Windrow Garden Page 7

  “OK, y'all win. When Carl gets done with his chores this morning, let’s see what’s over there and get some of it moved in here for the sergeant. Maybe I should charge her more for her rent off her salary-" Sally lightly suggested.

  “Don’t get stingy, Sally girl. That’s not like you,” Jake said objectionably.

  “I’m just kidding. It’s just that this is a bigger project than I’d counted on.”

  “As long as that’s all it is,” Jake cautioned.

  “Mom, there’s an iron bed in the bedroom. That’s one thing we won’t have to move,” Gwynn Marian said as she pushed the vacuum cleaner into the living room.

  “One less thing,” Martha said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

  “Come on, the more we jack-jaw the longer it’s going to take,” Jake said, stirring the fire in the stove and shutting the door.

  Late Sunday night, as the hands of the old mantel clock clicked toward midnight, Sally sat in front of her fireplace mending a pair of jeans Gwynn Marian had managed to rip another hole in. She saw the headlights of a vehicle turn into the driveway. She waited for a knock on her door and was surprised when long minutes passed and nothing happened. A frown crossed her face. She knew none of the hands had left the farm earlier that evening. Sundays were a time of rest after brunch. It had been a long, work-filled week. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would have had the energy to go to town looking for amusements. She knew she would have seen one of their trucks pass her window. It was awfully late for most people to come for visits. Curiosity moved her from her chair; and she walked through the kitchen and out to the enclosed back porch to see where the truck might have gone.

  Looking through the windows, she could see the distant glare of the truck’s headlights near the barn. Her curiosity was raised to a new level and concern. There had been a rash of thefts in the county during the last two weeks. People all along Bosman Road had lost gardening equipment, tractors, and lawn mowers to thieves. She remembered hearing that the Smiths, her nearest neighbors, had lost a small garden tractor even after they’d locked it in one of their sheds for protection. Sally’s mind raced with possibilities as the lights near the barn were extinguished. She grabbed a flashlight and walked out into the night to investigate. Her nightgown fluttered in the breeze and cooled her warm skin as she walked along the gravel driveway.

  Sally walked cautiously toward the outbuildings. She noted no lights in the farmhands' living quarters and wished someone was up to go with her. Slowly, her feet muffling the crunch of gravel under her bedroom slippers, Sally walked toward the old hay barn. It rose dark and lumbering under the moon-bright night. Two stories tall, one hundred feet wide, and made of stone and lumber, it was an ancient reminder of the lost art of farm construction. Like the greenhouses, it had been designed as a practical storage structure during her grandfather’s reign. It wasn’t intended to be regal. Its purpose was practical and humble, but it was aristocratic compared to the steel-strutted, low-framed replacement barns in contemporary use. Only her family’s continuous care and luck had made it one of the last of its kind in the county. Fire, wind, hail, lightning, and neglect had claimed all the others that had once dotted the landscape that rolled east to the Missouri River.

  A high glowing light lit the winding driveway where she walked and cast her shadow out before her into the darkened distance. The moon’s bright glare, weak in comparison, struggled to complement the human-made light. Sally walked toward the barn, out of the light, and into the moderate glow of the moon. She looked toward the barn, puzzling and straining to see the darkened form of the truck. She suddenly realized why she couldn’t see it. It was gone. Disappeared. Her abrupt realization made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, and she hesitated with the flashlight frozen in her grasp. She was certain she should go back to the hired hand housing and get Carl or Jake.

  “Aren’t you the least bit chilly in that outfit?”

  Sally gasped and whirled at the sound of the voice. Her arm shot up, and she snapped on the glare of the flashlight. It flew out of her frightened hand, arched high, landed hard, and rolled across the roadbed.

  Nicole waited in silence as the flashlight clattered to a halt next to her booted feet. She doubted Sally knew how the light revealed her naked form through the gossamer shadow’s edge of her nightgown. Nicole knew, and she silently thanked the light and the moon for their favors. She was also grateful for the shadowed darkness that covered her and the undisguised appreciation on her face.

  “You startled me,” Sally managed between teeth clenched in alarm.

  Nicole bent down and slowly retrieved the light. Rising again, she looked at Sally and cleared her throat of the hunger that threatened to keep her speechless. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I happened to see you walking out here and, well, I know April is just around the corner; but isn’t it still a bit early for moonlight walks?” Nicole asked as she walked into the circle of light where Sally stood.

  “What are you doing out here?” Sally asked, trying to find her footing in the uncomfortable situation. Her initial shock and fear had disappeared the moment she realized that thieves were not accosting her.

  “I work here, and I’m just settling in. I wanted to be here as you expected... in the morning,” Nicole reminded Sally as she extended the flashlight. “Seeing you walking around out here, well, I wondered if everything was all right or if you needed anything.”

  “You keep late hours,” Sally responded huffily as she accepted the flashlight.

