By Stan Dryer
Walter came awake to the soft light of a late summer dawn. For a moment he thought he had overslept, then remembered his granddaughter Chris and her partner Sandy would be doing the early chores. He lay half-awake, trying to avoid any thoughts of the decision that loomed before him. Instead, he filled his mind with the early morning sounds that touched his old farmhouse, the thunk of a persistent insect against his window screen, the scrape of a wind-touched branch against the roof.
He opened his eyes and glanced about the familiar bedroom in the house that had always been his home. Built for his great-grandfather in the 1890’s, it was a classic foursquare, two plus stories high, thirty feet to a side. For Walter, it was the one solid manifestation of the hundred and forty years of hard labor and love his family had put into the farm. His grandfather had been born in the room where he now slept; five generations had filled the house with laughter, tears and the quiet murmurs of daily life.
And now, Walter wondered, is our fifth generation the last one that will live here? With that question heavy on his mind, he got up, dressed and followed the scent of coffee and bacon down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Morning, slack-a-bed,” Edna said. She put a cup of coffee in front of him as he sat down. His wife had been unable to break the habit of rising at five in the morning.
“Are the girls still out in the barn?” Walter said.
“They’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Walter took a long sip of the coffee. “I could get used to this life of luxury,” he said. “Although not doing the barn work leaves me with an empty spot in the morning.”
“Well,” said Edna, “you can fill that spot up with barn work when the girls go back to college next week.”
Walter took another sip of coffee. Then he said, “We really need to decide about the farm before they leave. It’s not fair to leave them hanging.”
Edna came over and put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Not fair to you either. I hate to see you torturing yourself.”
The telephone on the kitchen wall rang. Edna took it off its holder. “Hi Steve,” she said, “Yes, he’s right here.” She handed the phone to Walter. “It’s our son.”
“Hello Dad,” Steve said.
“Steve, how come you’re calling now? What time is it in California?”
“I had to call early so you wouldn’t be out on a tractor or at one of your meetings. I got your e-mail about the farm.”
“Yes?”
“Dad, I really wish I could take it over but you know I can’t. I’m in the Navy long term, and Marion isn’t into being a farm wife.”
“I understand,” Walter said. “But you were my first choice.”
“I’m flattered, but who’s your second choice?”
“Edna thinks Cynthia and Wilson could take it on.”
“No way, no fucking way.” Steve was almost shouting. “Mom may forgive that loser about the necklace, but I don’t. Keep that asshole away from the farm.”
“Easy there. I agree with you, but your mom feels differently. Have you talked to your sister about it?”
“Well, Dad, Cynthia and I don’t talk much anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Hello. She’s married to that loser, and she knows how I feel about him.”
“Sorry. I guess I should have figured that out.”
“What other options are you thinking about?”
“Chris and Sandy are very interested.”
“Sandy? You mean Chris’s lesbian girlfriend?”
“We call Sandy her partner.”
“Whatever. What do you know about her? Lesbian couples break up all the time. What if two years down the line this Sandy decided to take off with some new girlfriend leaving Chris holding the bag?”
“I wish you could meet her. Chris and Sandy work like a team that’s been together forever.”
“I’ll have to wait and see on that one. Now how about the other option? Did you talk to the agent from Agrigola?”
“Yes, he came out and looked at the farm. He’s ready to make an offer.”
“Did he say how much it would be?”
“Not exactly, but he said it would be well over a million, maybe much more.”
“Dad, here’s what I think you and Mom should do. Sell the place and move out here close to us. We’ll find you a nice condo. You can start enjoying life. No more burning Midwest summers or freezing winters. And no worrying about how much you’ll get for the next crop.”
“Steve, the problem is this farm has been in the family for four generations. I keep thinking what my father and grandfather would say about selling it to some corporation that cares nothing about the land or the house.”
“Please, Dad, spare me the guilt-trip lecture.”
“Sorry, but that’s the way I feel.”
“Let me talk to Mom.”
Walter handed the phone to his wife. She listened for a moment and then said. “No, not pig-headed. I think the word you’re looking for is determined.”
