Windrow Garden Page 4

  Sally glanced at the men and compared their worn, scuffed, and mud-covered boots. That’s what Sally was used to in the farming country. Men in their cleanest dirty shirt, worn wrinkled jeans, and dirty boots. A properly disheveled lot who looked like they never went home from their tasks. The woman was a sharp but not unpleasant contrast.

  Sally knew how to read the men who were applying for the temporary position. She was used to male farmhands. Their wives usually worked the orchards while the men did all the heavy, equipment-related work. It was a separation of labor she’d never questioned. Until now. She was comfortable and used to traditional farm operations and occupational preferences. A female mechanic applicant was an uncharted experience, and she did not know what to expect.

  Sally was smiling at her own puzzlement when the other woman looked up, catching her eyes. The woman observed Sally with a steady, unwavering gaze. The openness of the gaze caught Sally by surprise. Amusement and a sudden coquettish flush overtook her as the woman leaned back in her chair, squared her shoulders, and fetchingly returned the smile. Butterflies launched themselves as Sally recognized a darting awareness rush from the base of her spine to the top of her head.

  Under the woman’s steady gaze, Sally’s smile vanished in bewilderment, and Sally quickly turned her attention back to the paperwork in front of her. Unaccountably she wanted a drink, something to wet the sudden dryness of her mouth. She wanted something more than the coffee that languished in front of her.

  It had been a simple friendly gesture. She assured herself there was nothing of consequence, no need to wonder at the meaning or intent behind those dark eyes. A friendly gesture of shared self-assurance, Sally rationalized. There was a position to be filled. The best person for the job would have to replace her laid-up mechanic and be straw boss to the hands. Whoever got the job, Sally silently asserted, had to be reliable and competent, and this was certainly not the time for partiality, preconceptions, or deceptive musings.

  Over the course of the next two hours, Sally interviewed the prospective hired hands in the order in which they had arrived. She asked general questions, asked for accounts of previous employment, and asked the reasons for departure from the last job. Each man left with Sally’s promise to contact him later with a decision, although she had not been impressed with the results of the first three interviews. She had little hope for the day and a sinking feeling about the complexity of work that she was going to be facing if she could not find a good hand. Then the last man left. As nonchalantly as possible, Sally poured herself another cup of coffee and waved the woman over to the table.

  The woman approached, and Sally stretched out her hand in offer of introduction. “My name is Sally Windrow, Miss…Miss Jeager,” Sally said as she glanced at the name on the application again.

  “Jeager, just Jeager. If you don’t mind. Or Nicole. Or Sergeant. Anything but Miss. I haven’t been called Miss since I was eighteen. And I rarely miss a thing,” Nicole said, taking Sally’s offered hand firmly into her own.

  “As you wish,” Sally remarked as she felt the firm, callused grip and long fingers wrap around her outreached hand. The clasp lingered only a second, but Sally felt the tingling warmth long after the introduction had ended.

  “Please, sit down,” Sally said finally, noticing that Nicole was still standing.

  “Thank you.”

  “I…uh, I see by your application that you’re recently retired from the Army.”

  “That’s right. Twenty and out,” Nicole responded, trying to let her voice fill the words with nonchalance.

  “I see. Well, working on a farm is a bit different from…from…” Sally faltered as she looked for the occupational title Nicole had filled in the Army. She looked down the application and found an unfamiliar title and code terms.

  “Mechanic. I don’t imagine mechanical work on or off the farm is too different from what I’ve been doing,” Nicole countered.

  Sally nodded and quickly read the general application information and noted that under arrests Nicole had said none. Habit would ensure that Sally took all the applicants' information and identification to the sheriff’s department for verification and assurances of no criminal records.

  It wasn’t that she objected to people trying to mend their ways. As far as she was concerned, everyone should get a second chance. Compassion and logic held her at that juncture. Ex-felons could mend and correct all they wanted once they were set free, but not on her property. Sally simply didn’t want them on the farm, around her child, or near her cash drawers. She did not intend to falter in the requirement.

  “You realize the position is temporary. My mechanic’s been injured. But he’ll be returning once he’s mended,” Sally offered.

  “Ms. Windrow, it’s just another job. I’ve got a decent pension. Better than that, I’ve got savings. But I’m not used to being retired. I’ll use my base privileges up at Fort Leavenworth. Commissary, post exchange, that sort of thing.”

  “There might be better jobs in town. Like with an automobile dealership?” Sally suggested.

  “Might be. But like I said, or intended to say, I’m passing through. Looking for a place to hang my hat for a bit. I’m not looking to settle or start a second career. Thought that maybe my skills and intentions to leave would fit your needs and mine.”

  “You think you’d be happy here?” Sally inquired.

