Pamela Morsi (21 page)

499.9 Other Languages Not Specified

S
cott tried to assure himself that it was merely coincidence that he’d run into D.J. It was purely a chance meeting. No way he could have imagined that she would be at the Brazier. But the fact was that he’d already imagined her going with him, that he’d already worked up the scenario in his mind when he’d called Amos to volunteer, that she’d shown up so opportunely only proved that heaven might well be on his side in this.

He lazed against his van, letting the house shade him from the heat of late afternoon. Having both a mother and a sister, he had no expectations that a change of clothes could happen quickly. The dog came trotting down the stairs eager to take a quick pee in the backyard grass, then, grabbing his dirty tennis ball, he hurried to Scott in hopes to play. Obligingly, Scott threw it for him several times. He liked the dog. And he was pleased at how attached his mother had become to the little guy. Maybe he should consider getting her a pet for her birthday.

As his thoughts rambled in that direction, he was surprised to hear the sound of her footfalls coming down the stairs, not more than five minutes after she went up. With a whistle she got Dewey back up to the apartment.

“Sorry,” she said immediately. “My stuff is in such a disaster. If you can believe it, I really haven’t unpacked yet.” She hurried to the passenger door and climbed in. “Amazingly the hiking boots, which I never wear, were in plain sight. But I’ve got a half dozen different jeans and I didn’t think I’d ever locate one pair.”

She was smiling brightly. Looking very young and cute, he thought.
Cute
was probably not a word that a librarian, or really any professional woman, would likely consider a compliment. But in her SMU T-shirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, Scott thought she looked totally, unequivocally cute. He couldn’t keep himself from grinning at her.

“Why would you have time to unpack?” he agreed. “I’m sure there is a lot to do, settling into your new job.”

“Well, there is that,” she admitted. “But honestly, at first I was thinking I wouldn’t stay in your mother’s house one day longer than necessary. But as it turns out, I love the apartment. It’s so cozy...so homey.”

“Thanks,” Scott said, feeling a bit more pleased than was reasonable. “I made it that way on purpose. I’m a homey sort of guy.”

“Well,” she replied, “that’s better than being a homely sort of guy, I suppose.”

It was an attempt at humor, he told himself, not really a compliment. Scott wasn’t particularly vain about his looks. But he did kind of want her to like them, so he let himself feel a little pleased with her comment.

“So how’d it go with James this afternoon?”

“Better. A little better, at least,” she said. “I’ve worked up some plans and left them in plain sight for him to look over. I’m hoping that seeing it all laid out will help him prepare before we actually start moving anything. I guess if I come in tomorrow and they’re ripped to shreds, I’ll know he’s still not onboard.”

“Did you make copies?”

She nodded.

“It’s hard to change,” she admitted. “Even for people without his kind of challenges, it’s hard. We all get so comfortable with even crappy things, we find it hard to give them up.”

As she spoke the words, Scott was reminded of his long, unsatisfactory relationship with Stephanie. Long after all evidence that things could ever really work out for them, he’d clutched at straws that somehow, some way it would all be fine.

Scott paused at the stop sign before turning onto the highway out of town. “If you know this is the right thing to do,” he said. “Then waiting for everyone or even anyone to get onboard may be a waste of time.”

“Well, your mother said to give James a chance to be a part of it,” D.J. replied. “So I’m going to really try to do that. I’m sure for most people in Verdant, James is as much a part of the library as any of the books on the shelf.”

He
so
liked that about her. He liked that she was willing to accommodate the town characters and put up with all their assorted local quirks. She didn’t want to just come in and change everything, do things her way. She wanted what was best for the library and the town. His mother had been right about her. He didn’t know how she was right, but she was.

They reached the outskirts of town. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, wheat stood weary and ready in the field. To the right, on the far edge of the horizon, a long line of irrigation equipment edged the area like a trim of lace. Its current idleness was a welcome rest from the active, demanding role that it had played in nurturing the bounty around it.

“I’m excited,” D.J. admitted a little breathlessly.

Her enthusiasm was contagious.

