Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  At home, the apartment was still and quiet. He flipped on the computer and turned off the speakers as the operating system chimed. He poured his coffee out of the paper cup from the restaurant and into his favorite mug as he waited for the computer to connect to the Internet.

  As the search engine loaded all Internet hits for “Argosy Ranch Montana,” Matt clicked on the ranch’s website. He hadn’t realized that they had one, and while no one had mentioned anything, he’d hoped. Now he had a faster way to communicate with them. He clicked on the “contact us” button, started to type, and then closed it out immediately.

  Matt stared hard at the screen. He saw the familiar logo and made up his mind. He’d always shared an email address with his parents. He rarely used email, saving his Internet visits for gaming or an eBay search for a game he didn’t have. Now it was time to gain a little Internet independence. He didn’t want to try to explain the cult aspect of Argosy Junction. His parents already thought his church attendance was a little strange.

  Feeling awkward and unnerved, Matt went to letterbox.com and signed up for a free email account. He pasted the email address for Argosy Ranch into the “to” box and composed a simple email.

  To: shepherds@argosyfarms.com

  From:mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: Back in the urban jungle

  Hello Argosy Family!

  The airline managed to return me to Rockland and in one piece. I have discovered that flying is interesting, but I prefer horses. How long do you think it would take me to ride from Rockland to A. Jct.? Mom and Dad were thrilled with their gifts, and they would like to thank Lane for protecting me from the big, bad sheep.

  I thought Lane would like to know that I purchased a wool blanket for Mom from the little gift store next to the gas station. Speaking of the gift shop, the woman in there was very pleasant and helpful, and although she looked like one of the Brethren members, she asked me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time and made a point of saying that she doesn’t care if you’re shopping, or not, she just wants to meet you. It seemed odd, but I think she’s sincere.

  Please send pictures soon. Mom and Dad believe that I worked with sheep for now, but I can see the skepticism beginning to form and therefore, I need proof and fast. Please save me from a lifetime of mockery and disbelief!

  Well, I hear Mom stirring, so I had better say good-bye for now. I want to thank you all again for a marvelous vacation; it was truly more wonderful than I could have ever imagined, for which I am truly thankful.

  Oh, and please ask little Miss IM-Patience to write me; you know I’d love to hear from her. Since Lane is incapable of taking over my job, I would assume she might have time to write as well. Of course, I’d love to hear from all of you, but I know you have a busy life so if you can’t or don’t care to respond, I will understand.

  Matt— the honorary shepherd

  ~*~*~*~

  Patience sat at the living room window, staring down the driveway. She’d moped around the house for the past two hours, and Lane was ready to tear her hair out in frustration. “Patience, I have an idea. Why don’t we write him letters? If we drive them to the Post Office, they might be there when he gets home from work Monday.”

  That’s all it took. Patience raced for her notebook and pencil. Before Lane could leave the room to retrieve her stationary, Patience had “Dear Matt,” written at the top of her paper.

  They scribbled on their respective sheets of paper for some time, Lane’s backhanded script contrasting with Patience’s carefully slanted cursive. Once finished, Patience painstakingly addressed her envelope, raced to the office for a stamp, and then scrambled down the steps and into the Jeep to wait for Lane. Shaking her head as she followed, Lane wondered how one man could make such an impact on them in such a short time.

  ~*~*~*~

  Lane calculated well. Matt dragged through the door just after six on Monday night, tired, dirty, and hungry. He compared the difference between the same feelings from one job to another as he climbed the three flights to his apartment. Welding was dirty work. It was exhausting, and you definitely got hungry doing it, but it felt different from working sheep. It wasn’t better or worse—just different.

  On his way to a hot shower, Matt saw a handwritten envelope on top of a stack of mail as he grabbed clean clothes from his dresser drawer. Only one person in the world that knew him would write like that. The sight of the carefully written letters and the evidence of partially erased penciled lines made him smile to himself.

  He sank onto the bed and fumbled with the envelope. A stick of gum fell into his lap, and he grinned at the horse sticker slapped to the top right of the notebook paper. Patience was such a little girl. He groaned at himself for the thought. Of course, she was a little girl!

  Dear Matt,

  I miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go. I think you should have staid and worked for us. Lane is writing to you to.

  When can you come back? Was your mommy happy to see you? My mama said that your mommy and daddy would miss you too much if you staid any longer. I told her that we miss Kyle, but that he stays in California anyway, so it would work for you too. That made mama cry. I guess I shouldn’t have said it.

  Are you going to the movies soon? Lane said that she’d take me to Spokane for my birthday in June, and we could go to the movies, and we could ask you to go see the same movie on the same day and it would be just like we were going all together. Almost. If you go, I’ll buy you popcorn.

  I am sending you a peace of gum. I was chewing one while I wrote this, but it lost all the flavor. Gum flavor goes away too fast. So I got me another peace, but I thought I’d share with you instead.

  Please write back. I miss you. I think I said that already. Oh well, I do. I do. Lots and lots.