  “So do you, by the looks of it,” Nicole responded softly, trying to keep the amusement from her voice. “I haven’t had anyone give me grief about the hours I keep since I was fifteen. You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

  Sally thought she heard an insinuation in the sergeant’s voice, and it fluttered against her imagination.

  Without wanting to, and being unable to keep herself from it, she clasped her arms protectively around her breasts. “You’re right. It is late and cool out. I’d better get back inside.” Sally wavered, and then took a step backward in retreat. Halting, she heard her own voice say, “Actually, perhaps I should ask if you need help or if there is anything I could do...” She intended to be polite, but the words mixed the signals in her head. Her question and gestures made her falter. The woman will think I’m crazy.

  “No, I’m unloading my stuff. No reason for you to stay out here and get chilled. By the way, I took the truck around the back of the barn to get it out of the way. It’s all right if I park back there, isn’t it?” Nicole asked, trying unsuccessfully to ignore her riveting awareness of Sally’s pouting breasts. The image and her imagination played tag with aroused interest.

  “Fine. Then you have everything you need?”

  “For the time being, anyway.” Nicole swallowed her complete reply. She took one last glance at Sally and the gossamer image in the halo of light before walking back into the dark.

  “I’ll send Jake out to you tomorrow. He’ll help you get settled in and answer any questions you have. Goodnight,” Sally offered over the expanding distance between herself and Nicole.

  “Goodnight, Ms. Windrow. Sleep well.”

  = Chapter 6 =

  Seeds

  The characteristics, attributes, and prototypes of seeds produced vary greatly according to diversity, variety, and environment. Some seeds are ready to germinate right after they are produced, where others need a period of dormancy, a period of cold, or fire before they will grow. Some grow swiftly while others take a long term to achieve their realization.

  The way one harvests, seasons, and stores seeds depends upon the germination standards and the factors that influence dormancy of each type of seed. For example, some seeds, including many tree seeds, must never be allowed to become scorched or otherwise dry out before planting. Such seeds should be collected as soon as they are ripe and carefully rescued so they cannot become depressed and die from lack of necessary nourishment. Most other seeds, be
cause they are hardier, may be stored in a dark dry place but may require scarring or special cold treatment before they will break their dormancy and germinate.

  There are a number of reasons why seeds remain dormant. Some, such as walnut, olive, peach, plum, and many flowers and shrubs, have very hard coats or layers in which they hide to protect themselves. They must be pierced or injured before they begin to absorb the nourishment offered by water and to germinate naturally. In nature, winter heaving and weathering scarify the seeds naturally, but you must do it yourself by tapping them, filing them, or rubbing them. This process of natural or forced buffeting and touch awakens the germ to growth. If the new growth is there, then the true nature of the seed, with time, circumstance, and your careful, guided handling, will bring it to fruition.

  Groundwork

  Nicole woke early the next morning and cautiously poked her nose out from under the covers. The chill damp air of the morning invaded the room and caused her to shiver even as she snuggled under the mound of quilts that covered her. She groaned and rolled over to look at the radio clock. Its bright red numbers glared the time at her and warned that five o'clock was quickly approaching. Taking a preparatory deep breath, Nicole bravely flung the covers away and jumped out of bed. Her feet hit the woven, multicolored rag rug and were quickly chilled by the creeping cold from the floor underneath. She bent down, retrieved the socks she’d carelessly tossed into her boots last night, and danced from one foot to the other fighting to stay upright as she pulled her socks on. Nicole quivered at the touch of the cool room air invading the warmth of her body as she pulled on the jeans over her bare legs. As she left the bedroom, she grabbed the thick blue cotton work shirt from the hook on the door and jogged to the potbellied stove in the small living room.

  Near the stove she found a bundle of old newspapers and wadded up the sports section before stuffing it into the front of the stove. She picked small bits of kindling and larger cuts of wood and lit the packed little stomach of the stove with a wooden match. “Hurry up,” she commanded the tiny blue and yellow flames as they caught and crackled hopefully at her. Closing the stove door; she dashed back to the bathroom and turned on the shower for what she hoped would be a hot shower. She intended to stay in the hot water until the stove warmed the living room.

  She showered and changed her clothes for more protective layerings and walked back into the living room/kitchen area. She had unpacked her automatic coffeemaker the night before and was grateful to see the hot fresh brew waiting for her.

  As she sat in front of the potbellied stove, Nicole relaxed as the fire’s warmth reached out to her and began to warm the rest of the room. She tried not to look at the boxes and bags of belongings she’d brought in and left scattered on the floor from her truck. Everything would have to be put away. She would have to find order and reason in the arrangement of her life over the next few months and accustom herself to the world as a working civilian. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the past or speculate about the future. Her hands clasped determinedly about the hot surface of the cup, and she tried to make plans about how to best proceed in her new life.

  Nicole’s mind slipped away from its regime of task ordering and evoked the image of Sally standing under the wide reach of the farm light. She recalled the billowing hair at her shoulders and the frail flow of the nightgown as it tried to conceal the enticing curvature of Sally’s form. The image lingered, and Nicole imagined Sally moving toward her; across the shadowed roadway, and into her arms. A protracted smile spread across Nicole’s lips as she let the fantasy dominate her mind.

