Fields of Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sis.”

  “Austin!” She settled back in the chair. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “That explains why I kept having the urge to call you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Work. I had a minute before a meeting.”

  “How’s Liana?”

  “That’s part of why I called.” His voice took on a jubilant note. “She’s going to have a baby! We just found out. I know we’ve only been married four months, but we’re not getting any younger, and we figured we’d better get started.”

  “Liana’s what, thirty? That’s not old.”

  “You were expecting your third by then, weren’t you?”

  Mercedes thought a moment. “I guess I was. Well, congratulations! And to think that last year I was beginning to fear I’d never be an aunt.”

  Her brother laughed. “It’s because of you and Wayne that I even dared try marriage. Thank you.” He was always doing this, calling her and thanking her. Usually for something she had done for him as a child when they lived under their father’s harsh rule. She had done her best to look after her little brother. Sometimes she’d been able to get it right.

  “Mercedes?” Austin asked when she didn’t reply. “Is everything okay?”

  She tried to swallow the impossible lump in her throat. “He’s back.”

  “Wayne? Let me talk to him for a moment. I want to be the one to tell him about the baby.”

  “Not him. Brandon Rhodes.”

  “Who is—oh, him.” Austin was silent a moment. “What does he want?”

  “Darrel.”

  “But how did he find out? Did you call him?”

  “Actually, your company sold some stuff to the hospital where he works in San Diego. He said he saw you there.”

  “I thought I knew that guy. Wait a minute, do you think he found out about Darrel from me? Mercedes, I would never . . . Oh, no.” His voice took on a tone of shock. “I remember telling the hospital administrator I had a nephew the same age as his son.”

  “Brandon overheard you.”

  “Oh, Mercedes. I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”

  “You couldn’t have known. He’s the one who shouldn’t have been listening. Or at the very least, he shouldn’t have come. For crying out loud, he had his chance thirteen years ago.”

  “I’ll make this right, Mercedes. I swear. Whatever you need. If this goes to court—”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. Frankly, our finances can’t handle it.”

  “I have savings. Look, I’m coming up there. I should have been more careful.”

  “Austin, it’s not your fault.” Mercedes almost wished she hadn’t told him, though a little part of her was happy that he was taking responsibility for his error, however unintended. “And you’ve already been up here way too much lately to help Wayne with the planting. We’re doing fine, really. I’m not sure where this is headed yet. If I need your help, I’ll call.”

  “Promise?”

  He knew she didn’t give promises lightly. Neither of them did. It was a part of the upbringing they’d shared. “Yes.”

  There was a brief pause before Austin asked. “So how are you holding up? I bet it’s weird seeing him again.”

  “Really weird. He’s still him, you know? I feel like we should . . . I know it’s crazy, but there’s a part of me that feels like Brandon never left, that we’re supposed to be together and that this life I have now is fake somehow. A lie.”

  Austin was silent a moment and then, “That’s absolutely not true, Mercedes, and if you think about it a minute, you’ll see that. You and Wayne and the boys—what you have is very special. Something every person in the world wants.”

  Tears leaked from Mercedes’ eyes. “But I should have told him then. I should have been truthful. I was so scared. I’ve regretted not telling him all these years, despite what Wayne and I have here. I’ll never know what might have happened.”

  “You made the choice you did, and you’ve been happy. Haven’t you? Remember Dad and how he had it all, but yet he kept looking so long and so far that he lost everything.”

  Austin’s words were sobering to Mercedes. Was she like her father, who couldn’t see the happiness that had stared him in the face? A growing farm, two healthy children, and a wife who’d loved him. None of it had been enough for her father. Her mother was just as bad, waiting for a man who would never change. Sacrificing her happiness and the welfare of her children to an alcoholic.

  Whenever Mercedes went back in time in her mind, she played out numerous scenarios that might have happened. But always the one where Brandon didn’t come back, when he told her he wasn’t ready to be a father, was most prominent. Yet with his reappearance, she’d begun to suspect her own motives. Maybe she’d been wrong.