After a pause, she continued, “Yes, of course he knows you love him and you’ll respect his decision. Let me talk to Marion.”
When Edna finished chatting with Steve’s wife, she hung up the phone and turned to Walter. “I know how you and Steve feel about Cynthia and Wilson having the farm, but Cynthia thinks it would work out. Wilson’s been in AA for onto six months. He actually has a job as a greeter at a big Denver restaurant.”
“I’m sure he’s good at greeting people,” Walter said. “I just wish he was better at saying goodbye.”
Edna did not laugh. “I used to wish he would say goodbye, run off with some bar fly. But he’s not going to go away, and Cynthia is not going to divorce him.”
“I know that, and I know you want to help Cynthia, but you know how I feel about Wilson.”
“I just wish you could get over the necklace business. I treasure it, but it’s still just a necklace.”
“It’s not just a matter of forgive and forget. I could see Cynthia holding up her end of running the farm; but we need two people we can count on. Suppose Wilson was supposed to negotiate a price for our corn crop but decided to go on a bender instead.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I still think you should forgive him. He’s never abused Cynthia, and he’s been a good father to Chris,” Edna said.
“I’ll give you that. Chris has turned out more than all right. But remember, if she and Sandy run the farm, it’s still in the family.”
“So you’re all set on the girls taking over?” Edna said.
“I’m not totally sure. I worry about how the people in town would get on with a lesbian couple running our farm.”
“Why don’t you find out?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going down to see your friends at the diner this morning. Why not take Chris and Sandy with you?”
“But it’s always been us guys. No women.”
“We’re not talking about women. We’re talking about your possible business partners. Your buddies know Chris, but down the line they may be dealing with Sandy. You just might want to find out how that would go.”
“I guess I’d better. If they don’t fit in with the town, it won’t work out. ”
A moment later, Chris and Sandy came bursting through the kitchen door, their voices echoing the tail end of laughter at some private joke. It always amazed Walter how the two of them, full with the exuberance of youth, could instantly brighten any room they entered. They were not two peas in a pod. Blonde, muscular Sandy was a head taller than his dark-haired and feminine granddaughter.
“Wash up,” Walter said. “I’m taking you two down to meet my friends in town.”
The three of them crowded into the front seat of the pickup, with Walter driving. After they had swung onto the highway, Walter said, “I asked you to come along because I want you to meet some friends of mine. They’re all old timers who understand the ins and outs of farming hereabouts as good as anybody.”
“And also,” Sandy said, “you want to see what their reaction to me will be.”
“Well, yes, that too,” Walter said.
“Who are they?”
“Pete, Walleye and Randolph. Pete is your old-time farmer, been in the business for years planting the usual corn and soybeans. Walleye is more progressive. He’s not into the whole preserve the earth bit but he does some pretty smart things in regards to sustainable farming. Randolph is our banker. When you come up with a scheme you think is the greatest idea in the world, he’ll tell you why it’s a total mistake that will only lose you money.”
On they went, down the ten miles of arrow-straight Highway 123 to where the first houses sprouted from the prairie and the sign proclaimed Solidarity, Heart of the Corn Belt. On they went past the Chisholm Memorial Library, the two-story brick high school and straight into Main Street. Walter slowed and angled the pickup against the curb where the Hometown Diner squatted between Bertram’s Business Block and Anderson’s Garage.
Mary was standing behind the cash register when they came in the door. “Hey, Chris, good to see you,” she said. “You found Mr. Right yet?”
“Mary, I want you to meet my partner Sandy,” Chris said.
Mary did a quick mental reboot and smiled. “Good to meet you, Sandy. Now where do you three want to sit? That front booth is empty.”
“No,” Walter said. “We’re going to sit with those jokers.” He pointed at the big table by the window where three older men were sitting, unabashedly staring at Sandy.
“Okay, if you say so,” said Mary. She grabbed a couple of chairs and dragged them over to the table. “Move over and make some space,” she said to the men. “We’re about to class up your act.”
“You all know Chris,” Walter said, “and I want you to meet her partner. Sandy, this is Pete.” He nodded his head towards a thin man with greying hair and a sun-darkened face.
