Planting His Dream

by Andrew Grey

  “Respect!” Foster snapped at nearly the top of his voice. Something had clicked inside him. He whirled around. “Respect!” he said again, glaring at Mr. Ramos. Javi had stepped away from his father, whose Spanish diatribe had ceased.

  “Stay out of this, boy,” Mr. Ramos said.

  Foster paused for a split second as the “respect your elders” training his mother and grandmother had taught him reared forward, but then he continued forward. “On this farm, my farm, we respect each other, and that means you respecting your son.”

  “This is none of your business.”

  Foster stopped, stood straight and tall, staring into huge, reddened eyes. “This is my business. You are on my land, and I am your boss.” He stared and saw Mr. Ramos blink. “You are here on my land because of my good grace. And you will start work on Monday based on that same good grace.” He took yet another step forward, entering Mr. Ramos’s personal space, and waited until he took a single step back. Foster had seen his father do that when he wanted to get the upper hand with someone, and damned if it didn’t do the trick here. “On this farm we do not hit, and I will tell you this: my farm, my land, is dry. No alcohol. That means if you want to work for me, the drinking stops now. I can smell it on your breath.”

  “What I do….”

  “Respect, Mr. Ramos. Respect for me as the landowner, for your wife and family, your son. That is how we live and work on this farm and how you will behave. Am I making myself perfectly clear? As for today, I asked Javi to come along with me. We went to the park, and I asked him to come as a thank-you for the hard work he’d done for me this week. You have a great son who works hard and cares for his family.” Foster looked over at Javi’s mother and siblings, who stared back at him in what Foster could only describe as disbelief. “You will respect them while you are on my land, working for me.”

  “Have you paid him for this work? I haven’t seen it,” Mr. Ramos countered.

  Foster shifted and curled up his lips at the smell of the older man’s breath. “I paid him directly. He’s an adult and can make his own money. He isn’t required to give it to you.” Foster took yet another step to assert his dominance. “You will remember where you are and who you work for,” he added levelly. Then he turned, schooling his expression, and walked over to where Javi’s mother stood with the other kids.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ramos, for any inconvenience or hardship I’ve caused you.” He took her hand for only a second, and she nodded once. Then Foster walked toward his truck. “Javi is welcome at the farmhouse anytime.” He turned to Mr. Ramos. “I think it would be best if he communicated with me for the family from now on.” Foster yanked open the door and got inside.

  He started the engine and turned the truck around, then jammed the accelerator to the floor, scattering dirt as he peeled out on his way to the main road. Foster held the steering wheel in a vise grip as he drove back to the farm. He was so angry at Javi’s father, and at himself for initially turning away. But now he understood that he’d needed to think. His first reaction had been to hit Mr. Ramos for hitting Javi, but that wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. He banged the wheel with his hand. Javi was a good person, and he deserved better than the life he had with a controlling, drunk father. Where all that stuff about respect had come from, Foster wasn’t sure. All he’d done was say the words and the rest had tumbled out. It seemed to do the trick. But now he worried that he might have made things worse for Javi.

  As he approached the turn into the farm, a new idea crept into his mind. What if Mr. Ramos decided to leave? Foster could find others to pick the asparagus; that wasn’t an issue. What really worried him was that he’d go down on Monday morning and find the field empty and the red van gone.

  Foster parked in his usual spot and got out. He thought about going inside, but his emotions were too close to the surface at the moment, and he couldn’t risk his mother or grandmother wondering why he was so upset. So he went into the equipment shed, grabbed a hoe, and trudged to the garden. There were always weeds to pull, and he could at least take his frustration and worry out on them.

  He worked for a good hour or more, losing track of time. By the time he slowed down, the garden was weed-free, and he’d checked over the strawberries that were beginning to fill the plants.

  “It should be a really good crop,” his grandmother said as she came up behind him. Foster nodded and stepped back.

  “You can’t fool me, kid. Whenever you come out here on a Saturday afternoon to do battle with weeds like they’re an invading army, it means you’re either being punished for something—and you’re a little old for that­­­­­­­­­­—or you’re mad as hell.” She walked between the rows. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he answered flatly. “I need to think about what we’re going to do.” Foster hoped he managed to cover his worry as being about the farm rather than about Javi.

  “All right,” she said. “Have you checked that we have a spot at the market? If you’re going to cut this week, we have to see what we’re going to sell on Saturday.”

  “It’s all set. You and Mom will go to Grand Rapids on Saturday, and I’ll manage things here for the day.”

  She continued watching him. “We made labels for the jam, so we’re going to take some of that as well. Lord, I hadn’t realized how much we had. We had so much fruit last year, and we kept on using it.”

  “Good. That can help. When we see how well it does, we can decide how much of our fruit crops to sell and how much to make into preserves.” He was very concerned about putting additional pressure on his mother and grandmother, but his answer made his grandmother smile. She was very proud of her preserves and jams, but they took a lot of time to make.

  “What you’re going to need to do is figure out how to get some help. You can’t keep working like this. Milking the herd is hard work, you know that, and so is working the farm portion of the operation. You and your dad managed to get the fields planted before he passed, but how are you going to milk, harvest, silo, and hay all on your own? You can’t. You and your dad did things together and split the work, but you’re only one person. No matter how hard you drive yourself.”

