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Growing Season Page 10

There was a small room just across from the gate into the ewes’ area, its scuffed wooden door cracked open and hanging slightly askew on its iron hinges. It had a least one window, as there was faint daylight radiating around the door, but what else was in there? She felt her scalp start to prickle. “What’s that room for, Ed?”

  “Oh, that’s the grain room, storage space. You’d put your extra oats and such in there, away from where the animals could get to it. But now, with just these few sheep, Horace leaves the grain out here in these barrels.” He noticed her cautious expression and chuckled.

  “You’re right, that’s the perfect place for rats to live, there or in the haymow. You’re picking up on things quick. Be careful, though, if you go up there. Horace and Wilbur built those stairs to be sturdy and safe, but there’s sure to be some holes or loose boards in the haymow floor.”

  “Well, I don’t intend to go up there anytime soon,” she crossed her arms. For such a charming barn, there seemed to be potential dangers everywhere she looked. That included the swags of cobwebs anchored in the ceiling’s corners and spiraling out along the walls, swooping just low enough to let their residents enjoy pastoral views through the four-pane windows.

  Ed glanced around, too, and lowered his voice. “Of course, there’s spiders all over out here. They get really big in the summer. Huge. Their bodies can get as big as quarters, and their legs …”

  “Ed, really!” Mabel shot her husband an exasperated look. “We promised Horace we’d help look after things, not cause her to pack up her bags and run back to the city. Now, Melinda,” she began in a soothing voice, “just sweep the webs off to the side when they grow too large. Spiders especially like open doorways, since they can catch more bugs in those. My personal rule is if the webs are low enough that a spider could jump into my hair as I walk under them, then it’s time to get the broom.”

  Melinda wasn’t afraid of a little bug here and there. Her apartment had spiders from time to time. But they were small, not these creatures that Ed described. At least there shouldn’t be cockroaches here. She hated those. They made her nervous, the way they seemed to anticipate her movements as she stalked them with a shoe. She could probably handle a few country spiders, as long as they stayed out of her way and out of her hair. There was one over by a west window right now, a fat beige one, too busy spinning to pay its visitors much mind.

  “I’d already planned to bring out an old broom to chase off the rats,” she sighed. “And I see there’s some spare two-by-fours over there for backup. As long as I don’t need a gun to fight off all these critters, I think I’ll be OK.”

  Ed and Mabel exchanged concerned looks.

  “Oh, no, don’t tell me I’ll need to be a crack shot, too. What else is lurking around here? Horace said something last week about some panther, but maybe it was really a bobcat? Kevin said he likes to exaggerate, though, and tell stories.”

  “He sure does,” Mabel grinned, then grew serious. “But last winter … well, Ed, should we even tell her? I don’t want to frighten her unnecessarily …”

  “We saw tracks around our chicken house once last year, a day or so after Horace and Wilbur did.” Ed curled his fingers and pushed the tips together, his hands about three inches apart. “Big feet, rounded, like a cat’s, not oblong like a dog’s.”

  “But we never saw it,” Mabel patted Melinda’s arm encouragingly. “The sun had melted the tracks some, they maybe weren’t that big to begin with. Even if there had been a wild cat around, it would’ve moved on quickly, they can travel several miles a day. And it was winter, the snow was deeper than usual. A wild animal would never come around humans like that unless it was terribly hungry.”

  “Guess I’ll have to learn animal tracks, too.” Putting out feed and filling water tanks was apparently only a fraction of this job.

  Ed shrugged. “I’ve got a rifle. Rarely use it, but it’s good to have around. You have any trouble like that, you just call and I’ll come over. In the meantime, there’s always a shovel.”

  At least there was a hydrant in the barn, with a hose that ran to the ewes’ water troughs. She wouldn’t have to haul water for the sheep. But the chickens’ water would need to be carried in a bucket from the hydrant next to the garden.

  With Hobo leading the way, they crossed the yard to the chicken coop. Mabel demonstrated the best way to distract the hens with their feed and then snatch the fresh eggs from the brooder boxes.

