, because I haven't had a panic attack. If you are here after this week, after we get the barley out of the ground and Dad into it, I want to talk with you more in-depth about it. If you're willing to."
"How about I commit to staying here through August? My class doesn't begin until mid-September, and I'm already prepared for that. My grandparents think it'll take that long to sell the house, so I'll have a place to live for four weeks. I'll tell them honestly why I want to wait to sell---that I want to spend more time getting to know where I was born, but missed growing up in. Other than a highway in the dark, this house and the Empire Cafe, I have no real clue what's in Fergus County, Jeff."
"Marc! You'll really stay here for a month?"
"Just said I would. I'd hate History, your and my favorite subject, to prove I lied to you."
I reached over and pulled Marc into an even tighter hug, burying my face in his neck. I wanted to cry right then and there. Why was it such a relief, such an incredible comfort, knowing a complete stranger would stick around for a month, in the meantime helping me figure out what to do?
Marc hugged back, and then moved his hands from my shoulder and back just a little lower. Suddenly the hug meant something else entirely. From comfort, it moved to intimacy. Kind and personal, but not full-on passionate. This was perfect. This was another `my hand on his leg moment', and although I could not see him now like I could then, I liked this more. His scent was in my nose again. It intoxicated me the way the little jar or a thousand acres of rye grains always could.
I pulled back from Marc so I could see him. We were still close together. I moved my hands to the sides of his face, and my eyes nearly onto his.
"Is it Thursday yet, Marc?"
"It is. An extra-early Thursday, Jeff."
We launched our lips onto each other, and held it for a few moments. ZAP!!! It was a First Kiss. Not the first I'd had with a girl, nor the first with a boy; but it was my First Kiss. And yeah, what you read about is true: sparks. In my head, I blamed it on the wool carpeting on the floor and the mohair upholstery on the sofa, and this being a dry day, anyway. `Sure, Jeff. That's all the spark was, Fool.'
We carried on like that for awhile, not parting and not going too far. This is what I wanted after we dropped Sebastian off at the fairgrounds. I had it all planned: under one of the huge oak trees behind the grandstands, where no one would see us. This is what happens when you make plans; you learn quickly that you have next to no control, ultimately. The moment comes when others on either side of it make some room, and for Marc and me, it just arrived and sustained itself quite nicely.
Outside of the room, I could hear the visitors saying thank you to Mr and Mrs Taylor. Marc must've heard them, too. We pulled away from each other and smiled. Mrs Taylor knocked on the door. We both leaned back on the sofa and grabbed throw pillows to cover our crotches.
"Boys? What can I bring you to drink?"
We looked warily at each other, and stood up and approached the door. Marc slid them open and I smiled at her.
"Thanks, Mrs Taylor; if you have it, some 7-Up, please."
"I always have 7-Up, Jeffrey. And root beer. Oh, I have Orange Crush, too. Marc, what for you?"
"Root beer, Grammy. Thank you."
We joined her in the kitchen while she got ice in glasses and poured the sodas. Mrs Taylor turned to me.
"Jeff, both Mr Taylor and I knew your father. I buried a son and daughter-in-law, but it's not the same. Nothing is the same. I'm sorry you're experiencing this at such a young age. The pressure you're already under is only going to compound into something people even three times your age struggle with. I have no advice for you about what to do, about what to feel. I'll say this, though: Lewistown has a couple of reputable people working in mental health. Don't hesitate to get help if you find yourself in uncharted waters and need a pilot."
"Thanks, Mrs Taylor; I appreciate you sharing that wisdom with me. I think you'll always be my teacher. And I believe I have met someone who can counsel me on navigating what lies ahead. If I may ask, though: you're in the middle of hundreds of miles of soil. Why the nautical references?"
"I was born and raised in Ontario. I met Mr Taylor when we were both at Niagara Falls. Living on a lake shore for my first 23 years meant knowing all sorts of nautical terms. Old habits aren't easy to break, and I'm not trying!"
Mr Taylor joined us from outside.
"Boys, sorry about the sudden intrusion. I wanted to tell them to come back when the auction is announced, but I don't want to leave town with the reputation for rudeness. Certainly not to an entire community who've only been good to us."
"I understand, Mr Taylor. Thank you for the drink, Ma'am. I need to go soon to get my mom from visiting Dad at the funeral home. She wanted some Alone Time. I think I'll come back tomorrow to do the same. After the funeral, well, that opportunity won't come again."