  “I know, Grandma. But we don’t have the money right now. Dad was borrowing, and though Mom has some of his life insurance money left, if I have to hire someone full-time, we’d go through that money very fast.”

  “So what are you hoping will happen?”

  “Honestly, that the crops do well, and we get enough rain and not too much, so I can sell some of the surplus and that everyone at the market goes ape-crap for asparagus this year and just has to have it. I hope they think your jams are worth their weight in gold, because that’s the only way I’m going to be able to work my way out of this bind. The price of milk is up, but yesterday I found out that our taxes went up on the land, so that got eaten away just like that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How much?”

  “Fifty percent,” Foster answered. He’d been trying to figure out how he could tell them, but it just came out when he started talking.

  “That’s bullshit,” she said. “You give me that bill. I’ve done this battle before, and I know how to fight shit like that.” She stepped closer. “You let me see it when we go inside, and I’ll bring the fight to them.”

  “How?”

  “I know everyone in this town, including the worm who runs the assessor’s office. I think he needs a little reminder.”

  “Of what?” Foster asked.

  “Never you mind,” she snapped lightly in that way she had. “You give me the bill and the information they sent with it, and leave the rest to me.” The fire in her eyes was shocking.

  “Grandma,” Foster said.

  “You think I don’t have a past like everyone else?” She scoffed under her breath. “Well, I do, and so do other people. You don’t know all there is about me.” She winked, and Foster rolled his eyes. He did not want to think about his grandmother being hot and
attractive. Well, she was attractive, but he couldn’t picture her that way. No kid wanted to think of their parents as sexual, and thinking of his grandmother like that made him shiver and wonder if he could somehow wash out his brain to eliminate any residue of the idea.

  “Okay.” He held up his hands. “You do what you think you can.”

  “Don’t worry. I may be old, but I’ve got tricks up my sleeve you can only dream about.” She struck a haughty pose, and Foster turned away.

  “Grandma, I’m going to have to work for hours to unsee that.”

  She laughed, and Foster gave up, setting the sprinkler on the garden and then grabbing his tools. He turned on the water as he left, hoping it would rain again soon. The forecast called for some on Sunday and then for Monday to be nice. If it was right, he was getting some luck in the weather department. He hoped it held in other areas as well. They were going to need it.

  “Your grandfather used to say that farming was as close to God as any man could come.”

  “Not a minister?” Foster asked.

  “Nope. Farmers. He always said they prayed more than anyone alive—first for rain, then for sun when there was too much rain, sometimes for a freeze. And then for warmth and spring. Mostly he said they prayed to be able to make it through the year so they could survive to the next one. This is our life, and yeah, sometimes we get ahead, but mostly we pray.”

  “Then how did Grandpa survive?” Foster asked.

  “He had me,” she answered with a smirk. “How do you think? This isn’t a life that you can do alone. It requires a partner, someone to help in the good times and support you during the bad.” She watched him closely and seemed to be trying to puzzle through something. Foster’s stomach did a flip-flop and a chill ran up his spine. “You’ve always been so busy, but you haven’t dated anyone in a long time. You need to go out, have some fun, meet younger people, maybe find a wife, someone who understands what’s required of a farmer.”

  He must have looked as thrilled as if he were having his teeth drilled, because she started to laugh.

  “I know. You’ve been shy that way. But there is someone out there for you, and all you have to do is meet them and you’ll know.”

  “How?” Foster asked, continuing on to the toolshed, where he put the things he’d used back in their place.

  Grandma Katie followed him into the shed. “When you meet them, your heart will race and you’ll want to spend all your time with them. They’ll make you laugh and cry. They’ll tell you stories that will move you, but mostly you’ll want to hold them next to your heart and protect them from all the bad in this world.” She sighed and smiled slightly. “I remember when I met your grandfather. He was stunning. Tall and strong, swept me off my feet, and I told him to take a hike because I wasn’t going to be a farmer’s wife. I wanted a different life. But he was persistent, and he kept coming around, helping my dad when he was hurt. Harley once picked our garden and hauled the crops to market for my dad when he was too sick to move. That’s when I knew he was real.”

  “You were mean.”

  She shrugged. “I was a catch, I’ll have you know. And you’re a catch too.” She stroked his cheek. “So find someone who makes you feel the way your grandfather made me feel. I miss him each and every day. That man was something else.” She let her hands fall to her sides and left the shed. Foster closed the door and turned to the house. “Oh, and make sure they’re good in the sack. That makes up for a hell of a lot.” Foster wanted to die right there, instantly. His grandmother continued on to the house, laughing like a loon. Great. His grandmother wanted him to meet a girl and get married.

  Chapter 6

  SATURDAY NIGHT clouds rolled in, and on Sunday it rained all day, slow and steady, just like the weatherman on television had said. Foster wondered if he should send him flowers. He didn’t see Javi at all, even though he had hoped Javi would come up to the farm. Of course, his father could be keeping him close, and there was always the possibility that they’d left altogether. Though Foster doubted that, if they were as hard off as Carlos had said when they first arrived.

