Against the Grain

by Phil M. Williams

  “So you’re innocent?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I? Damn, boy, listen up. Now I got them lawyers at Amnesty Philadelphia. They don’t take cases for anybody. Gotta be innocent, or they won’t touch you.”

  “I’m not buyin’ it.”

  “Ain’t nuthin’ to buy. It’s just what is.”

  “They found your semen. Are you saying they somehow took semen from you and put it inside these women, and they all went along with it?”

  “Don’t know how they done it, but they done it.”

  “I’ll be calling Amnesty Philadelphia to let them know they’re wasting their time.”

  Matt starts to hang up the phone. He hears, “Wait, wait, little slug—”

  Matt puts the phone back to his ear. “What did you call me?”

  “Little slugger. … Ain’t nuthin’ bad.”

  Matt slams the phone on the receiver, shoots out of his chair, and bolts for the exit. Ms. Pierce fast-walks behind him.

  “Hold on,” Officer Reeves says, as Matt blows past him.

  Reeves jogs down the hall, past Ms. Pierce, catching up to Matt. He grabs Matt’s upper arm.

  “Let go of him right now,” Ms. Pierce says. “You will not touch him.”

  Officer Reeves blushes and releases his grip. Matt stares ahead, blank-faced.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I just need you guys to sign out. I could get into trouble if you don’t.”

  “Oh, … sorry,” Ms. Pierce says.

  They sign and date the sign-out sheet. Officer Reeves leads them to the exit. Outside, in the fresh air, Matt puts his hands on his knees, sucking in oxygen. Ms. Pierce rubs his upper back. Matt stands, his eyes glassy. He closes his eyes, and tears drip down his cheeks. Ms. Pierce reaches forward, holding him. A mother and two small children walk by.

  “Why is that man sad?” the young girl asks.

  “Because this place is sad,” the mother says.

  Matt pulls back; Ms. Pierce lets go.

  “I remember him,” Matt says. “He was the one …”

  “What do you mean, the one?”

  “Campbell didn’t kill my mother. My father did.”

  [ 25 ]

  Take a Chance

  Matt presses in the clutch and shifts into third gear, the dirt road spewing dust behind them, with wind whipping through the cab of the old Ford pickup truck. Endless rows of ankle-length corn seedlings wave in the breeze. He places his hand in the wind, letting his fingers play with the pressure. He glances across the bench seat. His mother leans against a young-looking man with an athletic build, dark wavy hair, and a trimmed beard. Their fingers are intertwined.

  “I thought the honeymoon was over,” Matt says with a grin. “You two are worse than a couple of teenagers.”

  Olivia Pierce turns to Matt with a smile. “You’re still a teenager.”

  Matt smirks. “I guess, technically, but only for a few more months.”

  He stops his truck, at the end of the road, parking behind Mr. Clemens’s dusty old pickup. The old man stands in a straw hat, suspenders, and his mustache-free white beard. Matt hops out of his truck and greets Mr. Clemens with a strong handshake. Derrick and Olivia step from the truck.

  Mr. Clemens tips his cap. “How was that honeymoon?”

  “It flew by,” Derrick says.

  “It’s so nice to see you, Elam,” Olivia says, giving the old man a hug. “I’m really sorry about Doris.”

  He steps back and waves his hand. “It was a long time comin’. I’m lookin’ to join her soon. I guess God has a few loose ends for me to tie up before I do. Speakin’ of loose ends, you wanna walk the property awhile?”

  They walk the hundred-acre cornfield. Mr. Clemens points out boundaries and features.

  “This road you came in on is an easement,” the old man says, “so you’ll always have access by truck.”

  They walk down the road to the edge of the property, then across the cornfield to the top of the hill, adjacent a two-lane highway. Cars and trucks motor by.

  “And you have six hundred feet of good road frontage. I know Matt’s been wantin’ to put up a market.” Mr. Clemens smiles at Matt. “He tried to convince me to do it, but I’m too damn old. A new business is a young man’s game. I think he’s right though. This would be a good spot for it.”