  “You see, it’s pretty simple,” Mabel beamed as she handed Melinda the galvanized egg bucket. “Change their water once a day, twice when it’s really hot, and that’s it. They’ll head for the shady parts of the run, closer to the windbreak, or come in here where it’s cooler. And the wire run is nice and sturdy. These ladies will stay safe, no matter what might come sniffing around.”

  It sounded simple enough. But the hens had screeched unmercifully when the three strangers ducked into their coop. And one of the rust-colored chickens let out a vicious squawk and made a run at Ed’s pant leg. Melinda cringed, but Ed just shrugged. “Always wear jeans at chore time. Long-sleeved shirts, too.”

  Mabel gave Melinda an unexpected hug as she and Ed got in their car. “Call anytime. Our number’s on the pad there by the kitchen phone.” They waved as they drove down the lane, Ed giving the horn a little toot.

  Her neighbors’ instructions and kindness were just the encouragement she needed. It would take a few days to win the trust of the sheep and the chickens, but the chores themselves weren’t all that difficult. Prosper Hardware, however, was another matter. She had no idea how parachute in and fill Aunt Miriam’s and Uncle Frank’s shoes. But just as Mabel and Ed would help her with the farm, Bill and Esther would be at the store to offer their support and expertise.

  “It’s better to know exactly what I’m up against.” As she glanced around the yard, she saw all the hard work it was going to take to keep this charming farm looking that way. They hadn’t even discussed the garden, which looked as if it had been recently weeded. But it wouldn’t stay that way for long. “I’ll just find a way to get it all done, that’s all.”

  And she couldn’t wait to take it on. She clasped her hands together, feeling the early-evening sun warm her back as she gazed down the gravel drive to the carpet of rising cornfields to the east. For the first time since she lost her job, she was excited about a challenge instead of feeling overwhelmed. This was her place, even if just for the summer, and she was going to find a way to keep it going for Horace’s sake.

  Hobo had ambled down to the road and was now stretched out in the soft grass on the driveway’s shoulder. He must be enjoying the early-evening breeze, she thought, walking down to join him. Maybe he’d let her pet him again, as he had that morning.

  “Hobo? Hey, boy,” she called softly as she approached, her sneakers crunching the gravel.

  Hobo looked up, and she was stunned to see the sadness in his eyes. He turned away and stared out at the road, first left, up the way Ed and Mabel had gone, and then right, down toward the next crossroads. He put his head back down on his paws, his furry brown shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh.

  Her heart swelled with concern for the poor dog as her eyes filled with tears. Earlier in the day, when he wasn’t under the picnic table, she had assumed he was in the barn, using the little door cut in the front wall to come and go. But he must have been down here, instead. Watching, waiting for Horace to come home.

  She carefully lowered herself into the grass next to Hobo, who wouldn’t look her way.

  “I don’t know, Hobo, I don’t know if he will,” she sniffed, then gently placed her hand on the dog’s velvet fur. Hobo didn’t move. “I know you miss him. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, instead. I’m sorry your best friend has gone away. I can’t be him, Hobo, but I would like to try to help you.”

  She looked both ways down the road, just as Hobo had done, and was struck by how empty it seemed. The tears were now rolling down her face, the confidence she’d gained
through Ed and Mabel’s encouraging words starting to fade. What would become of her, what would she ever do with her life after this? This was a break, a chance to get away from her normal life. But it was all temporary. It wasn’t going to last.

  “I know how you feel,” she whispered, gently wrapping an arm around Hobo, tears falling into his fur. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. But we will take this day by day, and do it together.” At last, he turned his head and licked her hand.

  CHAPTER 9

  A blinding shock of sunlight filled the car. Melinda hurried to yank down the visor, which didn’t do much good because the sun was still low over the horizon. “And oh, is it early,” she mumbled, turning east off the gravel road and toward Prosper. The dash clock showed 6:40 a.m., and the charcoal ribbon of asphalt was empty except for her hatchback.