  He got up early on Monday, milked, and met the dairy truck. He’d already hitched the asparagus belt to the tractor, so he started the engine and began the slow trek with the containers up to the field. Foster breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the red van in its usual place. All five members of the family were up and seemed ready. Foster explained what he wanted them all to do and then got the tractor in position with each person in their place. He placed a cooler full of water bottles on the platform near the empty plastic containers. “Only pick what’s ready. Next week we’ll do this field again, so anything that’s too small we can cut then.” He started the equipment, daring a glance at Javi and flashing a quick smile, hoping he’d be able to talk to him at some point.

  No one said anything about the last time they’d met, but Foster did notice that Mr. Ramos met his gaze, challenging him, but said nothing. Foster hardened his jaw, not allowing himself to be intimidated, and began the very long and boring day.

  A day like this, slowly going along the rows, reaching the other end, and starting back, would drive him crazy. Javi worked on one side and his father on the other. His mother, brother, and sister talked among themselves and with Javi, and occasionally their father, but Javi never so much as looked at Carlos, let alone spoke to him.

  The tension between them was almost palpable, and Foster felt square in the middle of it. When they stopped for a break, Javi stayed away from Carlos, glaring at him, jaw set. Carlos, in turn, glared at Javi and then at him. Foster had most certainly made an enemy of sorts, or at least Carlos was angry with him. Foster didn’t care either way, other than how it affected Javi.

  “Are you doing okay?” Foster asked Javi as he handed him a bottle of water.

  “Yes,” he answered quickly, then moved away. Foster looked up and saw Carlos glaring at them. Foster stared back until Carlos turned away.

  “You are challenging his manhood, his machismo, and he will never forgive you for it. He is the head of the family, and his word is law. It’s important to his pride, and it’s part of our culture. Men are men and they know best. So hurting his pride makes him seethe.” Javi glanced away. “He hasn’t spoken to me since you left, and he blames me for the way you treated him.”

  “Then he needs to learn that I’m not going to allow him to act that way on my land,” Foster said, then took a drink from his bottle. “He has no right.”

  “In his mind, he has every right,” Javi added softly.

  Foster shook his head and took the nearly filled tub from the tractor. He put a fresh one down and waited until Carlos finished a drink of water. “Let’s get started again. The sooner we’re done with this field, the quicker we can all get out of the sun.” Foster got back on the tractor, waited a few seconds for the others, and then started once again.

  The sun was fierce and the humidity high from the rain the day before. Foster moved as quickly as he dared in order to get the field done by midday. Sweat ran down his back and arms. He checked on the others, and they seemed to be all right, their attention on their work. Only Javi seemed to sense him watching and looked up, the others intent on their task. Foster stopped again to change the tub, and then they did the remainder of the field.

  By the time they were done and Foster had placed the last of the crop in the back of the truck, he was exhausted, and Javi seemed completely wiped out. Foster hoped for some clouds for the next few days or so in order to give them a break from the sun and heat. When he was ready to leave, he thanked them all for their hard work and caught Carlos’s gaze, acknowledging him, then got in his truck to leave.

  He stopped and put the truck into park, got back out and walked up to Javi. “Would you be available to help me bring your idea of a produce stand to fruition? I need some help building a stand near the corner. There’s already a turnoff area, so we could use that.” Foster glanced at Javi’s father, and he sighed and nodde
d. Foster figured that was as close to a truce as the two of them were going to get.

  “I can help you,” Javi said.

  “Great. I arranged to have a small shed delivered. They’ll bring it tomorrow afternoon. They know where to put it and will set up the basic building, but I need some help fitting it out.” There were so many things that needed to get done and not enough hours in the day. But if he wanted to sell produce at the farm itself, he needed a place to do it.

  “All right.” Javi was tense, and Foster knew the source. “Once we get something to eat, I’ll walk up to the farm and we can go over what your plans are. I can help you figure out what you need to get. That is, if you want my help with that.” Javi glanced toward the ground.

  “That would be awesome.” Foster smiled. “Go ahead and come to the house when you can, or I can come back in an hour and give you a ride.”

  “Thanks,” Javi said, tension still swirling around them. “I know you have things to do, and I appreciate you taking the time.” He was being very formal in the way he spoke. “I’ll see you then.” Javi glanced to the side, and Foster didn’t need to follow his gaze to know what was going on. Foster went back to the truck and headed to the farm, calling Mr. Justice’s office on the way to tell him to pick up the produce as soon as he was able.

  He pulled into the drive and unloaded the truck, weighing each of the tubs to ensure he knew what he had. Foster didn’t trust the produce merchant any farther than he could throw the fat man. Mr. Justice’s office had said that a truck was in the area and would be there within the hour.

  “How did it go?” his mother asked once he was done and the cuttings were safe in a cool room that extended underground.

  “Great. They’re on their way to pick up, and Javi is coming down. He’s going to help me design and build the stand we’re going to use to try to sell produce here. I don’t know if it will work, but we can only try. If it doesn’t, we’ll take the produce to the market and use the building for other storage.”