  Nicole laughed despite her intention not to. “Happiness. I didn’t know that was part of the job description.” She chuckled and then noticed the look of confusion on Sally’s face. “No offense. In the Army they never asked if I would be happy. They did want to know I was competent, and that I am. I don’t know about levels of happiness. I do know it would be a bit like coming home. I’m used to hard work. I enjoy it, and I’ll give you more than a fair exchange of labor for your money,” Nicole said, trying not to choke at the idea that she’d be returning to something she’d run away from.

  Finding the vacancy announcement in the newspaper the previous week had given Nicole possibilities. It had given her an opportunity to stop driving, to start thinking, and to try to figure what sorts of decisions she needed to come to. After several days of thinking and talking to herself, she knew one thing for sure. She knew that not only did she not know the answers, but that she also wasn’t sure what all the questions might be. The advertisement for the mechanic’s job on a large farming operation with room, board, and nominal pay seemed to have been sent by the powers of the universe. It could give her time. She would be able to quit the mad dash she’d labored under when she left Fort Leonard Wood. She knew it might give her the time to begin to heal the hurt and torment of her early, unscheduled retirement.

  “I see. Well, I meant that it seems to me that someone with your skills and experience would be looking for something steadier.”

  “Not now. Really. I don’t know where I want to go, where I want to be, or exactly what I want to do when I get there. Have you ever lost everything that you ever counted on? It seems I may have retired too soon,” Nicole said, glossing over reality. “Anyway, I’m adrift in my ability to make long-term commitments. There are some things I’d like to work out. I don’t imagine those wonderings or wanderings will interfere with my ability to work or my ability to hear you when you say you don’t need me anymore.”

  “I see. You should know that although it was advertised as a mechanic’s position, it’s really quite a bit more than that. Cornweir, the man whose job the replacement would be taking, was much more than a mechanic for the farm. I have to tell you that I came to depend on him to do more and would expect his replacement to be able to do the same.”

  “I had figured on as much. I said it was like coming home. Do you want to tell me what you do expect?” Nicole asked, wondering if her interviewer was trying to discourage her from applying or beginning to make excuses for not hiring her.

  “Well, for example, last year Cornweir built an addition on the lambing pens. When some of the mach
inery broke, he welded what needed fixing and got us back in operation. Then, because we have a lot of visitors here who pick their own fruit, it’s important to keep up the appearance of the place. He hired and supervised some young men who painted the barns and several of the sheds.

  “The job requires an ability to do those things plus do sheet-metal and concrete work, and have a willingness to fill in and do just about anything that needs doing. Except for the kitchen, that is. The more Cornweir did, the less I had to worry about hiring the work out to some company or group who would charge me an arm and a leg.”

  “I see.” Nicole leaned back in her chair and thought about how best to respond to the misgivings she’d heard in the other woman’s voice. “Do you think any of the other people you’ve interviewed would be able to do the tasks you mentioned?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s see, you have all the applications in front of you, and you’ve had an opportunity to talk to each applicant. I don’t know what sort of follow-up you’ll do, but I don’t think any of them can produce the excellent performance evaluations I can,” Nicole said. She took a long sip of coffee while looking over the rim at Sally. As she watched Sally shuffle through the stack and glance at the notes she’d taken during the interviews, Nicole felt confident even if she didn’t get the job. Her truck was packed. She figured she could always head west and see what retirement fishing was like.

  “These men are all from around the area. Their sources would be easy to check. Most of them have worked for a number of farmers in the area…” Sally began by way of explanation.

  “That’s my point,” Nicole interrupted. “That’s what I heard them discussing at the table while they waited for their interviews. There is a lot of experience in the group. There was also a lot of instability, at least from my perspective. By the sounds of it, unless what you’ve got there shows different, most of those fellows would drop you and move on for anything that offered a dollar or two an hour more. It wouldn’t matter to them whether your lead mechanic was back or not. They’d just go.”

  “You’re a quick judge. Are you sure you’re right? Or are you simply trying to use anything you can to prove your own case?” asked Sally.

  “Experience. And I listen. I listen to what’s said, watch people’s faces while they say it, and pay attention to what their bodies do while they talk. Twenty years in the military teaches an awful lot about people. Being a quick judge of character is vital. There, it’s a matter of survival. I’m not often wrong. I think they would work for you, but they certainly don’t have the ability to hang in and stay here when something better might come along. I can do that. I can do the job as well as any man, better than most. For you, the combination of my abilities and willingness to be here until you say the job is done is a dual benefit.”

  “You think that you’re the best person for the job?”

  “I think for what you want —someone who’s reliable until you tell them it’s time to go —yes. I know what kind of work I do; my papers speak to performance and durability. What I might not be very knowledgeable about, I can find out.”