  Love,

  Patience Martha Argosy

  Matt smiled as he read the letter. It sounded just like the little girl. Every line was a reminder of another world—misspellings and all. Before he could grab his shorts and a fresh t-shirt, he saw the second envelope. A feminine backhand told him that Lane was ambidextrous. He hadn’t noticed left-handedness.

  Matt,

  Well, you’ve been gone for two hours, and Patience is still moping. I suggested we write you to get her mind off your “departure.” So howdy!

  I don’t know what to say. It’s so easy to talk to you when you’re here, but now that you’re gone… Actually, that’s silly. You’ve only been gone for two hours. Nothing has happened to tell you about yet except that Mom forgot you weren’t going to be here for dinner and made you stew and blackberry cobbler.

  Is it wrong to confess that in hindsight, I’m really glad you had that run in with Josiah Gideon? If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have spent your days here and with us. I can sense that Daddy is going to make an effort to make friends again. He really enjoyed having you around. I don’t think people were meant to be so isolated.

  I wonder if you’ll return our letters? Will you? I wouldn’t think of your being much of a letter writer, but then I wouldn’t have pictured an urban welder as a lover of all things Shakespeare and L’Amour. I’m going to start on the sonnets tonight. I’ve always ignored them as sentimental poetry. “Shall I compare thee” and all that drippy stuff. Why don’t people write poetry about finding new friends in a sheep pasture?

  Oh dear, Patience is done. She has a stamped envelope that she’s shoving under this letter. See that blip back there? That’s where the envelope hit my pen. She’s out the door and down the steps. I’d better go.

  Uncertain how to sign,

  Lane, the shepherd’s allergenic daughter

  He read both letters again. And, then once again. Grabbing his clothes, he shuffled to the kitchen and laid them on the mini bar that separated their minuscule kitchen from the living room. His mom was taking one of her “box and can” casseroles from the oven.

  “It’ll be ready in ten. Better get your shower.”

  Matt wav
ed the letters. “I just got letters from the Argosys. I thought you might want to read them. Read the one that looks like a kid wrote it first.”

  He returned minutes later, with dripping hair, to find his parents laughing over Patience’s letter and grinning to each other over Lane’s. Great. They were getting ideas already.

  “Man, I’m starved. Did you get to read the letter? Isn’t that kid a hoot? When I saw her middle name, I almost laughed. Her mom’s name is Martha and the dad kept telling the mom to be patient during labor so they named the baby Patience, but I didn’t know they used Martha for a middle name.”

  “Patience Martha. That’s a good one,” his father’s voice sounded like the joke was on Matt.

  Dinner was a welcome relief. Thankfully, Matt’s parents didn’t have time to comment on Lane’s letter or ask uncomfortable questions. Bowling started at seven-thirty, and his father liked to arrive early for practice.

  The moment they were out the door, Matt switched off his video game and checked his email. There was a note from Tad.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: tad@argosyranch.com

  Subject: rescue me

  ok matt,

  get back here. how could you leave like this? patience is moping around the house. we have made two trips to the post office today. no one can make her understand that her letter might not even be there yet. i made her an email address so please write to her ASAP at impatience@argosyranch.com.

  lane tries to cheer her up, but she’s a bit out of sorts too. i told lane about the woman at the gift shop. (lane doesn’t “do” email, but i bet she’d read one if you sent it to her. lane@argosyranch.com) i don’t know if she is willing to risk it. i might go in with her the first time. it’d be nice if she had friends. i need her to have friends. we all do. home schooling patience doesn’t take up enough of her day. she’s learning all that accounting stuff, but… well you get my drift.

  the sheep are shorn. we ended up with about 69,000 lbs of raw wool. it’s a good year. we’re back to just us and nate again until time to ship the market lambs in june.

  be sure to tell us about your trip home. this is my private email so if you want to write to all of us, shepherds@argosyranch.com is a better choice.

  tad

  After adding the three email addresses to his address book, Matt composed emails to all three of his Montana friends, and one to the family in general. Later that night, before he went to sleep, Matt read Shakespeare’s ninety-fourth sonnet chuckling at the stench of rotting lilies. He’d recommend that one to Lane first. If comparison of woman to nature was so distasteful, she could read about the decay of it instead.

  ~*~*~*~

  Patience bounced in her chair as they waited for the Internet to connect.” Do you think he really got it? You just sent it yesterday.”

  Tad clicked open the inbox, found an email addressed to “IMA” and stood back. “It got to him in seconds. He might not even have your paper letter yet.”

  Patience was ecstatic. “He did! He got it. It says that it was waiting for him when he got home from work last night!”

  Eager to finish his lunch and take Lane to town, Tad gave her head a light pat and went to wash. Patience, reading once more, didn’t notice he’d gone.

  To: impatience@argosyranch.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  Subject: IMA

  Dear IMA,

  This is my new name for you—Impatience Martha Argosy. I came home from work today and found yours and Lane’s letters waiting for me. I loved hearing from you so soon, and I will write back, but since Tad gave me your email address, I thought I’d drop a note here too.

  You mentioned that your mom still misses Kyle, but no one told me who he is or where he is so maybe you can do that in your next email.