“Good to meet you,” Pete said, shaking Sandy’s hand while gazing at her sun-bronzed arm and its tractor tattoo.
“And this is Stanley.” Walter nodded at a portlier man whose balding head showed just a tuft of white hair. “Only we call him Walleye. He’ll tell you why if you’re willing to be bored to death.”
“A fish I didn’t catch,” Walleye said as he shook Sandy’s hand. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
“And this gentleman is Randolph,” Walter said. “He keeps us honest.” Randolph was the only one there wearing a white shirt and a tie, his work clothes, after all.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Randolph looked straight at Sandy’s eyes as he shook her hand.
Walter had always been a bit frightened by the banker’s seeming ability to look right through him, as if measuring his inner thoughts as well as his net worth.
“I’m thinking about having Chris and Sandy run the farm, and I thought they ought to get to know the local brain trust,” Walter said. He felt his heart suddenly thumping. This had better work out.
Mary appeared with three mugs of coffee and her order pad.
“You come from a farm family?” Pete said to Sandy after Mary had taken their orders.
“Not really. My parents had a couple of acres, and we had horses for a while when I was young.”
“Sandy and I are both at Aggie. We’ll graduate next June,” Chris said.
“What do they teach you at Aggie about farming?” Walleye said. “A lot about tree hugging?”
“Sure,” Chris said. “They call it sustainable farming. Of course we get a lot about profitable farming, how to mix crops, know the future market.”
“What do they teach you about future markets?” Pete said.
“What are you growing this year?” Sandy said.
“Corn, soybeans.”
“Well it’s hard to know how corn will do in the future as no one is sure where ethanol is going. Soybeans are probably more stable, what with the Chinese buying most of them.”
“What would you plant different?” Pete continued.
“Chris and I want to diversify. We’d run some cattle, put more land in pasture. Perhaps try a few other crops.”
“What other crops are you talking about?”
“Maybe sorghum,” Sandy said.
“Doesn’t it always have to be dried?” Pete said.
“Usually,” Chris said. “You harvest it early so the birds don’t eat half your crop. Then the moisture content is too high, so you dry it.”
On they went, back and forth. Walter felt his body relax. Pete was obviously giving the girls a bit of an inquisition, but in a most friendly fashion.
“Sounds like they teach you more than how to hug trees over there at Aggie,” Walleye finally interrupted.
“You young women seem to know your stuff, “ Pete said. “You’ll know how to swim when you get dumped into the deep end of the pool, but it’s swimming the laps that can be the hard part.”
Mary appeared with plates of eggs, bacon and flapjacks with coffee refills. The conversation swung into a debate among the men over the new school playground. Chris and Sandy watched the men’s faces and listened.
As they were all leaving, Walleye motioned Walter aside. “If things don’t work out for the girls running your farm, have them come talk to me. Harrison wants to retire and go live with his sister’s family in Des Moines. Working for me, those two could get some experience in real farming, and I’d have a couple of smart young women I could bounce new ideas off of.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Walter said.
On the highway back to the farm, Walter said to Sandy, “What do you think of my friends?”
“I think you’re very lucky to have them. Now what do you think they thought of Chris and me?”
“I think they believe you’d be an asset for this town,” he said.
Chris and Sandy smiled at each other and then went silent, gazing out at the endless acres of corn sliding past.
When they got out of the pickup back at the farm, Chris said, “Do you want us to finish the bailing on the north pasture?”
“Sure.”
The two young women disappeared into the barn. Walter went into the house.
Edna was sitting at the kitchen table with a half-full cup of coffee and a face full of curiosity. “How did it go?” she said. “What did you talk about?”
“Planting sorghum. First I heard about it from those two, by the way.”
“You don’t like the idea?”
“It’s an interesting possibility.”
“Bottom line, how did your friends take to the girls?”
“Pete tested them on what they know about the technical end of farming. I think he was impressed. Walleye offered to hire them to help run his farm. Raymond didn’t say much, just listened.”
“Do you think they would have a problem with two women out here running our farm?”
“Definitely not.”
