by Andrew Grey
“But you’re twenty-three years old. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the burden of this place alone. Not at your age. We had such plans. I wanted to send you away for a while, let you see some of the world before your life became the farm, with milkings two times a day and a business that was dependent upon something as fickle as the weather.” She wiped her eyes again. “All I ever wanted for you was a life better than the one your father and I had, and it looks like you’re going to have the exact same life we did.”
Foster sighed. He doubted that very much. “Things will be different. My life will be different if I make it different.” The words rang hollow in his ears, though. He was saying them without really believing them. Sure, he wasn’t going to have a wife, but he would be milking cows and trying like hell to get through the lean years while making up for them as best he could when things went his way. He’d grown up here—he knew what life on a farm meant.
She looked into his eyes. “Do you remember how you’d always tell us whenever you got angry that as soon as you were old enough, you’d leave and never come back?”
“Yeah.” It had been what he’d wanted at the time. Other kids in school played soccer and football after school; he went home and did his chores and then homework. Rain, shine, snow, freeze your nuts off—didn’t matter. “At the time things didn’t seem fair. Now I know they never are and aren’t likely to be.” In those few seconds, he thought about Javi. He was quickly becoming the stand-in for the things Foster wanted but knew he could never have. “We need to get to bed. The rain seems to have ended, and in the morning there’s going to be plenty to do.”
“The farm goes on,” she murmured.
“It never stops.” Even in the dead of winter there were chores to do and work that had to be done. But June was a time when there was more work than could possibly be accomplished. Granted, he didn’t want his mother and grandmother doing more than they could handle, so he needed his sleep as much as she needed hers.
“Good night, then,” she said and left the room. Foster got back in bed, and this time he was able to fall to sleep. Just the thought of the tasks ahead of him for tomorrow was enough to make him tired, and he dropped right off.
Chapter 3
FOSTER GOT up early, got his four-legged girls into the barn as soon as he could, and started the milking process. They made much more noise than usual. “I know. It’s early for me, too, but I need to get things done,” Foster said as he worked. “So wake up and have an early breakfast.” He left the first group in the barn a little longer than usual to make up for getting started early and then put them out and brought in the second group. Once milking was done, he cleaned out the barn and got ready for the day.
“Did you sleep at all?” his grandmother asked when he came back inside. She was still in her nightgown and robe.
“Yes. But I was up early and got things done. It’s going to be a great day, and I have some help for you in the garden,” Foster explained.
She looked at him sideways. “Not that Rumston boy who came last fall and stayed one day, complaining how his arms hurt.” She scoffed. “That kid’s way too soft for this work.”
“No. Javi Ramos.”
She nodded. “When is he coming?” She shuffled toward the door. Foster knew she was starting to slow down. His grandmother was seventy and that was expected, but he hated to see it.
“I expect him anytime.”
“Then I’m going to dress and get breakfast on. He needs to eat before we go out into the garden. I have some things I want to replant, and he can help me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Plant some flowers,” she said. “I have some dahlia and gladiola bulbs in the basement. I put them in last year, but only to keep them alive. I want to divide them and get them planted. I bet we can sell bouquets at your market if they grow well.”
“Then go for it. We should be able to help.” He smiled as she left the kitchen. Looking through to the living room window, he saw Javi walking up the drive. He wore jeans and a light shirt. When Foster went out to meet him, he realized just how threadbare the clothes were. In places the jeans seemed about ready to fall apart. Granted, they provided one hell of a view and left very little to the imagination. But Foster wasn’t supposed to be looking at that.
“Grandma is making breakfast, so let’s finish in the loft, and then she’s going to need help in the garden.” Foster also made a note to go and check all the fields he’d planted to see if the corn and alfalfa had sprouted. After the spring warmth and now the rain, the plants should be growing like crazy. There was so much going through his head, and he didn’t want to forget anything, so the list kept playing on a loop. He hated when that happened, but it was how he kept things straight.
The semisweet scent of hay perpetually filled the air in the loft. Foster sneezed once, like he almost always did when he climbed into the loft. He sometimes thought it a strange habit his subconscious had picked up somewhere along the way.
Javi worked hard; Foster had no complaints about that. He didn’t talk or shirk, moving bale after bale with nothing more than an occasional grunt. “Is this all there is?” Javi finally asked.
“Yeah. I’m using up the last of the winter stores. The grass has been growing well and will shoot up after the rain, so the cows will be in pretty good shape.”
“What about next winter?” Javi asked.
“We’ll start cutting hay next month, and if we’re lucky, there will be three cuttings this year. Usually we do the last one as rolled bales, and I can tractor those into the pastures. The best hay I can usually trade with the horse farms because it’s worth more than the cattle hay. Sometimes twice as much.” Getting enough feed to last the winter was always a job, but Foster understood what had to be done, and he had the acreage to support the farming operations.
“Must be a lot of work,” Javi said as he moved the last bale of hay onto the low stack near the door. The sun was already heating up the loft, and Javi’s arms glistened with dampness.