“So,” he asked, in a voice that mimicked a documentary voice-over. “Are you ready to do your part to bring in the winter wheat from the bread basket of the nation, the economic engine of the American heartland?”

She laughed. The sound of it made the bottom drop out of his stomach like a thrill ride, which then settled solidly in his crotch. Who could have imagined that the librarian could have such a sexy laugh? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? But he had. He knew that he’d heard it before.

With her eyes forward and her elbow propped in the window, she looked eager for the challenge, ready to face anything. He had thought her beautiful last night, so full of self-honesty and vulnerability. But she was even more so now, brimming with vitality and spirit.

She turned to catch him looking at her and gave him a big smile. “Okay, I have a question,” she said.

“Of course you do,” Scott said, feigning gravitas. “Novices to harvest always have questions. And librarians have the most questions of all.”

“We surely do,” D.J. confirmed. “And typically we look up the answers ourselves. But I’m hoping that in your lifetime on the plains you’ve gleaned enough facts to save me from having to pull up a search engine on my phone.”

“Search not for a search engine. Although I can declare myself no agri-sage, as a longtime observer of these dirt dabblers, I will answer every farming fact I know.”

His silly, stilted language seemed to amuse her.

“Thank you for your help, Wise One,” she teased. “Now tell me, why do you call this ‘winter wheat’ when it’s hot enough to fry eggs on the dashboard.”

“I suppose you’re thinking it’s because farmers are such contrary people,” he said.

“That never crossed my mind.”

“See, you’re one of us already. Blind to each other’s faults.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Except for yours, which I see quite clearly.”

“What? That’s not possible. You’ve been living with my mother for weeks now. And that woman’s mantra is that I am a
perfect
son.”

“Unfortunately for you, she’s not the only one who brought up your name.”

It was all said in fun, just joking. But as soon as the words were out in the air, they were there. And she looked as surprised at uttering them as he was in having them spoken. He recalled D.J. as he’d seen her returning to the movie theater lobby, her face pale and her eyes furious. And there was nobody to blame but himself.

Scott cleared his throat. “You’re thinking about Eileen,” he said calmly, seriously.

The uneasy silence between them filled the vehicle before she was finally able to respond. “It’s completely none of my business. Please forget that I ever mentioned it.”

“No, no,” he said, quickly. “I should explain about Eileen.”

She waited as he unsuccessfully attempted to collect his thoughts. He grasped his rationale like will-o’-the-wisps. All of his motivations sounded like excuses. Yes, he’d been lonely. Certainly he was hurting. Yes, he’d had something to prove. But why that woman, why that relationship? Because it was available. Because it was there.

With a sigh of defeat he told her the truth, “I have no explanation about Eileen.”

“You certainly don’t owe me one.”

“I know I don’t. But I at least owe one to myself and I don’t have it. It was a mistake. A very stupid, regrettable mistake. I’m grateful and lucky that it didn’t cause any permanent repercussions.”

“No permanent repercussions?” she repeated.

“Except for involving and embarrassing you, no, not much. There were rumors, of course. Eileen’s husband either never heard them or didn’t care.”

Her brow furrowed. “What about your marriage? That seems like a fairly permanent repercussion.”

“Oh, I was already divorced,” he assured her quickly. “I never even looked twice at Eileen while I was still married.”

Scott thought his words would make his actions look at least a little bit better. But in fact, the expression on her face showed even more disappointment than before. Her chin came up slightly as she focused her attention on the road ahead.

He wasn’t sure what more he could say. It
really
wasn’t any of her business. It happened years ago. He was single and the woman was willing. But it had been a self-destructive behavior and one that had shaken his self-respect. That was why he broke it off.

But he couldn’t explain that to D.J. There was just too much to explain. It was way too long and far too complicated. And they were not even exactly quite dating.

So after driving along in silence for another mile, he turned left, heading up the section line toward their destination and picked up the subject that they’d left behind.

“They call it ‘winter wheat’ because it’s planted right before the ground freezes. Then it lays there under the soil until spring. Then it sprouts out of the ground and grows to maturity by the middle of summer...”