  “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “The Army never paid me to be a shrinking violet. Shyness doesn’t get promoted. Reticence wouldn’t have made a good temperament as a career soldier. Simple as that,” Nicole asserted. She decided that if she were to lose the job, she would do so on her own terms.

  “I see,” Sally said, wavering between an admiration for the sergeant’s assertive, self-assured statements and an uncertainty as to how well she would fit into Windrow Garden and the community of people there. “Then you’d be willing to take things as they come? You’d be here, do what needs to be done, and, if it doesn’t work out or when Cornweir returns, you’d have no problem with going and leaving it at that?”

  “Your advertisement said you’d likely need someone until October or so. That would suit me fine. If you let me go sooner than that, fine. I’m a free agent with no other obligations than the ones you’d require if you hired me,” Nicole explained.

  “Sergeant, I don’t hire lightly, and I don’t fire lightly, either. If I hired you, you wouldn’t be in the dark about what I wanted or how long you’d be staying,” Sally said, ruffling at the cavalier behavior the woman seemed to expect of her.

  “I have no doubt about that. By the looks of your property I figure you treat people and things with good care. I know you’re trying to be careful with whom you hire. Hiring is always a risky business. But I can tell you that I’m honest, I work hard, and I won’t get in your way.”

  “Get in my way?” wondered Sally.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I don’t bring my personal life home. I won’t be any trouble.”

  “Personal life?”

  “No need to raise that startled eyebrow at me,” Nicole said, chuckling. “Everyone has a personal life. I’m simply saying I’ll keep mine to myself.”

  “Can you explain that…I mean, what do you mean?” Sally asked cautiously.

  “No. However, let me assure you of a few things. I drink, but I’m not a drunk. I don’t do drugs. I’ve never been in trouble with the law, and I won’t be. I don’t run with a bad crowd. And even if I did, they’d never come here. Promise.”

  “I see,” Sally lied, trying to avoid the twinkle she noticed in Nicole’s eyes. “You hinted at being familiar with farming operations?” she questioned, changing the topic.

  “Yes, ma’am. When I was a kid, my folks had a dairy farm up in Michigan. We ran a little over fifty head, cultivated two hundred acres, and had the usual assortment of farm critters. It was a small farm, and we did everything the hard way —by hand with antiquated equipment. I haven’t forgotten much. Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Nicole confessed.

  “You’re not going home, then?”

  “I’d rather we not go there conversationally, if you don’t mind. Let’s leave it that there’s nothing there for me. I’m sure that whatever I forgot about farming, “I’ll remember how to do in short order,” Nicole said, unconsciously waving a hand to move the past away.

  “Aren’t you curious about the pay?”

  “Your ad said room, board, and competitive salary. Perhaps you could tell me what that means in this part of the country and for this type of work,” Nicole requested as she poured herself another cup of coffee.

  “We provide housing. Whomever I hire stays rent—and utility-free. Any damage to the housing would come out of your pay. Once you start…well, you’d find out pretty quickly that things usually don’t run nine to five on a farm. You’ll be on call. Farming needs your full attention a hundred and twenty percent of the time. I figure the rent and cottage utilities to be worth about five hundred dollars a month. Most days you’ll be able to eat in the restaurant if you don’t cook for yourself or if you simply want to eat with the rest of us. Food’s free, whether you eat it or not. Outside of that, you’ll get seven hundred and fifty dollars a month…that’s before taxes. It’s the best I can do.”

  “Sounds fair,” Nicole responded without hesitating.

  “Good. That’s what the men said, too. I’ll be making my final decision later this week. I see by your application that I can contact you at Settlers Hotel. I’ll call one way or the other. Guaranteed,” Sally concluded as she stood and extended her hand to Nicole.

  “Very well. It’s been a pleasure, ma’am, I assure you,” Nicole said as she rose to take Sally’s hand in hers again. She held the hand gently in her confident grasp and incorporated a moment’s eye contact with Sally before nodding her head and turning to leave.

  “What will you do if I don’t hire you?” Sally asked as she watched Nicole leave.

  Nicole turned around slowly. “Wish you the best and not one thing less.”

  * * * *

  On Friday night, Sally dialed the number Master Sergeant Jeager had provided for her hotel. She sat at her desk in her home office and listened to the phone ring over the wires. On the third ring, as she
lifted a glass of wine to her lips, she heard someone pick up the receiver at the other end.

  “Hello,” a sweet cheerful voice lilted back to Sally.

  “Sergeant?” asked Sally uncertainly. It was not the smooth contralto she remembered from the interview.

  “Oh, you must want Nicky! Just a second,” the woman said as she dropped the phone.

  Sally could hear the woman calling "Nicky.” She heard buzzing, muffled chatter and then silence. Her mind cascaded through the reasons for the woman being in Nicole’s room and just as quickly turned away from the provoking speculations.