Then the phone rang. Edna answered it and handed the phone over to Walter. “It’s Pete.”
“Hi Pete,” Walter said. “What did you think of Chris and Sandy?”
“That’s why I called. I’m a bit worried about what you’re thinking of doing.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t think either of these girls understands how tough it is to be a farmer. They know a lot about crops and markets, but neither of them has lived full time on a farm, summer and winter. They haven’t had to fix a frozen water pump when it’s ten below zero. They haven’t had to watch drought burn up your corn.”
“Well, they’re not sitting around texting their friends about the next party. They’re out right now doing the bailing. They seem to enjoy doing it.”
“That’s just my point. If they’re running the farm, they are going to have to do lots of things no one enjoys doing. Sitting on a bailer in the summer sun is a bit different from going out to the barn in the five a.m. dark with the snow blowing in your face.”
Walter thought that one over. He could see Pete’s point. “So what do you think I should do? Sell the farm and move to California?”
“No. No. That’s not what I’m saying. Walleye, Raymond and I really admire what you’re trying to do. I wish I had any of my kids even slightly interested in taking over our farm. I’m just saying you should be careful not to lock either yourself or Chris and her girlfriend into anything you’ll later regret.”
“Like giving them the deed to the property?”
“Right. Let them see what they’re getting in for and then see where it goes.”
“Pete,” Walter said, “You are a good friend, going out on a limb to tell me stuff I really didn’t want to hear.”
“Hey,” Pete said, “you’ve done it for me a couple of times. Remember that time you told me I was an idiot to buy that foreign tractor, and I got so pissed I hung up on you.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Then I thought it over and didn’t buy that piece of junk. The only one in Solidarity who bought one is Hank Whiteside. His wonder tractor has been sitting in his barn for three years waiting for the repair parts to arrive.”
Walter started to laugh. “How long did he run it before it fell apart?”
“Two months maybe. Anyhow, I’ve got to go. Let me know if you need any more free advice.”
“Same here.”
Walter hung up and turned to Edna. “Did you understand what he was saying?”
“I got the gist. It’s just like Pete to bring us hopeless romantics down to earth.”
Walter looked out the kitchen window. “What the hell?” he said. An old but shiny black Buick had eased into their yard.
“That’s Randolph,” said Edna. “There’s only one of those dinosaurs in town.”
The banker climbed out of the car and came over to the kitchen door Edna was holding open. “Coffee?” she said.
“Yes, thank you,” Randolph seated himself at the kitchen table.
“So what brings you out here during banking hours?” Walter said, although he had a pretty good idea what they would be talking about.
“I guess I’d say it was Chris and Sandy, although it’s probably more about what I’d call estate planning.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ve got a pretty valuable piece of real estate out here. It sounds like you’re planning to just turn it over to those two young girls. Is that what you really want to do?”
“I’d rather turn it over to Steve, but he’s not interested, and I don’t want Wilson anywhere near the place,” Walter said.
“I think you should back off and look at it a little different. Think of this place as your retirement fund but also what you may want to leave to your kids when you die. If Chris and Sandy get the whole inheritance, what do your other kids get?”
Walter looked at Edna. “Put that way, it sounds pretty unfair,” she said.
“So what the devil else can I do?” Walter realized his voice was shaded with anger.
“Do nothing for starters,” Randolph said. “See how things work out with Chris and Sandy. Then we can talk about options like a trust.”
“A trust?” Walter said.
“You put the place in a trust. We make you and Edna, Steve, Cynthia and maybe Chris trustees.”
“That wouldn’t work. All they’d do was fight with each other. Steve isn’t even speaking to Cynthia, for example.”
“And whose fault is that?” said Edna.
“You mean the necklace,” Walter said. It was amazing to him how what he thought had been a simple solution five years ago had now resulted in a tangled mess.
“Look,” Randolph said, “you can set up the trust in a lot of different ways. Think about it. Just don’t do anything stupid in a hurry.”
He probably wanted to say “One more stupid thing,” Walter thought.
“I really appreciate your coming out here and telling me this,” he said.
“Well,” Randolph said, “that’s what friends are for.”