“It is. Every winter is a balancing act. Set aside too much, and you end up having money tied up in what you don’t need. Not enough set aside, and then I have to pay high end-of-season prices to get lower-quality feed.” Even as he talked to Javi, he was starting to see how Mr. Dulles was right. Everything on the farm was money, from time, to feed, to supplies, to seed, to the land itself… and the taxes he had to pay. Fucking hell, no wonder farms and dairy operations were shutting down or selling out to bigger firms.
“I see,” Javi said as he pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his brow.
“Let’s get down out of here.” Foster motioned to the stairs and turned out the lights. As he descended, the air freshened with each step, cooling his overheated skin. The only problem was that as he went, he watched Javi, becoming entranced by the way his rear end bobbed slowly ahead of him. If he’d been paying attention, he wouldn’t have knocked into Javi and then scrambled to get away and ended up flat on his ass on the floor. “Damn,” he swore under his breath. The only saving grace was that he wasn’t sitting in cow droppings. His butt hurt, but that was nothing compared to the rush that went right to his head when Javi took his hand and tugged him back to his feet. Touching a live wire hadn’t sent such a jolt through him, and while the hair on his head didn’t stand up, the hair on his arms certainly did.
“Are you hurt?” Javi asked in a tender tone.
“Just my pride.” He felt stupid and released Javi’s hand. His tailbone ached, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Breakfast should be about ready.”
“Shouldn’t we wash the barn out again?”
“I did that this morning already.” Foster looked over the milking floor. “Isn’t it clean enough?”
Javi shrugged, and Foster led the way to the house. “You can wash up in there,” he said, leading the way to the back sink and then washing his hands. The house smelled of eggs, bacon, and cinnamon. He hoped his grandmother had been b
aking her rolls. It sure smelled like it. “I love you,” he told Grandma Katie when he saw the pan sitting on the stove to cool.
“You’re just in time,” she said and turned to Javi. “But this one is rarely late for food. I swear, he could be out on the far side of the farm and yet hear the timer go off if I have something in the oven.”
Javi laughed, deep and rich, without self-consciousness. It was a warm and full sound, sending another jolt through Foster, who pointed Javi to a chair and then took one himself. He was tempted to sit at the opposite side of the table, but that would be rude, so he sat next to Javi and waited for his mother to join them. She came in dressed in rough clothes to work outside and took her place at the foot of the table, where she always sat. Foster jumped up and brought the dishes to the table while his grandmother dished up the cinnamon rolls that already had his mouth watering.
“I used to have to limit Foster to one or he’d eat the entire pan at a sitting,” his mother said, and Foster groaned. What is this, Tell Foster Stories Day?
“I’d still eat the entire pan, but I’m more generous now.” He bumped Javi’s shoulder and then wondered if he was being too forward and familiar.
Grandma Katie sat down, and they all ate. Foster was hungry, but it was obvious Javi was starving. His eyes glazed over, and he made a deep, happy sound in his throat as he ate. If Foster had eaten that quickly, his mother and grandmother would have scolded him, but no one said a word, and once Javi’s plate was empty, Foster’s mother added more food.
Foster shared glances with his mother and grandmother, silently wondering if they were going to ask the questions they all seemed to want to. Of course, no one did, and Javi appeared oblivious as he ate his fill.
“I’ll clean up,” his mother volunteered, so Foster and Grandma Katie led Javi out to the garden.
“We enlarged it this year, but that means that this section is really prone to weeds, as you can see already. We have to be careful not to pull any sprouting plants.” Foster settled Javi in Grandma Katie’s strawberry patch, which was growing like crazy. “Get the large weeds. The smaller ones will get choked out by the strawberries.”
“Okay,” Javi said, and they settled down to work while Foster’s grandmother got to the more detailed work. “Shouldn’t she be doing the easier work?”
“Please,” Grandma Katie snapped from where she sat on a low stool, picking the weeds from the sprouts. “I’ve been pulling weeds since before your daddy was born.”
Foster grinned and looked away to keep from scoffing. “Never tell her she can’t do something.” He’d pulled more than his fair share of weeds, but Javi was a machine. His hands were nimble and efficient as he emptied a section of the patch and started on another. The plants were loaded with berries; even the ones that had been planted the year before were robust and thick.
“I guess not,” Javi said, sounding as though he wasn’t sure how seriously to take her. Foster smiled at him, and Javi relaxed a little. “Do you sell to people around here?”
“You mean to other farmers?”
“Sure. You’re on a corner.” Javi sat on his haunches. “You could put up a small stand right over there and sell things. You could see when people stopped from the house or just put out a box for them to leave the money in.” Javi grew quiet and went back to pulling weeds. “Don’t listen to me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No. It’s a good idea. No one else in this area has these berries or our asparagus. We could sell some of those when the time comes.” He turned to his grandmother. “Maybe we could sell preserves and things too. Everyone loves them. We’d need to develop labels with the ingredients, but we could print those easily enough.” Foster looked over at Javi, who was trying not to smile. “I like the idea.”
“You’d have to build something,” Javi offered.