Mrs Taylor filled my glass with the last swallow of 7-Up.
"Jeff, will your father be buried on your land, in the family cemetery?"
"Yes, he will. The funeral will be open to all, but it'll just be Mom, Anders and me for that. Not to wax poetically and morosely, but this year is a broader harvest. I think it'll be appropriately special to be out among crops to do this."
Mr and Mrs Taylor nodded their heads, but said nothing. Marc broke the moment, for which I was grateful. Marc stepped toward me, smiling just a little. I thanked Mr and Mrs Taylor, and they smiled.
"Jeff, I'll walk you to your truck."
I smiled and we went back outside. When we got to my truck, Marc put his hand on my shoulder.
"I'm glad you came over today. I have to tell you; without the artificial light of your truck or the hyper-bright tube lights in the Empire, just full-on Sun shining on you, you're a hundred times more handsome. And you were already a hundred times more handsome than any college freshman I've ever seen."
"Charmer. I know you're sincere. Thank you. Seeing you in daylight.....well, you're.....indescribably hot. And you smell.....amazing. And let's not even talk about That Kiss right now.....if we do, it'll be history. I kinda want that kiss to be fresh in my mind and on my lips for as long as it can. I'll see you the REAL Thursday."
"You'll see me Wednesday. The three of us will be at the funeral Mass."
"That would mean a lot to me. Thank you. And thank you for talking with me today. I want----no, I need---to continue the conversation."
"And we will. And in August, I want to see your ranch, meet your mother and brother, oh; and your horse! And if possible: enjoy the best fried chicken in the entire county. Really, though: I want to put my hands in the soil that you speak of, the way Marcel Proust wrote about love. I want to understand you better, and why your farm means so much to you. I believe everything you told me, but I want to watch you live your destiny, if only for a brief while."
"You'll get all that. As for Proust: `Love is space and time measured by the heart'."
"Of COURSE you can quote Proust!"
"Aw, shucks, Mister; tain't nothin' but `memberin' things so's I could keep clear of Teacher and her painful chalkboard pointer! Thems leave a red mark on my sit-down!"
"HAHAHA!!! I WON'T tell Grammy you said that! You are fascinating, Jeff. I think we're going to learn a lot from and about each other in August."
"I have every intention of that. Your accomplishments so early in your life inspire me. I feel the ages of my folks, but I know I'm young and need education and experience to keep our farm only gaining more successes. How I can have both of those is my challenge. They can't be separated, not for me."
"I believe you. Now go before your mother wonders where you are, and before you quote more Proust----and in French, no doubt!"
" `L'amour n'est pas vain parce qu'il est frustré, mais parce qu'il est comblé.' And with that, I will leave you and cherche ma mere!"
"I do not fucking believe this! You cannot possibly exist!"
"Oh, so you speak French, too! At least one word! Bye, Marc."
"Bye, Jeff!"
I drove away, waving out the window. Marc smiled and waved back. The soda caught up with me and I belched loudly enough to scare dogs. What a nice time there. Looking at my watch, it wasn't as long as I thought. I drove right to the pharmacy to get Mom's prescription. With that accomplished, I drove back to the funeral home. The banking could wait.
When I arrived, Mom was standing on the sidewalk, talking with two women I didn't know, but who seemed to know her. When Mom saw me, she waved and said her goodbyes to the women, walking quickly toward my truck. Once in the cab and the door closed, she sighed with relief.
"Laura and Lindsay Parker, the twins from my class. I haven't seen them since graduation."
"A strange place to meet, though....."
"Not really. Circumstantial, but they were going there to make arrangements for their mother who is in hospice care."
"I hope your reunion was pleasant, at least."
"It was. We weren't friends, but we were friendly. They left town, each dreaming of marrying a city boy millionaire. I'll be danged if they didn't both live their dream. Well, until the multiple divorces. Still: good for them."
"Mom, how are you?"
"I'm at peace, or starting to be. My time alone with your dad was the quiet time I needed. Yesterday was all rush and panic. I slept poorly last night. Now all I want is to go take a nap, on your dad's side of the bed. I could smell your dad on his pillow last night. I took that scent for granted all these years, but last night, I smelled him like it was the first time."