  “People with desk jobs somewhere haven’t even left home yet,” she sighed. But the local farmers were already done with morning chores and on to the rest of their days’ tasks. She was, too. There would be no more sleeping in, no more lazy mornings with a bottomless cup of coffee and the paper. She had to be at Prosper Hardware at seven. Aunt Miriam wanted her to make sure the store was ready to open at eight, which was when Bill arrived. Esther came in at noon and closed the store at six. Unless there was some calamity, Melinda was free to leave at four.

  And why wouldn’t there be some sort of drama? There’d been plenty of that last night and this morning.

  She had been a bit nervous about her first night alone in an old house, but had no trouble falling into a deep, restful sleep. That was ruined a few hours later by a sign she wasn’t alone: the unmistakable “chireep, chireep” of a cricket hiding behind the dresser. She begged the insect to either shut up or leave the room, but the song went on. She got up, flipped the light switch and confronted her foe with a shoe. But the little bug was too quick, darting behind the nightstand and then under the bed. She considered going downstairs to sleep on the couch, but decided to stand her ground and, after some choice words for her new roommate, managed to close her eyes again.

  Three alarms woke her at 5:15 a.m. There was her clock radio, her smartphone and a wind-up clock she found in the drawer of the nightstand. But that was one too many. The vintage timepiece was a minute behind and so obnoxious that, still half asleep, she was startled by the racket and stubbed her toe on the nightstand while trying to turn off all her devices. She’d have to go to bed sooner, get herself adjusted to a new routine. And fast.

  Hobo ate some of his breakfast, which was encouraging, but apparently he wanted her to sit next to him on the sidewalk while he slowly, slowly enjoyed his kibble. He allowed her to pet him and rub his ears during the meal, while her mind hurried ahead to how quickly she might be able to feed the sheep and chickens, get a shower and some cereal, and hurry off to town.

  Mabel’s idea to distract the hens with their feed was successful, and she was able to collect their eggs and change their water while they feasted. The ewes refused to come up to the inside fence while she was in the barn, but she wasn’t sure if that was because they didn’t trust her or because she was running around like a madwoman, racing the clock.

  But then there was that noise in the barn, a skittering, scratching sound that made her heart jump more than when the old alarm clock clanged.

  Some critter was padding around in the old grain room. At least, she hoped there was only one. Was it those rats Ed had warned her about? Surely those horrible creatures wouldn’t come out while she was in the barn, frozen there in the aisle with the oat scoop in her hand. She was about to approach the grain room door, which was still open just a crack, when the scratching started again. First across the floor, and then going up, up, up the boards of the wall. Her heart nearly stopped when the sequence repeated.

  If there were two, there were surely more. The thought of a horde of rats baring their talon-like claws and swinging their stringy, hairless tails as they performed this feat of strength was too much. The ewes, who had started to calmly chew their oats, erupted with bleats of surprise when she flung the scoop back in the oats bin and slammed the lid and brick on top.

  “Good luck ladies,” Melinda called to them as she ran out of the barn and double-checked the door latch behind her. “I’m out of here.”

  A knot was again forming in her stomach as she bumped over the railroad tracks by the co-op. A few pickups were already parked in front, most of them with an underbelly of gravel-road dust. She tried to comfort herself with the idea that these people, soon to be her customers, were of the no-nonsense variety. All she had to do was be friendly, direct them to what they were looking for, make small talk. It couldn’t be that difficult to run the cash register. And Bill would be there, he could help customers find things until she learned the store.

  “It’s OK to be a little nervous,” she reminded herself. “This is a big change. Besides, it’s better than sitting around my apartment. This certainly won’t be dull.”

  But the uneasiness remained as she cruised past City Hall and the front of Prosper Hardware, turning after the post office to come in the back side off Third. She didn’t fit in around here anymore, and wasn’t really sure she wanted to. Hadn’t she spent the last two decades building her own, independent life? Then she remembered that awful morning when she cried on the floor of her apartment, Oreo’s collar clutched in her palm, and how she’d decided to get on her feet and take things one step at a time.