631.2 Agriculture: Techniques, Equipment

T
he prospect of getting a look at the harvest up close had made D.J. uncharacteristically effusive. She tried to put the brakes on her enthusiasm, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. It was like skipping school. She was leaving the everyday and headed to where the action was happening. It felt as if she’d been asked to the prom. Of course, the outfit was significantly different. But the look on Scott’s face was appreciative enough that no wrist mum was required.

The lighthearted and chatty conversation as they left town was welcome. D.J. was thankful to be an introvert and very able to tolerate long periods by herself. But when enthused with a new project, like the library move, it was always so great to have another party who was interested enough to listen. She delightedly rattled on as they made their way through the narrow streets and neat lawns of town, across the bridge that straddled the swath of wooded green and into the golden fields that stretched on and on.

The scenery was compelling, but again and again her eyes were drawn back to the interior of the utilitarian van and the man at her side. She really liked him like this. Loose and friendly, with the glint of sun in his hair. She’d liked him last night, too. Last night, in the quiet, intimate darkness of the wheat, she’d felt safe and comforted. And that was so soothing.

But in the full light of day, he was more sexy than soothing. He was funny. And the banter was easy, almost flirty. He didn’t mind talking about her. And he was amusingly unassuming when he talked about himself. But he also had no reticence in discussing other things entirely. D.J. simply enjoyed the conversation. She felt completely friendly and so relaxed. All the way up to the moment she put her foot in it.

“It’s none of my business. Forget that I ever mentioned it.”

But of course, that was impossible.

D.J. did give him some credit for not throwing up a wall of excuses. He’d thoughtlessly slept with the woman and regretted it. Everybody makes mistakes. D.J. truly understood that. She’d made a very, very similar mistake. Of course, the kicker for her was that she’d made it with him.

“I’m just grateful and lucky there weren’t any permanent consequences.”

D.J. felt her jaw drop. “What about your marriage? That seems like a fairly permanent repercussion,” she corrected.

“Oh, I was already divorced,” he assured her quickly. “I never even looked twice at Eileen while I was still married.”

He said the words as if they represented a virtue. She heard from the mouth of his own mother that he’d been cheating. So if it wasn’t with Eileen, then it was somebody else. Some other regrettable, forgettable, woman...just like herself.

Sadness tightened her throat.

Get a grip!
she scolded herself.
You knew from the beginning that he’s a player. It didn’t bother you then. Stop letting it bother you now.

Deliberately she turned her focus back to the landscape. There was an awkward couple of moments between them, but eventually they went back to conversation that was more appropriate for casual acquaintances.

Chatting took a backseat to her interest when the Browns’ work-in-progress came into view. Somehow the image that D.J. had pictured in her head was a big wide field with a small cutting machine scurrying around it, perhaps like a push mower doing the grass at Arrowhead Stadium. In fact, the wheat was alive with giant vehicles. In the distance, the combines were lined up on a slight diagonal, three vehicles across. Tractors pulling giant carts darted in and out among them. Next to the road, two semitrucks waited.

Scott pulled over beneath a row of identically sized trees growing at the fence line. They’d been planted during the dustbowl to protect the field from soil erosion. Today they provided the only shade on a hot summer day.

Scott and D.J. got out of the van. She stood next to the front of the vehicle. Shading her eyes with her hands, she watched the roar of machinery in the distance that was headed their way.

He opened the sliding door on the side of the van and pulled one of the cardboard boxes filled with meals in greasy white bags nearer to the edge. Then he eased forward a huge multicolored ice chest.

“Do you need me to help?” she asked him.

“No, hungry people are usually pretty good at fending for themselves.”

D.J. nodded.

“Look, here comes Jeannie. Maybe she’ll give you a tour.”

D.J. looked around, but didn’t see a woman anywhere.

“She’s on the tractor, pulling the bank-out wagon,” he clarified.

At least D.J. knew what a tractor was. And one nearby had just brought a big cart of wheat alongside one of the trucks. Behind the tinted windshield of the tractor, the driver’s gender was indistinguishable.

