Growing Season Read online

  “Look, I’ve only had two other calls,” he leaned in conspiratorially. Melinda noticed her dad was hanging on Kevin’s every word. “One was a nice young couple, but the woman was scared of the sheep, believe it or not. The other was a bachelor, probably in his thirties, but he didn’t seem very responsible. I didn’t trust him to take care of the animals properly and I don’t need rowdy beer parties going on out here.”

  He turned quiet for a moment, thinking. “If you decide you are interested, I’d feel fine asking you for only a hundred-dollar deposit. And just a month-to-month lease. The well water’s safe and the natural gas tank’s nearly full. There’s cable and internet run to the house, although Horace doesn’t have a computer so you’d need to hook up and pay for the wi-fi. We’d cover the rest of the utilities, just like now.”

  “This is a lot to think about. It’s all come up so fast. But either way, let’s go see the house. I have to admit I’ve been dying to get in there.”

  “I’ll warn you, it’s not fancy.” Kevin started for the back porch, Melinda and Roger right behind. “And it’s easy to let things slide when you’re living alone, especially at Horace’s age. But I’d get some help out here to clean before you’d move in. There’s furniture, of course, but you could bring whatever you want.”

  Horace’s muddy boots were carefully aligned on a rubber mat just inside the door, his tan cotton jacket hung on a hook next to his cap. The three west windows above the brown-painted bench filled the porch with a cheery glow, even at this time of the morning. A double-door closet spanned the north wall. To the right, a wooden door with a square window in its top opened into the kitchen.

  While the porch was fairly tidy, Melinda noticed several cobwebs in the corners of the white beadboard ceiling and a smattering of dried mud tracks on the painted gray floor. Through the kitchen door’s window she could see Horace settled in what was probably his favorite chair at the table, looking south to the barn. He seemed so content, his slim legs stretched out, a chipped white coffee cup in hand. “What does Horace know about this, really?”

  “I told him I’m hiring someone to live here while he’s away, kind of like a pet sitter,” Kevin whispered. “He’s hell-bent on coming home in a few months. For now, let’s leave it at that.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Horace turned at the slight rattle of the kitchen door and beamed at his guests. “Coffee’s fresh, help yourself,” he gestured at a cluster of mismatched coffee mugs on the dark-varnished wood table. A pile of tarnished silver spoons waited next to a blue plastic sugar bowl and a half-eaten package of store-bought chocolate sandwich cookies.

  Horace probably didn’t have much company. Melinda was touched by his simple efforts to make his visitors welcome, even if he had misgivings about why they were there. Roger profusely thanked Horace for his hospitality and took a mug over to the coffeemaker rooted on the beige laminate countertop. He glanced around the kitchen, raised an eyebrow at Melinda, and grinned.

  The room was a tired mish-mash of items from the last century, a whirlwind of styles and colors. A dusty push-button light switch still there on the wall, next to the modern one. The white apron porcelain sink, which appeared to be original, was probably worth far more than all the appliances combined. A small window above the sink looked out into the enclosed back porch. The single-bulb glass shield over it was probably from the 1970s, but at least its design matched the lone light in the ceiling and the triple-arm fixture hanging over the table.

  The pale-green wood cabinets wrapped around the room from just past the door, spanning the sink and turning the corner to support a tired electric stove resting along the north wall. Past that, a paneled oak door hinted at a staircase to the basement. The short stretch of cabinets on the east wall seemed like an afterthought, squeezed in between the basement entry and the open doorway into the dining room. The wooden table parked in front of the kitchen’s south-facing double window was square and solid, with thick, heavy legs that matched the dark stain on its scuffed surface. A squat, rounded mid-century refrigerator appeared to have been at home in the southwest corner for several decades, squeezed in between the windows overlooking the yard and the kitchen door.

  Melinda reached for a cookie as she continued to study the kitchen. She could tell by the cabinets’ thick sheen that they had been painted multiple times over the years. The laminate counters must have come from the most-recent remodel, which was at least twenty years ago. The walls were painted a tired light brown, the sort of color found at a recycling center where half-empty cans of paint were mixed and offered for a dollar a gallon.

