“Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered.” The old man shook his head as he pushed the screen door open. “Jaxton? Is that you, Son?”
“Umm, yes, Sir, it is,” he said, fighting the hesitation and having no idea what to do next. Why couldn’t his eyes hold on the old man’s? He’d never had this eye contact problem before, now he couldn’t seem to get it together.
“Well, I thought they were pulling my leg when they said you wanted to come see me, but here you are.”
“Here I am.” Jaxton attempted another smile, wondering which brilliant person had lied to the old man.
“Come on in. I was just making out next week’s work schedule,” his grandfather said, waving a hand over the papers scattered across the coffee table. “Here, have a seat. You want something to drink— water? Tea? I might even have a Coke left if you want one.”
“Oh. No, thanks. I’m... I’m fine,” Jaxton said uncomfortably as he felt the old man’s eyes appraise him like a piece of junk at a garage sale. He swallowed hard and attempted another smile, which got no farther than its predecessors.
Shifting his weight to the other foot, Jaxton stole a glance at the old couch waiting for him, and he cringed as a decade’s worth of dust jeered up at him. So this was what his life had degenerated to. He took a deep breath and folded himself carefully onto the plaid nylon hoping he wouldn’t have to breathe again before he got up.
With supreme patience he waited for his grandfather to resume his seat in the cracked brown recliner chair before he plunged ahead purposely keeping his mind off the dingy surroundings. “So, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. ‘Course I’ll be better once I get this wheat harvest out of the way,” his grandfather said, looking back at the papers lining the table. “You’d think it’d get easier after all these years, but it ain’t getting no easier. Just harder and harder to find anybody who’ll do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
Jaxton nodded as if he saw the gravity of the situation. “I can imagine.”
Then like magic, his grandfather’s face brightened. “But Ed says we should make 80 bushels this year. That’s about the best I’ve ever seen. ‘Course, it’s still a month out, so anything’s possible.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Jaxton said, hoping he didn’t sound short but knowing he did. He could feel the dust from the couch creeping up onto his suit, and it was doing very bad things to his patience and his nerves.
“So, how’s your mom? Staying busy?” his grandfather asked, and his voice regained the heaviness.
“She is.” Jaxton forced his mind away from the dust and attempted another smile. “She says, ‘Hello.’”
Silence filled the room then as Jaxton fought to keep his body still. He didn’t want to disturb the dirt any more than was absolutely necessary.
“I guess your dad’s business’s good,” his grandfather finally said.
“Oh, yeah. Pretty good.” Jaxton rubbed his hands together, fighting to breathe and stay seated.
His grandfather surveyed him with curiosity. “You’re working with him now. Aren’t you?”
The old man’s gaze felt like a python wrapping around Jaxton’s chest. “Yeah. I’ve been there about six years now.”
Mr. Snyder sighed and shook his head. “Time sure gets by fast these days. Seems like just yesterday when you and Blake came down for the summer. How long ago’s that been anyway?”
Jaxton looked around the room, searching for some comfortable place to put his gaze. There wasn’t one.
“Fifteen years,” he heard his voice say. It sounded rotten, but it felt worse.
“Fifteen, huh?” his grandfather said slowly, and the room was once again engulfed in a long, uncomfortable silence. “Time sure gets away.”
Jaxton nodded, unsure of what else to do or say. He chanced a hesitant glance at his host sitting in the shadows as the fading sunlight played through the folds of the curtains. From the looks of the old man, Jaxton didn’t have a moment to waste.
“Tell you what.” Mr. Snyder suddenly vaulted himself out of the chair. “Why don’t you bring your bags in, and I’ll go make us some supper?”
“Oh, I’m not that hungry.” Jaxton stumbled to his feet quickly. Unconsciously, his hand smoothed the front of his tie.
“Nonsense. You just flew all the way here from Chicago. Of course you’re hungry. But don’t worry.” His grandfather smiled. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” Uncertainty swathed the statement as the old man crossed past him to the kitchen.
“You can have the room at the top of the stairs.” His grandfather pointed up the narrow staircase. “Why don’t you go on up and get settled? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
Ami wondered what was going on at the Snyder Farm as she started washing the dishes. By now she would’ve thrown that obnoxious jerk off the place. What right did he have to show up like this anyway? It was obvious he was only here to assess how long it would be before the farm changed hands. A shiver crawled up her spine at the very thought. Surely Mr. Snyder would see right through him and send him packing. Surely...
With his handkerchief, Jaxton wiped the layer of dust off the dresser top and carefully set his fax machine in front of the mirror he could see no reflection from. As soon as the requisite family time with his grandfather was over, he was going to get back up here and get some real work done.
Cord in hand, he sat on his heel to plug it in but stopped cold. Slowly he turned and surveyed the room, looking for a plug just as a sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach. There wasn’t a single phone jack to be seen anywhere. How was he going to get any work done with no phone jack?
“Supper!” his grandfather’s voice cut into the fury rising in him.