  They walk down the hill.

  “It’s a south-facing hill too,” Matt says. “Perfect for growing fruit trees or anything else that likes the sun.”

  They stop in front of Mr. Clemens’s truck.

  Mr. Clemens looks at Matt. “Son, it would make me mighty happy to see you buy this land. The goin’ rate these days for ag land that can’t be subdivided is twelve thousand an acre. This tract is 104 acres. We’ll call it a hundred for the sake of argument.”

  “One point two million,” Matt says.

  Derrick lets out a low whistle.

  “There’s just no way,” Olivia says.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Clemens says. “I’ll sell you this tract for eight thousand an acre.”

  Matt smiles.

  “If it weren’t for my damn kids, I’d give you the land. They’ve been bankin’ on this payday for thirty years.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clemens. Can I get back to you tomorrow?” Matt extends his hand.

  Mr. Clemens shakes it. “You’re a hard worker, you know that? I got four boys, and not one of ’em put in a hard day’s work here. You’ve done it every weekend and holiday for two and a half years, without a single complaint.”

  They wave good-bye as Mr. Clemens drives away in his truck.

  Olivia turns to Matt. “Eight hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, and I didn’t want to be rude to Mr. Clemens, but it doesn’t look like much. I mean, there’s nothing here. There’s no barn or house or even any trees.”

  “I’m sorry, Matt, but I’m inclined to agree,” Derrick says.

  “You guys aren’t seeing the potential,” Matt says. “We’d get tons of customers, just having the market along the road. And we could put in swales and productive trees and shrubs to heal the land from all the abuse it’s taken over the years. We could run livestock between the swales. At least three places would make good, cheap valley dam sites, where we could have fish and water plants. We could put in a native wildflower meadow and raise bees for honey and wax.”

  “That infrastructure sounds expensive,” Derrick says. “I mean, you’d have to build a market, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t those trees take a while to produce?”

  “We don’t have to do everything right away. We can grow annuals for cash flow to build the farm.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “About two hundred thousand for the down payment, plus infrastructure, equipment, and seed money.”

  Olivia frowns. “I don’t have that kind of money. I have maybe ten thousand in savings and, if I liquidate my retirement, maybe another forty.”

  “I have about twenty thousand saved,” Derrick says. “You can have it.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Matt says. “I’m not asking you to give me any money. I’m asking you to be my partners in this business.”

  “Honey, I don’t know anything about farming,” Olivia says.

  “Neither do I,” Derrick says.

  “I could teach you,” Matt says.

  “We still don’t have near enough money,” Olivia says, “and I already have a job.”

  “But we do. I’ve saved almost $150,000 over the past three years.”

  Olivia’s and Derrick’s mouths hang open.

  “How?” Olivia asks.

  “I’ve been living with you rent-free. I work eighty hours a week, and I don’t buy anything.”

  Derrick shakes his head with a grin. “Unbelievable.”

  “I still have my job,” Olivia says.

  “Keep your job,” Matt says. “I’ll build the farm. You can help on weekends and in the summer, if you want. I can’t get the
loan without you. You have the type of steady job that banks like. And, if it doesn’t work out, we can sell the land, and you can have your money back plus 10 percent interest. Either way you win.”

  “I don’t care about winning,” Olivia says. “How about I cosign and lend you the money? And you pay me back when you can?”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Matt says. “If you loan me money, I’ll make you a partner based on how much money you invest. If you want me to buy you out when I have the money, I’ll do that with interest.”

  “I’m in,” Derrick says with a grin.

  Olivia’s eyes widen. “What about your job?”

  “I hate my job. Seriously, Liv, what are we doing with our lives? Didn’t you say that you didn’t want to be a part of state-run education anymore?”

  “I know, but my state job pays the bills. Plus we need it to get the loan initially.”

  “How many twenty-year-olds do you know who’ve saved 150K in three years? I wanna do something good. What could be better than feeding people healthy food? This farm is gonna be successful, and I’d like to be part of it.”