"That's a great idea, Mom. Anders and I will go out and zoom over more of the crops. He's bringing Lola Cola with him, and she'll be happy to ride along. You won't be disturbed, unless the phone keeps ringing."
"I'll turn the ringers off and let voicemail take over for a couple of hours. Your lunches are all packed. Be sure to take lots of water, even if you're not out working hard. He drove back to Bozeman just to get Lola Cola?"
"No, Mom.....Anders is coming home for at least the month of August. He knows this is not a one- or two-person operation, and now's not the time to hire someone on for only six weeks or so."
"HE IS??! Oh, my gosh! I am so happy right now! Happy that I couldn't have imagined ever feeling again. My boys home together! You have no idea how good this is."
"No, probably not the way you do, Mom; but this was Anders' idea. I know it means a lot to him to be here. Regardless of whatever got between him and Dad, Anders is here to help get harvest in. That's why he went back to Bozeman; to get clothes and his laptop, and Lola Cola, of course."
"Maybe I won't nap; I'm not sure I can sleep now! He didn't say anything last night, except he had to get back to take care of some things, and would return before the funeral."
"Oh, Mom----your prescription is in that little white sack. I didn't go to the bank; that can wait for another day. I can actually do it all on my phone, but I like seeing Mr Raiver and visiting with him. He was a good substitute teacher before he hired on at the bank."
"That's nice. I agree with you about him. There are so many good people in this county, town and country alike. What else did you do to pass the time while I was in there?"
"I took your advice and went to talk with Marc Taylor. I told him my dilemma. He said he'd be here all of August, just like Anders. We'll discuss it after this week is over. Now is not the time for this conversation, since I'm not fully present for anything right now. I agreed with him. Oh; they'll all be at the funeral Mass."
"Poor Father Tim.....I think afterward, he'll wish we were Presbyterians."
"AHAHAHA! Okay, any more stops to make on the way home?"
"Yes, actually. I want to stop at `Common Grounds', if Eva is working. I want to thank her for her fast help yesterday, particularly getting Anders the news."
"She's always working, Mom. I'd be very surprised if she's not there. Sure, we'll stop. That's a good idea. I want to thank her, too. Just for being.....well, Eva."
In about 15 minutes, we were behind two other cars. Sure enough, Eva was there, a perma-smile on her face. When it was our turn, her smile didn't waver, but I felt it was genuine now. She expressed how glad she was to see us, and that our order was on the house. Again---that hospitality thing. Here, you don't refuse it. Mom got some iced tea and I asked for my usual, but on ice. While Eva got them going, we talked. I could tell she wanted to express her condolences, but I think she was reading our good moods and didn't want to change that. Instead, she paid Dad a compliment.
"Ned didn't need to be nice to me, or friendly. I know what I did was thoughtless, and I hurt a lot of feelings. No one regrets my actions more than I do. But he still came through here, still smiled, still bought iced tea in Summer and a mocha in Winter. He was just so kind. All of you are. I will always remember Ned Wojtowicz for having the grace and class and compassion that we all should have. I believe if I'm a better person now than I was.....it's because he influenced me just by being Ned."
Mom and I both thanked her for such a heartfelt and genuine tribute. I believe Eva meant every word of it. I had every intention of sharing it with Anders. I doubt he still harbors any resentment or ill feelings toward her. Over the years in getting to know her personally, I came to the conclusion that she didn't think she was good enough for him. She was always contradicting the compliments he paid her when we were all together, which was admittedly rare. If running away from Anders was her sin, her penance was enduring the horrific marriage she ended up in, and all the incomparable suffering that came with it. I hope she was feeling at peace now.
We got back to the farm and through the gate, and were greeted with a bouncing, barking Bernese bear-sized dog. I was happy to see her, and knew she'd enjoy her time with us. Anders hugged Mom, or she hugged him, but she was clearly so happy he would be staying here. I was looking in the back seat of the truck and realized: we forgot to take the stuff into the fairgrounds. Mom missed her opportunity to avoid too many people tomorrow, since that's probably when she'd have to go back in. The deadline was Tuesday by 5PM for submissions. The least of my concerns at the moment.
I was thinking of all three Taylors when my phone buzzed with a text in my pocket. Marc. Nice.
"It was good to see you today. Meant what I said: Sunlight only enhances what I already believed to be cowboy perfection."
I asked him if I could call him, and he actually called me.