“Oh, you’re so going to pay for this one, Dad,” he mumbled to the empty room as he dropped the cord and crossed to the door. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now, but he vowed to find a way out of this forced imprisonment as soon as he returned.
His feet tromped their way down the stairs, and with each step the anger in his chest grew until he felt like he might explode when he stepped into the kitchen.
“Chicken rice casserole.” His grandfather glanced up as he set the steaming pan on the table. “Best food in Kansas.”
Jaxton took one whiff, and in spite of his anger, his mouth began to water. “It smells delicious.”
He sat down at the opposite side of the table as his grandfather handed him a plateful.
“It does more than smell delicious, my boy,” Mr. Snyder said, filling his own plate and sitting down across from Jaxton who already had a forkful headed for his mouth. “Shall we say grace?”
“Oh, umm, yeah.” Jaxton set his fork down with a reluctant clink. He bowed his head and listened as the older man said the prayers he hadn’t heard in years. It was truly incredible how backward his grandfather was.
“...Amen,” his grandfather said.
“Amen,” Jaxton echoed, and this time he waited for his grandfather to start eating first.
They ate in silence for the first few minutes. The thought crossed Jaxton’s mind that his grandfather was right, this was about the best food he’d ever eaten. It was so good in fact, that for a moment he forgot about all the complications in his life and just enjoyed eating.
Besides the meals he’d eaten alone in his apartment, this had to be the quietest meal he’d ever had. Even in his apartment, sirens were always going off somewhere below him, and the sounds of the traffic were always right outside his kitchen window.
As the thoughts of Chicago, home, and normalcy invaded the silence around him, he quickly decided that now was as good a time as any to start the process he’d come to finish.
“So, how’s the farm?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible between bites. “You said the harvest should be good this year?”
“Ed thinks The Old Camdon place will be ready in three weeks,” his grandfather said, brigh
tening to the subject.
“Ed?” Jaxton asked as he took another bite.
“Fowler,” his grandfather supplied. “Been my right hand man for more years now than I care to count. Anyway he said the boys from upstate should be here ready to harvest on the 15th so long as we don’t get any rain the week before.”
Jaxton nodded for no reason other than to keep the old man talking. “And how many people did you say you’ve got working out here?”
“There’s just the four of us for now,” his grandfather said. “Me and Ed. And then Chris Delvin and Steve Porter. I’m hoping to hire some school kids during the summer, but you never know.”
“Oh,” Jaxton said. “And Chris and Steve?”
“They’re a couple of guys who used to work for Murphey Gray.”
“And he doesn’t need them?”
“Not any more— he lost the farm a few years back.”
“Lost it?”
“The bank took over-- sold the land right out from under them,” his grandfather said with a sympathetic shake of his head. “It’s not uncommon these days. Everything’s getting too big. The little guys just can’t compete.”
“So, what happened to Murphey?”
“He moved to Emporia and started selling fertilizer, but his workers were left with nothing. Chris and Steve had worked out there since they were little fellas, but by the time the place sold, they both had young families to think of and no real desire to move away from here. I hated to see them have to leave Rayland— especially with the little ones already established in the school. Besides with only 253 people, we need every person we can hang on to.”
“I’ll bet,” Jaxton said barely disguising the condescension in his voice.
“So, how’s that chow?” his grandfather asked without any indication he was about to change the subject.
“Oh.” Jaxton looked down at the empty plate in front of him. “Excellent. I didn’t know you could cook.”
He reached over and put a second helping on his plate— having never realized just how hungry he actually was. The next two bites were in his mouth before the plate was even on the table again.
“’s not me,” his grandfather said with a smile. “Ami brought it over.”
“Ami?” Jaxton asked absently as he forked another bite into his mouth.
“Yeah. You remember Ami, Hank Martin’s granddaughter. She lives just east of here. You probably passed her place on your way in.”
Instantly the food in Jaxton’s mouth rotted. He dropped his fork and pushed the plate away trying not to look at the food or spit the foul tasting stuff out of his mouth. With Herculean effort he swallowed that bite and took a long drink of water.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember her,” his grandfather continued. “You met her when you were here the last time.”
Jaxton tried to recall the meeting his grandfather was describing, but nothing other than the disgusting plate of food staring back at him from the table was getting through to his brain.
“I wish I had a granddaughter like her,” his grandfather rambled on. “Such a sweet girl.”
Sweet? Jaxton thought as the rage from the preceding 18 hours crowded back in on him. I can think of a word for her, and it certainly isn’t sweet. But he pushed that thought down and smiled what he hoped was politely.
“Not that I’d trade you boys, of course. But sometimes it’d be nice…” His grandfather’s words trailed into silence before he looked back across at Jaxton’s plate. “You full?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jaxton fought to erase the picture of her from his mind. Why was that so hard? “I’ve got some work I need to get done— umm, that is, if you don’t mind.”
“Course I don’t mind.” The old man shrugged. “I’m sure your father’s got you working on all his biggest accounts.”