  Or maybe she’d been right.

  She’d never know.

  The point was she’d made her choice and couldn’t go back. That was life. You could choose to do anything you wanted but not what happened afterward. The consequences, good or bad, were set, and sometimes, as in her case, there was no way of determining exactly what road you would be walking down once you took the first step. Marrying Wayne had been a good thing for her and for her family. In fact, it had been the only thing that had kept her alive. And they’d been very happy together. She clung to that knowledge.

  “You’re right,” she told her brother. “I’m just so scared of losing Darrel.”

  “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone. Remember that. You have Wayne and me and Liana and the boys. We’re a family, and family means a lot more than what blood runs through your veins.”

  “Thank you, Austin.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused. “Hey, did I ever thank you for sneaking dinner to me out in the barn the night Dad banned me from the house because I lent my horse to the neighbors?”

  “You did,” she said softly. “At least a hundred times.”

  When she hung up the phone, Mercedes was feeling slightly better. She turned off her computer and went to the kitchen to start lunch. The men would be coming back to the house soon, and she’d better be prepared—in more ways than one.

  Outside, it began to rain.

  Chapter 9

  Diary of Mercedes Walker

  September 3, 1994

  I love Brandon, but sometimes he’s so infuriating. We talk about the future, but we really have no plans. I feel . . . worried somehow. It’s like he wants us to act married without a real commitment. My girlfriends tell me that’s the eternal problem between men and women. We long for security—which to us means marriage and commitment—but men want . . . well, I don’t know exactly what they want. Brandon and I have talked about the family we might have someday, but it’s nothing tangible. Meanwhile, he is pushing for physical intimacy. But I’m not ready. Commitments like that should be lasting. I think I should focus more on my studies and less on Brandon. I am nearly finished with yet another two-year degree. I need to decide if I’m going on to a real university and become a psychologist. I’d hate to leave my new receptionist job, but it really doesn’t pay all that well.

  “So what do you want to be when you grow up?” Brandon asked. They’d spent the last hour planting wheat and were now heading back to the house for lunch.

  Darrel thought a moment. “I want to be a lot of things, but mostly I want to be a farmer like my dad.”

  Brandon tried to hide his surprise. He should have expected this; children often wanted to be like their parents at this age. Not like at sixteen when they generally wanted nothing to do with their parents. “Well, you might change your mind.”

  “That’s what Dad says.”

  “He’s right. It’s a big world out there. You can always come back to visit.”

  “That’s what Momma says. I can visit a lot like my uncle Austin.”

  Brandon looked away from Darrel’s intent stare, the dark eyes so like Mercedes’. Who was
he to tell Darrel he should leave the farm when he himself was wishing he’d been the one who stayed with Mercedes?

  Darrel scratched his head. “Do you know my uncle? He says there’s always a part of him here but that he just can’t live here all the time because there’s so much other interesting stuff out there. Sometimes I feel that way. Like I really want to go to space camp. I want to learn how to make a rocket ship, though I probably can’t learn that in only a week.”

  “I think space camp actually teaches more about being an astronaut.”

  Darrel’s eyes shone. “That’s way cool, too. I hope I get to go.”

  “I think you will.”

  “You never answered my question. Do you know my uncle? I mean, if you knew my mom, you probably knew him.”

  “I met him a few times. But that was a long time ago. I did see him a couple months ago in California at the hospital where I work. He was setting us up with some equipment. But we didn’t talk. I wasn’t really sure it was him.”

  “So how did you meet my mother?”

  “At the hospital. We ran into each other in the cafeteria. We . . .” Brandon knew he couldn’t go any further with the truth, so he finished lamely, “We became friends. A group of us hung out together.”

  “Momma says you came here to teach other doctors. That’s really cool. If I was a doctor, I’d want to invent new ways to do things and then teach them to others so we could save a lot of lives.”

  “You’ve thought about being a doctor?”