  But the strange color scheme somehow picked up the tones in the floor’s flecked linoleum. Cheerful sage-and-cream checked curtains hugged the corners of all the kitchen’s windows, and a handmade wooden shelf along the south wall was clustered with houseplants reaching for the sun.

  “What did you think of the chickens?” Horace turned to Melinda with a proud look on his face. “They sure are a nice little flock, huh?”

  “Well, I haven’t made it over to the coop just yet,” she hedged. Horace assumed they had been meeting the animals, rather than discussing his personal business. “But I’ll be sure to see them before we go, OK?”

  She could see how much he loved this farm. It pained her to know he would have to leave it soon.

  “We haven’t seen the sheep yet either, Uncle Horace.” Kevin patted him on the shoulder. “Melinda wants to look over the house first. Then we’ll be back for some of that coffee.”

  “Well, there’s not much to see,” Horace said in a tone that indicated he was far more excited for Melinda to meet his livestock. “House hasn’t changed much over the years, haven’t seen the reason to. But the barn roof got switched out maybe ten years ago, the sheds’ roofs are in decent shape, too. They’re all solid. Chicken coop’s wire was replaced last summer. Don’t have to worry too much about predators.”

  “What kind of predators?” Melinda nearly dropped her cookie. She’d been trying to get a better look into the dining room, where a garish sky-blue wallpaper of swooping teal birds and forested vines threatened to attack the beautiful oak buffet nestled into the south wall.

  “Well, we saw that cougar two years ago.” Horace’s eyes brightened as he leaned over the table toward Roger, eager to tell his story to someone new. But first, a dramatic pause. “Wilbur swore he’d heard this scream up in the trees on the far end of the windbreak the night before. I went out just before dawn to do chores, and I saw it with my own eyes, slinking off behind the chicken coop.”

  He turned and studied Melinda, waiting for her reaction. She could only nod, her mind racing. Surely there weren’t cougars roaming around here? But then, the grove down at the creek would provide good cover, and a source of water …

  “There’s an occasional raccoon out here, maybe a hawk,” Kevin broke in, shaking his head at Roger, who took a hearty gulp of coffee to keep from laughing.

  Horace still seemed to be in earnest. “You never know what might be running around out there. A neighbor over to the west saw a coyote last fall.”

  Kevin sighed and gestured for Melinda to move ahead into the dining room. An oval wood table with turned legs, far more refined but even older than the one in the kitchen, commanded the center of the room under an iron scrollwork light fixture rewired for modern electrical currents. Four chairs, their slatted backs carved with a delicate leaf pattern, gathered around the table.

  “I’m not sure Horace is telling it straight,” Kevin whispered once they moved away from the kitchen. “And you just got the condensed version. Sometimes when he tells that story, he’s run off the big cat with his shotgun, but only after it charged him. The size of this alleged monster has ranged from three feet to eight feet long, depending on how likely it is his listeners will believe him.”

  “So he’s trying to see how gullible I am.” Instead of being offended, she found it clever. Horace was sizing her up. He didn’t want to hand his farm over
to just anyone.

  “He hasn’t had enough of a chance to get a read on you yet. Horace may come off as a simple farmer, but he’s very intelligent. Could’ve gone off to Iowa State and studied engineering all those years ago, but money was tight. And really, I don’t think he wanted to leave home.” He gestured around the dining room and the adjacent living room. “Well, let’s continue our tour of the main level. As you can see, it’s filled with old-farm charm.”

  A large cased opening joined the two rooms. Warm summer light flowed in from the two south windows flanking the buffet, which was crowned with a long, narrow pane of leaded glass across the top. The decorative diamond design was repeated in the two square windows in the living room’s north wall, where they hugged a fireplace and brought in filtered light above the built-in bookcases set to each side. Melinda was relieved the twirling birds and vines didn’t migrate into the living room, whose walls were instead coated in the same drab brown as the kitchen.