“Speaking of friends,” Edna said, “tell Linda not to be a stranger.”
“She’s off in Kansas City trying to straighten out Harriette’s marriage, but I’ll tell her when she gets back. Got to get back to the bank.”
Walter watched the Buick turn and head down their driveway. “Funny the way you find out what good friends you have,” he said.
When Walter, Sandy and Chris came back from their farm work in the late afternoon, Walter said to the young women, “Would you two like to come up on the roof to take a look at the land?”
“Not me,” Chris said. “You showed me everything years ago. Besides, I promised Grandma I’d help with dinner.”
“Count me in,” Sandy said.
They climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, still full of the heat of the day and perfumed with the essence of long-seasoned wood. Walter led the way to the roof ladder, climbed up and pushed open the exit lid. He climbed out onto the little platform and grasped the railing Steve had added a couple of years before when he felt Walter was getting too shaky on his feet.
Sandy followed. The two of them stood there for a minute in silence as Sandy scanned the vast space around them. From above, there was no monotony to the landscape. It was filled with unique rectangles of brown and green, carefully framed with tree lines and a meandering creek. Walter liked to think of it as the pieces of a perfectly completed jigsaw puzzle.
In the far distance, the fields smeared gently into the skyline.
“That’s my horizon,” Walter said.
“Horizon?”
“When I was a boy, I looked at it and ached to go beyond it, to see the rest of the world.”
“And now?”
Walter hesitated. Then he said, “After Vietnam it became the safe wall around my life.”
Sandy did not ask him what had happened in Vietnam. Instead she said, “It’s so different from up here. Show me the boundaries of your land.”
Walter pointed and described each well-loved corner of his property.
When he finished, they stood without speaking for a few minutes, drinking in the warmth of the lowering sun punctuated by a faint breeze full of late summer memories.
Finally Sandy said, “If you don’t mind telling me, how did Chris start staying here each summer? She’s told me how much she loved it, but not how it started.”
“I guess you should know. It was some trouble Wilson got into. Cynthia never told us exactly. I suspect it was gambling debts.”
“He owed money to the wrong kind of people?”
“Probably. Anyhow, Cynthia had to straighten it out, but she didn’t want a twelve year-old around when it happened. So she sent Chris to us. It took her about an hour to fall in love with the place. It was probably the horses.”
“Don’t short-change yourself,” Sandy said. “From what she’s told me, it was mostly you and Edna.”
They stood there again in silence. The sun had dropped behind a cloud bank, burning it yellow bright.
Sandy spoke again. “There is something else I want to know, if you feel free to talk about it,”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something Chris hasn’t told me about your family. What is this necklace business? If you want to keep it a family secret, don’t tell me.”
Walter frowned. “It’s not really a secret. Everyone in town knows about it.”
“So you can tell me?”
“It’s about Wilson again. You know his problem.”
“Yes.”
“They came for a visit one summer. Edna, Cynthia, Chris and I went off to visit some friends and left Wilson alone in the house. He helped himself to the necklace I’d given Edna for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It wasn’t really valuable, just a strand of cultured pearls. But it was precious to Edna.”
“That’s awful. What did he do with it?”
“He borrowed the pickup, drove into Solidarity and pawned the necklace for drinking money. He had long ago lost his driver’s license.”
“I see why Chris doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Samuelson, who runs the combination jewelry store and pawn shop, had sold me the necklace years before. He recognized it, paid Wilson thirty dollars for it. Later, he returned it to Edna.”
“Then what happened?”
“Wilson took the thirty dollars and bought himself a drunk. Luckily, Jed, the bartender, called Carson, our local sheriff. He intercepted Wilson before he could get in the pickup and kill himself or someone else. One of the deputies drove the pickup back. Carson took Wilson back here and read him the riot act along the way.”
“So how does the whole town know about it?”
“The sheriff never told anyone, but there were too many people watching in the bar. However, if you asked anyone in town about it, they’d have trouble remembering anything. In Solidarity, people watch each other’s backs.”
“I can see that. So what did you do?”
“I told Cynthia I never wanted Wilson in this house again.”