D.J. felt a surprising hand upon her waist and Scott stepped up beside her.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

A large pipe on the side of the tractor’s cart was being raised. A lot of care was being taken to get it a particular height and angle. After a couple of shouts back and forth with the tractor driver and the men standing around the truck, everybody seemed satisfied with the position.

There was one instant of complete silence followed by a pealing whine that quickly rolled into a solid roar.

D.J. startled.

To her surprise, the arm went even more protectively around her waist.

“The auger on that thing is pretty noisy,” Scott admitted.

Getting closer didn’t make it any quieter. The driver was inside the tractor cab, her attention focused upon the spigot of wheat now flowing from the load in her cart into the transport of the semi.

“Hi, Jeannie!” Scott hollered, punctuating his words with a full arm wave.

She turned to return the greeting.

D.J. noted that Scott kept his left arm at the small of her back. She wasn’t likely to fall in her hiking boots, so she wasn’t sure what that was about. And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. But at least the woman didn’t look jealous or angry.

Eagerly she climbed down from the tractor cab, pulling her gloves off as she walked toward them.

“You’re the new librarian, huh?” she hollered over the din. “I’m Jeannie.”

D.J. took the young woman’s hand.

Jeannie was wearing jeans and a baggy sun-protection shirt. Her blond ponytail was poking through the back opening above the feed cap’s Velcro closure.

“It’s great to meet you,” D.J. yelled in response, over the continued roar of the unloading auger. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

There was lots of nodding and smiling among the three of them, but it was far too noisy for any real conversation.

The three stood closely together. Scott leaned forward. “Looks like you’re coming toward the end,” he said.

Jeannie nodded. “I’m not sure we’ll get it done tonight. But tomorrow for sure,” she said. “Two of the combines already moved to the next job.”

Her words seemed to make sense to Scott.

Jeannie leaned closer to D.J. for a clarification. “We contract with custom cutters.”

D.J. had no idea what that meant, but she nodded. The circumstances did not lend themselves to long explanations.

Even more abruptly than it began, the roar ceased. The tractor engine was still running, but it was a healthy purr by comparison. The suddenly more reasonable noise level gave D.J. an inexplicable desire to laugh. When Jeannie and Scott actually did, she was happy to join in.

“So it’s even nicer to meet you when we don’t have to scream at each other,” Jeannie said.

D.J. agreed.

“We brought food from the Brazier,” Scott said. “Do you want to get something to eat while it’s still hot?”

“No, I’ll wait,” she answered, before turning to D.J. “Would you like to go out with me? See the action up close.”

“Yeah, I would,” D.J. said.

Jeannie nodded “We’ll be back,” she said to Scott.

D.J. shot him a quick look. He waved her on.

“But save us some dinner,” Jeannie added. “Working women get hungry.”

D.J. followed her to what she would have thought of as the driver’s side of the tractor. There were four ladderlike steps up to the door of the cab.

“Follow me,” Jeannie told her.

D.J. mimicked the other woman’s use of the rail. Inside the cab was cool and relatively roomy. The operator’s chair was in the middle of the space, with screens and levers and a million buttons in the area to the right of it.

Jeannie offered her a much smaller flip-down seat just inside the door.

“Buckle up,” Jeannie cautioned. “I’m not about to turn this thing over, but safety has to be big if I’m taking on a civilian.”

Snapped in, D.J. anticipated a bumpy ride across the field. It was a lot smoother than she would have imagined.

“So this thing we’re pulling is called a grain cart or a bank-out wagon,” Jeannie explained. “We use it to transfer the wheat from the combine to the trucks.”

D.J. noticed that they didn’t drive straight across the field to the combines, but followed a sidelined route.

“If the cutting is close to the road or the ground is really good, we can just go straight into the truck. But you can see that having a bunch of semitrailers out here in the field would not be the best thing.”

D.J. could certainly believe that. With no specific path or trail, the tractor went through highs and lows that would have challenged a bigger, heavier vehicle.