  Darrel nodded. “When my sister died. She was really sick, but nobody could help her.”

  Brandon was quiet as he absorbed this information. Mercedes had lost a child? He hadn’t realized that. Then he remembered the boys’ cryptic comments at dinner the other night, followed by Mercedes’ aloofness and Wayne’s abrupt ending of the conversation. That would explain everything. It also meant she would fight extra hard to keep Darrel. She wouldn’t want to lose him, too.

  Which was what I came to make happen—at least in the beginning. Brandon felt sick at the thought. “When did she die?”

  “Let’s see. I was nine, so it was about three years ago. She was only two. So little. It was her heart that was bad. Momma had to learn to start her heart again in case she had problems. They tried to fix it, but . . .” He shook his head, his face somber. “She was really cute. But after she died, Momma was . . . well, it was awful. I didn’t ever want to see her like that again. That’s why I thought about being a doctor. Maybe I still will. I’d do anything to make sure nobody else in our family dies. Momma doesn’t deserve that.” He turned his face away from Brandon to hide his emotion, then clicked his tongue, touched his heels to the horse’s sides, and galloped up to where Wayne was riding several yards ahead.

  “Brandon, they’re adorable. You should really be a baby doctor, not a heart doctor.” Mercedes stood in front of the window where the newborns slept peacefully under the care of soft-spoken nurses. One nurse was rocking a crying infant to sleep.

  “It’s a pediatrician, not a baby doctor.”

  “Oh, that’s so clinical! These are babies, for crying out loud.” She punched him playfully. “Next you’ll be telling me that a heart doctor is a cardiologist.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I want at least a half dozen children. I hope that’s all right with you.”

  “Well, you’re the one having them. But that’s not for years and years. I’m not ready to be a father yet.”

  The smile on her face faltered. He knew why. She was worried about the future. He wished he could tell her she didn’t have to worry. They’d spend some time apart, which he knew she’d hate, but he’d come back or send for her when everything was taken care of. He couldn’t take her with him right away, and he didn’t want to tell her why. The fact that a fianceé was waiting back home—well not a fianceé, really, but a girl his parents wanted him to marry—made things difficult. That her father was a prestigious doctor in the hospital where he wanted to work made things even worse. But Mercedes didn’t need to know any of that. He loved Mercedes, loved her more than anyone, and he’d make it right in the end.

  “When we do have children, I hope they look like you,” he whispered in her ear. Her smile returned, dazzling him with its brilliance.

  “I love you, Brandon.”

  “I love you, too.”

  When Brandon and the others arrived at the farmhouse, Mercedes had a hot lunch out on the table. Thick slabs of meat, homemade bread, mashed potatoes, and a fruit salad. “I’m out of lettuce,” she said apologetically. “I haven’t made it into town yet.”

  “This is great.” Wayne heaped his plate high.

  “Really great.” Brandon felt so hungry that the seed they’d been planting had started to look appetizing. On top of that, every muscle in his body ached with weariness. Maybe all this farm work would be good for Darrel as he grew into his height. No one would ever be able to accuse him of being a weakling.

  “This box was in the mail for you.” Mercedes set down a small priority mail package in front of Wayne.

  “It was me who got the mail,” Scott added importantly. “All by myself.”

  “That’s a long walk out to the highway,” Wayne said. “Thank you. But I hope you stayed away from the cars once you got there.”

  “I did.” Scott bounced in his chair to emphasize his point. “Well, actually, I only saw one car pass.”

  “Good job. I knew I could trust you.”

  “So what’s in the box?” Darrel asked. “Something for the tractor?”

  “Maybe shoes,” Scott guessed. “It’s about that size.”

  “You’ll see soon enough. It’s a surprise.” Wayne took the box and placed it under his seat, ignoring the curious stares of his wife and sons.

  “Daaaad,” whined Scott.

  Wayne grinned. “Later.”

  The guy knows how to drag out a mystery, Brandon thought. Or is he hiding something?