Sandy looked at him hard. “That sure explains a lot. I can see why Chris is so upset about it. If we come work your farm, her father can’t visit her.”
Walter looked out to the west. The sun had pushed under the cloud bank and now laid long shadows across the fields below. He was feeling both stupid and angry with himself. It seemed the jigsaw puzzle of his family was not the completed picture of a sunlit farm neatly shining on the table, but one with not a few unset pieces still to be put in place.
As he said nothing, Sandy finally spoke, “I’m sorry, but I had to let you know.”
“No,” he said, “I needed to know that.”
“I have to tell you,” Sandy said. “Chris and I aren’t sure we want to take on your farm. It’s nothing to do with the farming; it’s more that she feels your whole family has some problems she doesn’t want to live with. It isn’t you and Edna personally. She loves you both. But it’s other stuff, like her mother and her uncle have some kind of a feud going.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. The sun had dipped below the horizon leaving a glowing arc of clouds. “I think I may be able to fix a lot of that,” Walter said. “But there’s something else we need to talk about. Pete gave me a call this morning, and Raymond came over.”
“The Buick in the driveway? I wondered about that,” Sandy said.
“Raymond wanted me to back off and think about the land as an inheritance. He though we might put the farm in a family trust.”
“With someone to run the farm?”
“Hopefully, someone in the family.”
Sandy smiled at him. “That sounds like a plan that would work.”
“Pete had another worry,” Walter said.
“What’s that?”
“He feels you and Chris don’t understand how tough running a farm could be. Would you be up to the long winters, going out to do the chores when it’s ten below?”
Sandy’s smile was grim, and there was reluctance in her voice. “When I was sixteen my father’s abuse of my mother got physical, so she took me and my brother and ran away. We lived for a winter in an abandoned trailer. I used to walk a half mile to pick up the school bus in front of a house I pretended to live in so no one would know where I actually lived. So I know about cold.”
“I guess you do,” Walter said.
Sandy continued. “I worked after school in a diner kitchen partially so I could take home the throw-away food for our dinner. I won’t mind working my tail off on a farm doing the shit jobs if I know there are loving friends, a home cooked meal and a warm bed waiting for me each night.”
Walter could think of no further words to say. The sun had disappeared, and twilight began to seep slowly into the fields below. Chris’s voice came up from the kitchen door. “Come on down. Dinner’s on the table.”
As they went down into the house, Walter was assailed by a fragrance full of cooked tomatoes and strange herbs. They came into the kitchen where Edna’s big enameled pot sat in the center of the kitchen table set for four.
“Chicken parmesan,” Edna said.
“Where did you get the recipe?” Walter said.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Edna said. “Chris cooked it.”
He sat down at the end of the table. Chris put a plate in front of him, a browned chicken breast crowded onto a bed of spaghetti deep in tomato sauce. She and Sandy watched him with a slight expectation in their eyes.
He twirled his fork into the spaghetti and tasted a mouthful rich with the sauce. “Delicious,” he said, “Absolutely delicious.”
Sandy and Chris’s faces melted back into confidence. “Glad you like it,” Chris said.
Walter looked over at Edna. “Did you get this recipe?” he said.
Edna frowned at him. “I don’t need any recipe. I watched her make it.”
“So when do I get to eat it again?”
“Next week, if you want. Just let me know which of our regular meals it should replace.”
“Just add it to your usual great stuff.” Walter decided not to mention the Saturday beans and franks he’d recently grown tired of.
Then he relaxed and basked in the warmth of a good meal. Having Chris and Sandy there was much like long-past family dinners with Steve and Cynthia but without the tensions of two teenagers testing how to break loose from obsolete parents. The four of them were in a harmony he never thought possible. He imagined what future life could be like for them together in the house, dinners at the old kitchen table with laughter stirred in with serious arguments about the farm.
Then the telephone rang. Edna answered it and handed the phone to Walter. “It’s the agent from Agrigola,” she said.
“Frank Mason here,” said the voice. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Nothing very important,” Walter lied, looking at the three now-silent faces around the table.