“Yeah,” Jaxton said half-heartedly feeling sorry for himself again for a split second and then reflexively pushing that down. He had business to do, and he was going to get it done. Putting his hand on the hard sticks of gelled hair, he worked to get the next question out diplomatically. “Umm, I noticed there isn’t a phone line in my room. Where might I find one?”
His grandfather let out a little snort. “Only phone I got ’s right there.” He pointed to the old dial around phone on the wall.
Jaxton’s eyes widened at the thought. “You’re kidding.”
“Only one. But you’re welcome to it,” his grandfather said, reaching for Jaxton’s plate. “You finished with this?”
“Uh. Yeah,” Jaxton said as he tried to figure out how to plug both his laptop and the fax machine into the same outlet. If, in fact, he could actually get to the outlet, he thought getting up to look at the phone more closely. It looked about a hundred years old, and the ingrained dirt on it made it appear brown although Jaxton was sure it had been white at some point.
He wished he could take out his handkerchief to pick up the receiver without his grandfather noticing, but the old man was still standing at the table scraping the food off the plates and watching him intently. Slowly he inspected the phone from as many angles as possible, and then he sighed and looked at his watch. 9:30.
He was too tired to deal with this tonight. Maybe if he went to bed now and gave it a few hours, when he woke up again, this would all be one big nightmare, and he’d be back in Chicago headed in to work.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” he said, trying to keep the sigh out of his voice.
“So soon?” His grandfather took the plates to the sink. “Thought you had work to do.”
“I can do it tomorrow.” Fatigue hit him for real then. “It’s been a long day.”
“I can imagine.” His grandfather nodded with sympathy. “Well, there’s towels in the cabinet in the bathroom upstairs. If they aren’t clean enough, let me know. Nobody’s been up there in a few years, so there’s no telling what it looks like by now.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Jaxton said, wanting only to escape the kitchen and be alone. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.” His grandfather smiled but never quite met Jaxton’s gaze. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” Jaxton crossed past the old man being careful not to touch him. Once around the corner, he fled up the stairs.
“I just need a nice shower and some sleep.” In his room, he yanked his suitcase from the floor and without thinking, dropped it onto the bed, which immediately sent a noxious dust cloud wafting into the air.
Ugh. Dust. Everything’s in this house is so disgusting. Clicking the suitcase latches open in frustration, Jaxton yanked his Yale sweats out and slammed it closed again. Instantly he choked on the fresh dust cloud. Now I know why we never visited. These people should really get a life— and a maid.
He stalked into the bathroom and reached for the light, but nothing to this point had prepared him for the sight of that bathroom. Immediately all-out nausea closed in on him. Moldy rust formed a path down the back of the sink, which rose on a pedestal from the decaying tile floor. As he looked at it, all he wanted to do was run— far and fast. How had he gotten talked into this? Why him? Why not Blake? Or Uncle John? Or his father?
“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked in disgust.
On unsteady legs he forced himself to step into the bathroom knowing what was coming would be even worse. Reluctantly he glanced into the toilet, and the same nasty molded stains stared back at him.
“Ugh.” He covered his nose and backed away. “When was the last time anybody cleaned this place?”
Fearful of what he would find, he squinted at the shower curtain. “Oh, this can’t be good.”
He took a deep breath to steel the churning of his stomach as he reached for the curtain. The sight of the tub— mold crawling up the back wall and sickening green slime covering the portion of the curtain he held in his hand disintegrated the last of his resolve. Without another thought, he dropped the curtain and fled from the bathroom not e
ven bothering to turn off the light.
Ami had spent the entire afternoon trying to forget about the stranger from Chicago. If only she didn’t feel such loyalty to Mr. Snyder, she could’ve easily dismissed him from her mind. But inevitably as he had for the last two months, Mr. Snyder crossed her mind again, and instantly a picture of the shiny shoes flashed through her mind.
What a jerk! What a total, unmitigated jerk! How can anybody be that callous? That calculating? He could’ve at least waited until the body was cold before moving in to divide the spoils. She shook her head to clear the intrusive thoughts away, but they weren’t going anywhere.
“I could call,” she said to the empty chair across from her as she sat in the living room, an open, un-read book on her lap. “Just to make sure supper was all right.”
Then she shook her head vehemently. As much as she wanted to check on Mr. S, the last thing she wanted to do was appear interested in the jerk who happened to be his grandson. Tomorrow she would call, or maybe if she biked out past the South Quarter she’d get lucky enough to catch Mr. S there. She needed to bring him another casserole anyway, and she was sure the jerk from the big city would do everything he could to avoid the fields.
She could get the full story then. Now she needed some sleep.
“Dear God,” she prayed silently on her way to her room, “please take care of Mr. S. I think he needs Your help more now than when he was in the hospital. Be by his side and protect him from all evil. Amen.”
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“The Long Way Home”
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More Than This: Contemporary Christian Romance Novel Page 39