  Olivia smiles at Matt. “It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not work if you love it.”

  [ 26 ]

  Abundance

  Matt picks up a handful of subsoil from the mountainous pile in front of an equally cavernous hole. He takes the soil in his hands and makes a baseball. He squeezes it. The ball holds its form but does not shed any water. He rubs the ball back and forth between his hands, creating a snake. Two young men stare at him, one bearded and burly, the other skinny and baby-faced. A massive loader and a twenty-ton tracked excavator loom large in the background.

  “This seam is mostly clay, and the moisture content is right,” Matt says. “If we don’t leave it out too long, it’ll compact and seal nicely.”

  “Can we start buildin’ the wall with this clay?” the bearded man asks.

  “This clay is good for the dam wall, but we gotta have a keyway, or the wall could fail. I’d like for you to dig down six feet, then compact the layers six inches at a time. We should end up with a wall height just below where the state would get involved, seven feet from the original grade. Give me a call on the radio, if you run into any problems.”

  Matt sits down on the driver’s side of the repurposed electric golf cart with knobby tires, a small cargo bed, and bamboo sides. He drives along the graveled access track away from the future fish pond. As he continues, the property is more developed. Long open ditches snake across the hill, forming wavy contour lines with berms in front. The swales overflow into the occasional fish pond. Mostly fruit and nut trees grow on the berms, with large-leaf comfrey, berries, and nitrogen-fixing shrubs in the understory. Behind are nitrogen-fixing trees, such as black locust and mimosa, to provide fertility and nectar for the bees. In the pasture between the swales, chickens and cattle graze behind electric fencing.

  He stops next to a long narrow structure with a metal roof, similar to an open carport, except its six hundred feet long and only ten feet deep. Lattice windbreaks are fastened to the north side to shield the inhabitants from cold northerly winds. Matt walks toward the structure. He hears the collective hum of busy bees. A hundred Warre beehives sit facing southeast. The hives are protected from wind, rain, and snow.

  Matt kneels next to the entrance of a hive. He watches the bees coming and going, like an overcrowded airport runway. He sees them land gracefully on the platform, with orange pollen attached to their legs. A honeybee lands on his finger. He watches the bee search for nectar, then take flight. He gazes down the line of hives that appear endless from his vantage point. He scans the natural beauty of the trees, shrubs, vines, herbs, weeds, and flowers that bloom every color in the spectrum. He smiles to himself as he thinks of the short five years it’s taken to turn a degraded corn and soy field into natural abundance.

  He hops back on the golf cart and continues up the path. Near the top of the property, a colossal bamboo grove provides a windbreak, building materials, and food from the new shoots. The giant canes stand fifty feet tall, with thick trunks. Two men hack with machetes at the base of a couple of canes. An older man saws small limbs off the harvested stalks. A green Ford F-350, with faded vinyl lettering on the doors that reads Reggie’s Tree Service, is loaded down with canes. Matt approaches.

  “How are you doing, Reggie?” Matt asks.

  “Matthew, my man, we got ourselves quite a harvest comin’.” Reggie looks up from his saw and grins, exposing two toothless holes. “You sure we ain’t cut too much?”

  “We’re good. It’ll grow back in no time.”

  Matt continues on the path to the expansive wooden building along the main road. The quiet sounds of the farm ecosystem begin to merge with the street sounds of the outside world. A handful of workers harvest produce from the terrace garden behind the building. They carry willow baskets, overflowing with vegetables, fruits, and herbs. He parks the electric cart and strides to the front of the single-story building.

  The gravel parking lot is full, with a few cars double-parked and three cars in the wildflower meadow. He glances up at the sign—Moyer & Pierce Natural Foods. He steps inside the market. Customers bustle about, pushing bamboo carts filled with produce or filling up willow baskets. He scans the shelves, taking note of inventory and the varying popularity of the products. Honeycomb, gooseberries, eggs, fish, crystal apple cucumbers, and purple asparagus are running low.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Matt turns to see an elderly woman. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

  “My friend told me that you have these little green things that are like kiwi, except it doesn’t have that fuzzy brown stuff I don’t like. She said that they are so sweet, but I can’t find ’em.”