“I just got the preliminary numbers and wanted you to hear them straight off so you know the ballpark we’re talking about. We can offer you at least two and a quarter million, probably a bit more when we get the final numbers.”
“Two and a quarter million?” Walter said aloud and watched the shock in his family’s faces.
“That’s right,” Mason went on. “Now, feel free to shop around for a better deal, but I don’t think you’re going to find one. I’ll be back to you with the final offer next week. We can talk details then.”
“Thank you for calling,” Walter said and hung up.
In the silence that followed, Chris and Sandy looked at each other. Finally Chris spoke. “It’s okay, Granddaddy. We understand. We can find another farm to manage.”
No one else said anything.
Edna’s old radio had been tuned to KCWR’s country and western golden oldies. Suddenly the voices of Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson filled the silence. She’s a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man. She loves him in spite of his ways she don’t understand.”
Chris started to sob. “Turn that off. I hate that song. It’s not that way at all. Mom and I understand Dad completely. That’s the awful part. You understand and can’t do anything about it.” She tried to continue, but her tears choked away any further words.
Sandy got up, came around the table, stood behind Chris and massaged the back of her neck with her well-tanned hands. “Easy there, love,” she said.
Edna got up and turned off the radio. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. None of us can do anything about it. But I think your father trying to run this farm would be a big mistake.”
“Yes, we understand,” Chris said, her voice weak but clear. Sandy nodded her head.
Walter looked over at his granddaughter and Sandy. He was seeing something remarkable, two damaged people working to become one undamaged whole.
Can you get Wilson on the phone?” he said to Edna.
“Wilson?”
“Yes, and put it on speaker phone.”
“Cynthia, it’s Mom,” Edna said when her daughter answered.
“Hi Mom.”
“Your Dad wants to speak to Wilson.”
“He really wants to talk to Wilson?” Cynthia’s voice was astonishment on the edge of tears.
“Yes.”
“I’ll get him.”
After a pause, Wilson’s hesitant voice came on, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Can you and Cynthia come visit us here at the farm?” Walter said.
“Why?”
“We need to talk about some stupid things I’ve done.”
There was a long pause accentuated by a single sob, then Wilson said, “I think you mean the stupid thing I’ve done.”
“Let’s work all that out when you get here,” Walter said. “How about next weekend?”
“Let me talk to Cynthia,” Wilson said.
After a moment, Cynthia came on the line, her voice on the trembling side. “Mom? Dad? You mean that?”
“Yes, he means that,” said Edna.
“We’ll come up Friday night if that’s okay?”
“That’s very okay,” said Walter. He found his voice was gripped with a strange tremor.
After Edna hung up the phone, she came around the table, stood behind Walter and squeezed his shoulders. She leaned down close to his ear and whispered, “I am very proud of you.”
Walter was not sure why anyone should be proud of him, but he felt he had made a right first step. He looked across the table at Chris. She was smiling at him through a face wet with tears.
He looked over his shoulder at Edna with a question in his eyes. She nodded her head.
Walter looked back at Sandy and his granddaughter. “We want you two here running the farm,” he said.
# # #
Late that evening, Walter and Edna lay in the big old bed which had seen them through the pleasure and quarrels of forty plus years of marriage.
“One thing still bothers me,” Walter said. “They’re two women. If they take over the farm, what about the next generation?”
Edna laughed. “You are definitely stuck back in some previous century. Chris wants to be a mother. They’re talking about it already, looking into sperm banks.”
To the mental picture of the four of them at the dinner table Walter added two chairs and two children, a boy and a girl laughing about what their teacher had said in fifth-grade class that morning.
“Getting to watch our great grandchildren grow up,” he said.
“Yes, sounds nice,” Edna said. She rolled on her side and was soon asleep.
Walter felt a sudden contentment he had long forgotten. He knew there was a lot of fence mending ahead to bring the family together. Over the years, there would be rocky moments, disagreements, illnesses and deaths, hopefully encompassed by long days of just ordinary living.
Walter lay awake for a few minutes longer, listening to the night sounds coming through the open window. An owl hooted in the distance; a small creature scurried somewhere important.
He fell asleep.