  There was a graceful oval of beveled glass in the dining room’s front door, which opened onto the screened porch that ran across the front of the house. A picture window in the living room also looked east, past the maple tree and down to the lilacs along the road.

  “This house is really beautiful,” she said, admiring the warm, dark woodwork that carried into the living and dining rooms from the kitchen. “But I can see where it needs some updating.”

  The narrow oak floor planks in the dining and living rooms appeared to be original, but hadn’t been varnished in years. A sagging, rust-toned velour couch was angled under the picture window, which was flanked by the same red-and-blue check curtains as in the dining room. Nothing coordinated with the puffy brown leather recliner rooted by the fireplace. The easy chair was across from a short cabinet that, surprisingly, supported a flat-screen television.

  “Yeah, Horace’s idea of decorating is making sure he has a good TV,” Kevin shrugged. “And keeping his newspapers in order.” One dining-room corner was stacked with boxes; another housed three-feet-high piles neatly tied at intervals with white cotton string.

  Melinda pointed at the two doors in the west wall of the living room. “What’s behind door number one? I can’t wait to see.”

  “That would be the stairs. The second one is probably more interesting because it not only holds the downstairs bedroom, but the only bathroom on this floor.” Kevin paused before turning the knob. “I’ll warn you, I haven’t been in here yet today.”

  The bedroom wasn’t as cluttered as Melinda had suspected. Shirts and jeans were hanging in the tiny closet, a row of sensible shoes settled below. A few stray socks were flung on the top of a light-blue dresser wedged along the north wall, which held a single window. An ornate iron bedstead fit along the west wall, next to the other window. The bed had been neatly made that morning, the crazy quilt worn but clean. And again, brown walls. “They must have gotten those buckets of paint for a steal,” Melinda said.

  “They might have even been free. It certainly looks it, doesn’t it? I’m getting ahead of myself here, but if you ever felt like tackling some painting or other DIY projects, I’d be happy to pay for the materials. This house will have to be sold, eventually.”

  There was a narrow door in the southwest corner. Kevin peeked in, then gave a nod of cautious approval. “And now, for the smallest bathroom this side of the Iowa-Minnesota line. It was a closet until a few years ago, when Wilbur couldn’t do the stairs anymore and we had it converted to a half bath. You’ll need to check it out on your own, since there’s barely room for one person in there.”

  “Oh, my.” Her hands barely fit over the bowl of the sink, which was topped with a rectangular mirror that couldn’t quite make the little room seem bigger. It was just a quarter turn to bump into the toilet.

  “You don’t have to worry about Horace falling in here, thanks to a grab bar and the walls being only about three feet apart.”

  She ducked out of the bathroom and followed Kevin back into the living room, where he opened the other door and gestured at the varnished stairs, which met a landing halfway up then doubled back to reach the second floor. A small dormer and window brought light into the stairwell, which had metal safety handrails bolted to its outside walls.

  “Horace and Wilbur both slept up here, their whole lives, until Wilbur fell outside and broke his leg about three years ago. He moved to the downstairs bedroom then. Wilbur healed up, but his leg was never really right again. He needed a cane, then a walker, to get around. Then last year, his dementia started to kick in.”

  “I’m sorry.” Melinda paused at the top of the stairs. One door went left, one right, and two more were straight ahead. Only the right-hand one was open. “Does he still recognize any of the family?”

  Kevin lowered his head, his brow furrowed behind his glasses. “He knows Horace. And on good days, he recognizes my mom. We’d like Horace and Wilbur to have more time together before Wilbur can’t remember his brother anymore. They both mean a lot to me, you know. My dad passed three years ago and they’re the only older relatives I have close by.”

  He turned the iron knob on the door to the left and gave her an encouraging smile. “This one would be your bedroom. See what you think.”