"Hey, Marc."
"Jeff. Hi."
"We just got home to find my brother and his big dog here. Mom just learned Anders is staying here until the end of August, at least to get more or all the harvest in. She's beside herself happy. I think she's actually doing better than I thought she'd be. They're both grounded and philosophical people. Nothing gets them down, at least not for long.
We had a nice talk earlier and she told me that nothing stops a farm. Hail or Death regardless, we keep planting and harvesting. She was here for my grandparents' death, and Dad's brothers moving away. Gus and Anders, too. I think it was Gus' death that initiated Mom into understanding what I just now am, myself; as long as the Sun gets up each morning, so do we."
"You come by your philosopher self naturally. I didn't know you had a brother who died, too."
"Yes. Long time ago. A long story. I might tell you someday."
"Only if you want to, Jeff. We have what remains of a Summer together. I would like some more of that huggin' and kissin' we did earlier, in addition to whatever talking we also manage to accomplish, too."
"Same for me. Marc, I got so hard! I'm glad I wore black jeans today.....they hid Paco and his drool."
"YOU were hard?! I'm STILL hard. I've been out in the backyard by myself, willing my dick to go to sleep or something."
"I'm in a weird place right now, Marc. I want very much to get a room at the Yogo Inn and stay there with you for at least two days. At the same time, I'm feeling like I need to devote more time to this little family reunion. Will you be offended if I cut back on the sexy talk for a few days? You're not causing me any problems, but I want Mom, Anders and me to focus on our immediate, common emotions, at least until the funeral and burial are finished. Am I making sense? Am I being rude or hurtful?"
"You're being honest and mature. Not at all rude or hurtful. I'd like to remain in communication with you, though. Are you all right with that?"
"I'd miss talking with you if we didn't. I'm all right with that. I'm not some Fatalist, Marc; I don't believe there's any grand scheme that had us out together on that highway yesterday morning. I liked you before my father died, and I like you now. More now, obviously. Please call me or send a text. I'll do the same. I think you're wise and understanding, like your grandparents. I can benefit greatly from wisdom and kindness right now. I promise I won't just use you."
"You don't have to promise. I've met hundreds of guys. I know who they are. Just listening to you talk about feeding people you'll never meet speaks volumes of your character and integrity. Whatever I have to give you that is beneficial, please consider it yours."
"Thanks, Marc. Thanks so much. If not before, I'll see you Wednesday at the funeral."
"Talk later today?"
"And text."
"I hope your brother and you have a good day checking healthy crops."
"Thanks. Bye, Marc."
"Bye, Jeffrey."
"NO."
"Damn.....but it's so cute! Just like you!"
Before I could say more, he ended the call. That was funny. I don't dislike my full name, considering it's not really my name; but I am very choosy about who gets to use it. Mom, Mrs Taylor, Tom and Kristi. Well.....and maybe Marc. Only a little more than 24 hours of knowing him, and now hearing he'll be here through August....."maybe Marc" could be applied in a broader scope of possibilities.
The past few hours of my life have proven a permanence I'd not known before, or at least not fully realized and understood. The very cornerstone of my life, my father, is no less a part of my life and my future, but it's the memory of his wisdom and love that would guide me now. I'd never again know his hand on my shoulder while looking over it to point me in the right direction on the ranch----and in Life.
I wasn't scared now. Maybe a little. I was taught too well to anticipate plans succeeding as well as failing, and What To Do Next, so I wouldn't be scared very much. My own plans now.....the farm now.....my impending adulthood.....succeed or fail? That would be mine to decide, or at least I could decide how I would react to success or failure.
There are only a few ways I could fail: bad weather, bad market and my own bad decisions. Any combination of those would be catastrophic, and not only for myself. With Mom and Anders there to support me in their own ways, I could get through failure. The only way I wanted to succeed, though, was to learn more so I could farm better; and to do both of those with, I'll admit, a man in my life.
I believe it was because each generation of my ancestors had a partner in his life that they were able to move the farm to a new generation. I want that, too. And while a hug and a kiss, however wonderful they were, don't determine a lifelong partnership, I would not overlook nor underestimate their consideration. I knew I wanted to grow old, but not alone. I wanted the farm and my life to both be a success. I knew, too, that I wanted---needed---a man with me through my life.
After all, success is the quality of my journey, not only the X at the end of the map.