  Suddenly a loud banging at her door interrupted her morning musings. She jumped at the sound.

  A plaintive voice called to her. “You deaf in there, or what?” Nicole’s fantasy shattered under the onslaught.

  “Just a minute,” Nicole called in irritation as she rose from her chair. “Who the hell is it?”

  “Jake, Jake Grimes. Saw your lights on, sergeant, and I thought it was about time I introduced myself,” the thin, aged man answered as Nicole opened the door.

  “Well, Jake Grimes, it’s five-thirty. Don’t you think that’s a bit early for a social call?” Nicole asked, looking at the seemingly frail man standing on the front stoop.

  “Not round here it’s not. A bit more and we’d be burning good daylight,” he responded brightly.

  Nicole looked at the old man and chuckled. He was wearing a pair of blue bib overalls, a flannel shirt that revealed the top button of white long johns, heavy work boots, cap, and lined butt-length denim jacket. He looked the picture of an ancient farmer heading out to hand milk the cows at the crack of dawn.

  “You want a cup of coffee or are you too much in a hurry for that?” Nicole pulled the door open to show the inviting interior of the cottage.

  “Can’t say I’m in that much of a hurry,” Jake reflected. “You got anything to go in it, sergeant?” Jake asked, walking past Nicole as he headed toward the stove.

  “Like sugar or cream? And you can call me Nicole.”

  “Nah, I like the sound of the word sergeant and, besides, you look like one. As far as that cream goes, I’ll have it only if you’re one of them there teetotalers. Morning’s a bit nippier than any old spot of cream would solve. Thought they told me you was in the Army,” Jake replied as he pulled off his coat.

  “I see,” Nicole said, and walked over to the kitchen cupboard to find the bottle of bourbon she’d placed among her dishes. “This more what you had in mind, Mr. Grimes?”

  “And it’s Jake to you, sergeant. You can be sergeant and I’ll be just what I am, Jake. Mr. Grimes was my father. He was a banker and all that formality and ceremony was something I never aspired to. And to answer your question, that bottle you got there... it would do me just fine.”

  “I was thinking about fixing breakfast. Are you interested, or have you eaten?” Nicole asked as she handed the bottle to Jake. She didn’t offer to pour. Looking at him, she decided that he was the sort of man who liked to pour his own. She turned around and headed back to the refrigerator to give him a bit of privacy while he decided how much non-cream something he wanted to put into his coffee cup.

  “Old men don’t eat much, sergeant. But I reckon you don’t know that. I imagine you’re pretty used to hanging around with all those strapping young fellas who still haven’t got their full growth on. Leastways, not until you get them in the Army for a few years. I ate a bit before I came over. So I won’t be hungry much again until closer to noon. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Do as you wish. I think I’ll fix something just the same. If you get to feeling hungry, let me know and I’ll share.”

  “You know,” Jake said, sitting down in a chair close to the fire, “you don’t really need to cook here iffen you don’t want to. The girl will have breakfast ready in about an hour. She gives choices, too.”

  “The girl?” Nicole asked.

  “That’d be Sally. The girl, meaning no harm or disrespect. I’ve just known her for so long. Hell, I knew her when she was just a twinkle in her daddy’s eye.”

  “You’ve worked for the farm a long time by the sounds of it, Jake,” Nicole said as she returned to her chair, balancing a piece of fresh toast smeared with jam.

  “More than forty years. Fell into this place when I was almost a lad. Fell in love with it and stayed.”

  “You and your wife stay in one of the other cottages or the duplex?”

  “Never married, and I live in the duplex. I fell in love with the place, the Windrows, and been happy ever since. And, as long as we re being nosy, you ever marry, sergeant?” Jake asked as he sipped on the treated coffee.

  “No, never got around to it,” Nicole responded cautiously. “I did meet some people along the way I liked an awful lot.”

  “One of those career women, I take it?”

  “You could say that. Never got to the stage with anyone where I wanted to settle down with them. Most of that’s the Army’s fault, or b
lessing. It’s not a complaint. Simply the way things worked out.”

  “So, what brought you here?” Jake asked, tipping the bourbon toward his cup again.

  “Now, Jake. It seems to me that you’re the kind of fellow who probably knows everything and more about what goes on around the farm. I can’t imagine ’the girl,' as you call her, would have left you out in the cold on that one,” Nicole replied.

  “Ah, got me there, haven’t you? So, the way I hear it, you’re just passing through. Here to help out a bit and then take your military retirement and the duffel bag someplace else on down the line. Kinda young to retire, aren’t you?”

  “I got out in the minimum. Gives me a good start on retirement. The Army and I decided we’d seen enough of each other;" Nicole offered.

  “Still, it’s got to feel strange starting life over at your age. You being just a pup and all. Hell, sergeant, starting over is strange at any age. Not that I’d really know. Just seems that way to me,” Jake said, shifting in his chair.