  “I’m doing that today, too.” She turned into the gravel parking lot, and told herself she would handle whatever came her way as best as she could.

  It was now seven. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, tossed up a quick prayer for a good day. But even a so-so day would do. There would be an hour to walk the aisles and get familiar with the layout of the store. She’d study the register’s shortcut keys, maybe water the hanging baskets out front, make sure the floor was swept clean. And surely there wouldn’t be a stampede when she unlocked the front door at eight.

  Melinda stuck her key in the back door and nearly stumbled forward when it flew open on its own. Why wasn’t it locked? Had someone broken into the store?

  She stepped cautiously into the back room, mildly comforted by its sweet sawdust aroma. Bill had stacks of lumber piled around, projects he was cutting for customers. Anyone could be hiding back here. This was worse than the rats in the barn; at least they might be the slightest bit afraid of her.

  “Hello?” She tried to sound authoritative but friendly. No answer.

  She tiptoed to the steel door leading into the store, then remembered how badly it stuck. She wasn’t going to be incognito for long. She turned the knob and pushed on the door with her shoulder. There was a scraping screech as it opened, but otherwise, silence. The early-morning sunlight beamed in through the spacious front windows, but the lights weren’t on and there were shadows crouching in the back near the stairs.

  She waited, her heart pounding. Then there was another unmistakable scent: coffee.

  “Melinda?” A man’s voice echoed from the front of the store, causing her to jump. Not only was someone here, but he was expecting her.

  Then she sighed and started up the main aisle. Someone this friendly, and here this early and brewing coffee, wasn’t likely to be dangerous.

  A cheerful man who looked to be about sixty gave her a wave as he set out powdered creamer and sugar on the vintage wooden cabinet by the side window. A coffee maker, which may have been in that very spot on the metal counter for a few decades, was just starting to growl. The man’s brown eyes were friendly but curious as he doffed his cap, which was embroidered with a seed corn company logo, and extended his hand.

  “I’m August Kleinsbach, good to meet you.” Melinda grasped his hand in a sea of relief and confusion. “Everybody calls me Auggie. I own the co-op.”

  “Oh, hello … Auggie ... I don’t mean to sound rude, but, well, what are you doing here?” She didn’t know what else to say. “I mean, I
saw the co-op was already open when I drove by, and …”

  Auggie reached for a stack of chairs next to the wall and started to arrange them around the cabinet. He was obviously expecting company.

  “Didn’t Miriam tell you? Oh, sorry Melinda. She’s got so much on her mind these days, what with Frank and all.” He silently counted the chairs, hesitated, and set out one more. “The guys meet here in the mornings to talk over everything happening in Prosper and the rest of the world. We just let ourselves in.”

  Melinda started to wonder who else had keys to the store. Why did Frank and Miriam bother to lock up at all?

  “I’m in charge of the coffee.” He reached in an upper door of the cabinet for some mugs and spoons. “Sometimes we get lucky and one of the guys’ wives sends along some cinnamon rolls or cookies. If not, we survive.”

  “What about the co-op?” It seemed a fair question, as Auggie could only be in one place at one time.

  “Oh, Dan, my assistant, runs the shop while I’m here. We wrap up by nine or so. Don’t worry, I empty the pot and put everything away. Heard about your job up in the city. That’s tough. But you’ll land on your feet, I’m sure of it. Folks from Prosper are made of iron, I always say. Bounce back from anything.”

  That fact that Melinda wasn’t actually from Prosper didn’t seem to matter to Auggie, who was already off on another subject.

  “We’ve got a little less than a month until the big Fourth of July festival. Some of the guys are on the committee, we’ve got some business to talk over this morning. We’re always looking for volunteers, could use some more youngsters in the group. How about you give us a hand? Bet you’d have some great ideas.”

  Melinda wasn’t sure which part to respond to first. She hadn’t thought of herself as a “youngster” for many years. And her plate was already full. She hadn’t even started her new job yet, and here she was nearly a member of a city planning committee. But then, it could be fun. “Well, I might …”