  The space was cozy and bright, painted a soft cream like the hallway. A double dresser with a mirror stood along the east wall, the bureau’s surface empty but dusty. A small nightstand crouched next to it, as if unsure where it belonged. The west wall rose to a height of about five feet, then angled up to the ceiling. She peered out the west window and marveled at the reach of the oak tree over the picnic table, the neat rows of the young garden and the cozy chicken house beyond. The other view was of the north yard, punctuated by two sentinel evergreens surrounded by hosta beds. Past that, the windbreak marked the far border of the acreage.

  “I like this room,” she said, admiring the hardwood floors that appeared to run through the entire upstairs. “I’m hoping, though, that there’s a closet behind that door.”

  “Absolutely. It’s small but a walk-in one, with its own tiny window.” Kevin yanked the door open and peeked inside. “There’s a rod in here, some shelves below that. And it’s empty. This was Horace’s room for years, but it’s been cleared out, mostly. As you can see you’d need to bring a bed, and whatever else you wanted.”

  Out in the hallway, he motioned to the two east doors. “The larger of these two rooms has the big dormer. It’s full of stuff, been used as storage for years. The smaller one has just a window looking south. That was Wilbur’s old room, and I have to say it’s crammed with odds and ends, too. The bathroom’s over here.”

  They went through the open door into a smaller room with just a west dormer and a roll-top desk. Through yet another door, Melinda glimpsed a white vanity that looked to have been made over from a dresser.

  “I know, it’s a strange layout,” Kevin said over his shoulder. “This was the best place for a bathroom when indoor plumbing was added, being above the kitchen. But this space was too big for what my grandpa thought was a luxury. And he didn’t want to lose the fourth bedroom up here, no matter how small it became. So they divided it up like this.”

  The bathroom held a white clawfoot tub, chipped but mostly clean, with a metal track bolted above it to hold the shower curtain. There was only one sink, but plenty of counter space on the vanity. The white-framed mirror above it was substantial. The toilet was edged in by the south window, and the closet in this room had been filled in with floor-to-ceiling shelves. The floor was covered with what looked to be a remnant of the linoleum in the kitchen.

  “I see why your grandpa designed it like this.” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. There was something so welcoming about this house. “There’s not one foot of wasted space, in here or anywhere else. And the little room would make a nice office.”

  Kevin looked pleased. “Washer and dryer are in the basement. The furnace and air conditioner are old, but still chugging along.”

>   “Oh, I’m so glad there’s air conditioning. I didn’t want to sound like some pampered city chick, but I wasn’t sure I could manage without it.”

  Kevin’s face lit up. “So … you might actually do it? You might take the place?”

  Melinda was excited and scared, and happy and unsure. The desperation Kevin was trying to hide touched her heart. He loved his uncle so much and was obviously hoping she was the answer he’d been looking for.

  “I don’t know, Kevin, but I just might. Let me sleep on it tonight, think it over. It’s a big decision, even if it’s only for a few months.” For some reason, she felt she could open up to Kevin even though he was practically a stranger.

  “It’s been crazy the past few days with Uncle Frank’s surgery, but it’s been good to be home, too. The last month has been so hard. I’ve been looking for work, but nothing’s turned up,” her voice began to waver. “I’ve felt so, I don’t know, disconnected from my life. But then yesterday, I decided to take the county blacktop over to Swanton, and then I saw your sign. I doubled back, came down this road, and this place sort of spoke to me. The house, the barn, everything.”

  Kevin smiled and pushed his hands into his jean pockets, then scuffed at the floor with his shoe. “I think I understand, I really do. I teach history up at the community college in Mason City. I love my work, my friends. But my partner, we broke up two months ago. He worked at the college, too, but then a job opened up out of state. He wanted to go, I wanted to stay. We were going to get married, even.” She saw the tears in Kevin’s eyes. “But not now.”

  He moved to the window to gaze across the driveway to where the sheep were wandering in the front pasture. “I don’t know where my life is going, either. And when I look at Horace, at Wilbur, I see how short life really is. Who knows how much time either of them have left? Or any of us? Horace is willing to go stay with Wilbur, but he hopes to come home again. I can’t take that away from him, at least not yet.”