  I am tired and have to get up early so I’ll say goodbye, but I’ll write you a letter during my lunch break tomorrow. I promise.

  Missing Montana Friends,

  Matt

  Lane’s voice made her jump. Patience’s eyes flew to meet Lane’s. “What ?”

  “I said; it’s time for lunch. What are you do—” Lane saw the signature on Patience’s email and sighed. “I think you’re letting yourself get too worked up over a short visit. He’s a nice man, but he can’t be part of our lives.”

  Patience’s shoulders drooped. “I was trying to remember his voice. It sounded different—and he said things.”

  The sight of her name halted her reply. “Go wash up, I’ll close this down and be right there.”

  “But I want to read it again,” Patience protested with a tone that Lane knew too well.

  “Patience! That is enough. Your daddy would not be happy to hear you talk like that.” At the dejected look on Patience’s face, Lane relented. “Oh, all right, I’ll print this for you and bring it to the table. Now go wash up.”

  Patience skipped excitedly from the room—her own printed email! Lane found the print button and printed Patience’s email, but before she closed out the inbox, she opened another one.

  To: lane@argosyranch.com

  From: mattrushby@letterbox.net

  Subject: Sonnet 94

  Dear Lane,

  They are strange things, letters. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then I think letters are the attic, the place where treasured portions of the soul are stored to be shared only with those who will appreciate them at the right time. And, of course, there are the boxes of things that were just shoved there out of the way “for now” that weren’t meant to be important to anyone, but eventually became the most treasured things of all, albeit a bit random. I think your letters will be a mix of both, and I am glad to know you’ll write.

  Tad says you don’t usually use email, but I hope you’ll reconsider; snail mail takes so long, and I’d love to have a nice mixture to look forward to.

  As for Shakespeare, try sonnet 94. No one could complain that it is mushy.

  Ok, I’ll quit typing so you can see that my emails won’t be a burden and maybe you’ll keep reading them and will reply now and again.

  The Welding Shepherd,

  Matt

  Lane closed out the email and started to delete it, but something stopped her. Feeling foolish, she opened the email again and clicked “print.” She grabbed her email, folded it, and stuffed it in her back pocket. Patience’s printed email sat forgotten on the desk until Patience raced to get it after the meal.

  Six

  While half of the day crew enjoyed pizza at their favorite place around the corner, Matt sat at one of the long picnic tables near the back of the truck yard. He munched on a stale sandwich, took a swig of syrupy Coke, and wrote his letters to Lane and Patience.

  The guys had razzed him about his Montana girlfriend until he showed them a picture taken of him and Patience one night before they cleaned up after work. Both of them were covered in wool, sweaty, and grimy. Patience held rabbit ears over his head while he tickled her.

  Her letter charmed even the gruffest of the men, and the coarseness of the teasing ceased much to Matt’s relief. Something about the guys talking glibly about the Argosys bothered him. His new friends deserved better than that.

  He sealed the envelope and slapped a stamp on it just as the buzzer announced the start of the afternoon shift. Matt handed the letters to Fran, the matronly office dragon, on his way past her desk and asked her to send them out with the day’s mail. Soon, it’d be too warm to write outside, but for now, it was a great way to spend his lunch break.

  ~*~*~*~

  The keyboard keys clacked rapidly under Tad’s fingers. He wrote describing their delight with the Wheatley family and of a bobcat in the area that had killed three lambs that week. Patience’s hovering drove him nuts until eventually, Tad slid out of the chair and opened a fresh email for her.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: impatience@argosyranch.com

  Subject: Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

&nbs
p; Dear Matt,

  Email is fun. I love how fast it is. But I can’t send you gum over the Internet. I’m sorry.

  I have a new friend! We went to a store yesterday and there is a girl there. Her name is Megan and we’re best friends. They look like Brethren, but they don’t talk like them, and they talk to us, so I don’t know if they’re real Brethren or just pretending to be.

  Megan let me borrow her favorite book. It is called The Little Princess. So far, it’s really good, but kind of sad. It has stuff about India in it, and I want to go there. India sounds neat.

  Tad wants me to say bye so he can get back to the horses.

  Bye,

  Patience

  Lane heard Patience and Tad shut the front door behind them. Her parents, Levi, and Jude were in Spokane for the day. Feeling quite foolish, Lane raced for the computer and opened the inbox. She wanted to reply to Matt’s letter before anyone noticed and teased her about it. She’d avoided the Internet for this long, changing for a man would bring certain attention.

  To: mattrushby@letterbox.com

  From: lane@argosyranch.com

  Subject: Sonnets and Friends

  Matt,

  I got your email; thank you for writing. I prefer real mail, but email does have its charms. For instance, it’s faster. Then again, anticipation might be dulled. We’ll have to see. I read your 94th Sonnet. It reminds me of that song from the movie, Emma. (See, I’ve seen a few movies in the past few years!) You know, the line that says, “Stinks, rots, aahhhaaaahhhnd dies!” I think it is time for me to write a sonnet. Here is my first attempt.