  “I agree with your friend. Those are really sweet. The fruit is the Hardy Arctic Kiwi, and unfortunately they don’t store too well, so we only have them in the fall for a month. If you check back in October, we’ll be overflowing with them.”

  “Thank you so much, young man. Please tell your boss that I just love this place. Everyone here is so knowledgeable, and the food is so unique and wonderful. You know, I haven’t seen gooseberries since I was a little girl.”

  “I really appreciate that, ma’am. I’ll pass that along.”

  Matt strides toward the counter. A hanging bamboo sign overhead reads Fresh-Cut Herbs. An attractive young woman—with wavy brown hair, a round face, khaki pants, and a green polo shirt embroidered with Pierce & Moyer—explains the fresh-cut herb service to a pregnant woman.

  “These are the pictures of everything that’s in season, and their uses are underneath. Here’s the form. You just check off what you want and the amount, and one of the girls will pick it for you, while you finish shopping. It usually only takes ten minutes, depending on how much you need. This gives you the freshest herbs possible.”

  “Thank you,” the pregnant woman says, as she hands over her order.

  Matt walks over to the attractive woman. “How are we doing on the herbs, Madison?” he asks.

  “The plants are holding up. Thankfully they grow as fast as we cut ’em. I think we should plant more rosemary and basil. They’re the most popular.”

  “This was a fantastic idea, by the way.”

  Madison smiles, her lips pink.

  “Did you hear from Tariq last night?”

  “I did.” She places her left hand over her heart, exposing her wedding band. “I was really freaking out. It had been almost a week. He was in a remote area outside of Fallujah. He didn’t have Internet service. He’s fine. He said he got a lot of footage. I just really miss him, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. How’s Ryan?”

  Madison smirks. “It’s nice having him home from college, especially with Tariq gone, but it’s also really annoying. He’s so messy. By the way, he wants to work here this summer. Do we have anything he can do?”

  “He can help custo
mers, stock shelves, work the register. We’re a little shorthanded inside, with Olivia out of commission.”

  “He said he wanted to work outside, get a tan.”

  “I love Ryan, but I don’t think he’d last long out in the field. Video games don’t exactly prepare you for that. The guys outside work hard. They’re not gonna be happy, if Ryan can’t pull his weight. They’ll think I’m playing favorites.”

  “You’re right. It’d be a disaster. I’ll break the news gently. He’ll be happy to be in here anyway. The customers will love him. By the way, Derrick was looking for you. He’s in his office.”

  “Thanks.”

  Matt strides past the raw milk and cheeses, and the sprouted breads to the back of the store. He opens a door that leads down a corridor. He passes the bathrooms, and stops at an office door with a placard that reads Derrick Pierce, General Manager. Matt taps on the door.

  “Come in,” Derrick says.

  Matt opens the door. Derrick sits behind a computer. He looks like a lumberjack with dark wavy hair, a trimmed beard, and an athletic build. Derrick looks up, his brow furrowed.

  “I was calling you,” Derrick says.

  Matt feels his belt. “I’m sorry. I left my radio on the cart. What’s wrong? You look stressed.”

  “It’s George. He keeps sending all these orders from the road, and this website he set up is blowing up. Who knew people would want to order our honey from all over the country?”

  “That sounds like a good problem.”

  “Come take a look at the orders from the last few weeks.”

  Matt walks to the computer screen and looks over Derrick’s shoulder. “Whoa.”

  “Exactly. At this rate we’ll be out of honey by next month. And we can’t harvest more until next spring.”

  “The hives are actually doing better than I thought they would with the shelters and all the bee forage. I think we can do another harvest, as long as it’s soon. Also we need to build more shelters, because the bees keep swarming, and I’m running out of space for new hives.”