  “Hey, we’re going swimming in a minute.” Joseph had been washing his hands in the kitchen, but now he practically exploded outside, landing on a chair at the table. “The rain’s almost all dried up on the grass. And can Darrel come, or is he going out to plant again?”

  “I think he has time for a swim.” Wayne’s eyes shifted to Brandon. “I think we all do.”

  Brandon was relieved. He couldn’t imagine going out to the field immediately after lunch, though he knew Wayne could do so easily.

  “And then, Joseph,” Wayne continued, “I think you can come help us plant while Momma goes into town with Scott.”

  Joseph bristled with importance until he realized that Scott was actually getting the better end of the deal. “But, Dad,” he complained.

  “Would you rather we go out to plant right after lunch instead?” Wayne’s tone brooked no nonsense.

  “There’ll be plenty of Saturdays with nothing to do this summer.” Mercedes set her hand on Joseph’s shoulders. “And other days, too. The planting will be over next week.”

  “Yeah, but then there’s harvesting.” Darrel’s eyes gleamed with the joy of teasing his brother.

  “Oh?” Brandon asked, interested in what his son would be doing—had been doing for all these years. “What comes first?”

  “Alfalfa begins in June,” Darrel said. “Then comes the winter wheat in July and the spring wheat in August. After that, it’s sugar beets in late September. We finish with the alfalfa again in October.”

  “And the grain corn’s in October too,” Wayne added. “Or thereabouts. All of it depends on the conditions and how much water we get.”

  Brandon was impressed. “Sounds like a busy summer.”

  “Good thing we get lots of light.” Darrel shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth.

  “And we have our fun.” Mercedes’ eyes met Brandon’s.

  He could tell she was worried at what he might be thinking. Something in the way her brow creased. But he thought harvesting was likely better for a chil
d than hours of video games, movies, and hanging out with friends while their parents were at work. “I’m sure you do.”

  After the meal, the adults followed the boys, now clad in old cutoffs, as they set out toward the river. “They should probably wait half an hour,” Brandon said. “After eating, that is. Could get a cramp.” His voice trailed off, and he wished he hadn’t spoken. He bet none of these boys ever had a cramp in their lives.

  Wayne smiled more lopsidedly than before. “Don’t worry. It’s a good fifteen-minute walk, and they finished eating ten minutes ago. By the time we get there, the food’ll be as good as gone.”

  “And they’ll be starving again,” Mercedes added.

  “I’m starving right now,” Joseph said.

  “Tag, you’re it!” Darrel touched Joseph on the shoulder, and they were off, bounding nimbly over the stalks of alfalfa as though their feet instinctively knew where to land without damaging the plants.

  “I’m thinking of keeping Darrel home from school on Monday and Tuesday to finish the planting,” Wayne said to Brandon. “If you’d like to come help, you’d be welcome.”

  Brandon wondered if he really needed the boy’s help or if he was taking him out only for Brandon’s sake. “Can he just miss school like that?”

  “He’s far ahead in most subjects,” Mercedes answered, switching the large black plastic bag she carried from one arm to the other. “A day or two will make no difference.”

  Brandon didn’t need to think twice. “I’ll be here.” He had a sneaking suspicion he was being used, but he didn’t blame them. He wanted to see his son, and they needed help planting. Although if the truth be told, he doubted he was even as much help as Darrel.

  At the river stood the giant, ancient oak tree Brandon remembered from his few visits there with Mercedes. The tree’s best feature was the large flat branch, ten feet high and more than a foot and a half in width, that ran parallel to the water and could seat at least ten children side by side. Children and adults alike would leap from the branch, holding onto a rope hung from above, and fly out over the river, finally letting go to plunge into the water. Years earlier, Mercedes and her brother had dammed up the river with rocks to make the swimming hole deeper. It was a child’s paradise, and it looked good to Brandon as well, with his aching muscles—until he dipped in a hand and felt how cold it was. These farm children must have skin made of whale blubber, he thought, as he settled down on the grass. No way am I going in there.