“Maybe not. We could buy a building that isn’t too large and customize it.” Foster began thinking out loud. “If the venture doesn’t work, we could move the building and put it to use for something else.” The idea was already taking root in his mind. They needed to increase cash flow, and they had some unique products they could use to do it.
“Raspberries,” Grandma Katie said. “We should plant some.”
“But they’re prickly and hard to grow well.” Not to mention invasive. They’d had some years ago and they’d ended up being removed.
“I read about a couple varieties. They grow up, and then you cut them to the ground after harvesting every year. You don’t need the year-old cane to produce fruit. They also aren’t prickly. Check on the Internet.” She went back to her work, and Foster’s mother came out and joined her.
The sun was strong and the heat built. Foster didn’t want his mother and grandmother out in the heat of the day, so the women went inside just before noon, having made good progress, and Foster and Javi finished up.
“Is there anything else you need me to do?” Javi asked.
“I need to check the fields I planted a few weeks ago. How does the asparagus look?”
“Monday should be right on target. They’re starting to sprout and should have some good stalks, at least enough to make it worth cutting.”
“Excellent,” Foster said, and Javi looked at him strangely. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” Javi said as he schooled his expression.
“You don’t get off that easily.” He watched and waited.
“You believe me. Just like that.”
Foster mimicked Javi’s earlier expression. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Javi shrugged and began gathering the tools. Having a meaningful conversation with him was like pulling teeth.
“Just explain what you meant,” Foster said.
“No one listens to me or asks my opinion.” Javi carried the tools toward the shed, and Foster got the rest. “My dad rules the family, and what he says goes. So even though I knew it was a bad idea, he had one too many beers and argued with the boss at our last job, demanding more money. He said we’d go on strike, so the boss sent us packing. We ran out of food a day before getting here, and the van was running on fumes. He sent me up to see if you had work for me, and when I got home, he took the money I earned.” Javi ground his teeth, the heat in his eyes enough to scorch the grass. “I tried to tell him….”
Foster thought of his own relationship with his father. “Sometimes fathers think they know best and get used to being the boss. I stood up to mine… but that might not work with your dad.” With his, respect had been the issue. Foster got the idea that with Javi’s father, it was about power and control. Two very different concerns.
Javi put the tools in the shed, and Foster added his own before closing the door. “My dad had beer on his breath when he came in last night.”
“Where did he get it?”
“He left us under the awning while he took the van to get food. He returned with some, but he’d also been drinking.” The resentment was clear in Javi’s voice. He’d been the one to earn the money, and for his father to be that selfish….
People often surprised Foster. He liked to see the best in people and to think that they were basically good. Mothers and fathers, in his view, should put their children and family first. “I’ll pay you some of what you earned today, and the rest I can hold so you can have it later.” If what Javi said was true, then he was the one who really cared and would make sure everyone ate. “If that’s what you want,” he added at Javi’s unreadable expression.
“It won’t do any good,” Javi said with resignation, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I can’t hide money or anything from him. We all live in a space that’s as big as the inside of your shed. There isn’t any room for secrets.”
“All right. Whatever you think is best.” Foster wanted to help Javi, not come between him and his parents. He led the way to the truck and motioned to Javi to follow him. Foster had forgotten, in just a few weeks, that work went better and was less like drudgery when he had someone
along with him. “Let’s fill the back with silage, and we can spread it for the herd to give some of the grass a break.” After the rain, he wanted to be careful that the cows didn’t chew up the soft earth, so he’d left them in an enclosed area near the barn.
He parked the truck at the silo, and they began filling the back. Javi once again went quiet as he worked. The task didn’t take long, and Foster drove the truck as close to the feeding station as possible. He should have made sure the feeders were totally full before letting the cattle into the area. But the feeders were close enough to the fence that they were able to easily fill them.
His arms ached by the time they were done, and he cursed himself for not thinking far enough ahead. He should have filled the feeders before putting the herd in the pasture. The herd didn’t care—they were already eating—but he felt completely stupid. His father would have reminded him not to put the herd in there, but he hadn’t been thinking at the time. Foster said nothing, dropping the pitchfork into the truck bed and sitting on the side.
“What’s the rest of your family doing while you’re here?” he asked Javi.
“Mom is with the kids, and Dad is working at a farm out the other way.” He pointed down the road. “He’s working with horses. Can I ask what you do with all the mess? The cow poop.”
“Some I spread on the fields as fertilizer. But I have to be careful when I spread it in order to ensure it breaks down enough before harvest. I have a company that takes it away to make fuel out of it. There’s a plant not too far away that will take it. They make gas out of it that they can sell or burn to make electricity.” That reminded him: he needed to call and have a load picked up. There was always something.
“My mom said your dad died. I’m sorry.”
Foster picked at some dirt on the truck. “I’m still trying to remember to do all the things he used to do.” What Foster was realizing was that he needed some help, but he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to afford it. Having Javi work with him for a few days was nice, but he needed someone he could rely on to do a regular part of the work so he could manage the business.