Jeannie drove the tractor with confidence, as if she were on a paved road headed to the supermarket in her family car.

“So I guess you’ve been doing this all your life,” D.J. said.

“Not really,” Jeannie answered, giving her a smile. “My parents were, well they
are,
big believers in gender-based division of labor. There’s men’s work and women’s work. And everybody should stick to their own.”

“But you didn’t agree.”

Jeannie shrugged. “I did. I did for years. For me, harvest meant cooking and cleaning up. It was like serving a huge holiday meal three times a day. And all of the pots and pans and dishes associated with that.”

“Ugh.”

Jeannie nodded. “I always wanted to be out here where everything was happening. But instead of a nice air-conditioned tractor, I was sweating next to a hot stove.”

She joked as she said the words, but D.J. could hear the truthfulness behind them.

“What changed?”

“Lots of things,” she admitted. “These days we rely more on hired labor. Those contracts don’t include furnished meals. There is a much larger availability of fast food, restaurants and cafes. Workers are not going to go hungry. And then, I changed a lot of things for myself.”

For a moment D.J. thought Jeannie was not going to elaborate and she was not about to pry. But surprisingly, she continued.

“When I got divorced, I was pretty raw,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what to believe in anymore. I started looking at everything in my life and asking, is there a reason why I’m doing this, beyond other people expecting it?”

Jeannie shrugged. “Sometimes really good things come from very bad ones,” she said. “I realized that what mattered to me was my kids and my self-respect. If it didn’t threaten either of those, I could pretty much do what I wanted.”

It seemed like a relatively simple philosophy, but D.J. could tell that it had been hard-won.

As they approached the combines, the noise inside the cab got too much for casual conversation. The huge cutting machines loomed above them as Jeannie brought her tractor right alongside. The two vehicles went along side-by-side for a couple of moments.

“I have to get my speed a perfect match for the combine,” she hollered out to D.J. “A couple of mph can mess things up completely. And you don’t want to even know what happens if I were to clip the cutting wheel.”

D.J. had no idea what she meant, but she did note that the combine continued to cut through the field as if nothing else was going on. But its big orange pipe began moving upward to hang over the cart they pulled. Jeannie glanced repeatedly in the rearview mirror, but mostly she was concentrating on her pace and the ground in front of her. D.J. watched as the grain began to pour into the cart. The sound was near deafening as the steady stream of wheat piled up.

“How’s it look?” Jeannie called out.

“Amazing,” D.J. answered.

Out the back window, she could watch the big green wagon slowly fill as the two vehicles stayed perfectly in sync. Like two dancers, perfectly matched, they continued side-by-side along the ups and downs of the field.

Abruptly, the flow ceased as if someone had turned off the tap. The combine’s auger pipe slowly moved back into place and once it was clear, Jeannie gave a little honk and wave. The tractor’s pace slowed immediately. As the combine moved on and away, Jeannie made a wide-angle turn and headed back toward the area where they had come.

As the noisy cutting receded in the distance, D.J. spoke. “I can’t believe the combines don’t even stop to load the carts.”

“Sometimes they have to,” Jeannie said. “If the cart driver is inexperienced or the ground is too rough. But it does save time if they can off-load while the cutting continues.”

“Well, you were great,” D.J. assured her.

“Thanks,” she said. “The combine holds about 350 gallons of diesel. If they only have to stop to fill up, the work goes a whole lot faster.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Of course, nothing ever goes that smooth,” Jeannie said. “It’s life, after all, so there is always some breakdown or screw-up or an equipment failure. But while things are working, you try to keep them working. And when problems come up, well, I try really hard not to be the one who’s caused the mess.”

D.J. laughed.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you something...”

There was clearly hesitation in Jeannie’s voice.

“Sure,” D.J. answered.

“When we were introduced you said you’d heard a lot about me.” Jeannie’s brow was furrowed. “Was that from Scott or...or Amos?”

D.J. pondered the question for a few seconds. Her words had been more a nicety than a statement of fact. From Jeannie’s expression, however, the inquiry was serious.