The Pride of Howard County

by Kevin Bachman

  Chapter15

  A few days later, John was flying back to St. Louis. He was thinking about the promises he and his brother had made one another about staying in touch. He suspected they might for a month or two and then things would get back to normal. He felt guilty leaving his mother when she was so sad. And he felt guilty he was glad to leave. John reflected on his mother and father’s relationship. He realized he’d never be able to think of them as ordinary people. Two young people that had met and fallen in love, struggled through college, bought a house and raised a family. Somehow, they seemed to always be so solid and stoic and yet they surely had fears and doubts just like everyone does. He realized his parents were the one thing in this world he could always count on to be there. And they had done this for his sake, so he’d feel a sense of security. He wished he’d done things differently but now it was too late.

  John had talked much about the farm and promised his mother he’d make the arrangements for her to come for a visit. She’d said she wanted to meet this Gus.

  Gus was waiting for John at the airport in St. Louis and soon they were driving west on I-70 in the direction of Howard County. The two men small talked for a while. Gus asked John about his mother and how she was holding up throughout all of this. Eventually, the two farmers were talking about farming. John felt like a kid on Christmas as he could hardly wait toget back on the farm. He’d missed Muncie and Lucky, the smell of diesel, and the quiet evenings of crickets and shooting stars.

  When they pulled off the interstate onto the blacktop road and were heading north through the fields and pastures of Howard County John felt a profound sense that he was almost home at last.

  Freshly mowed hay was on the wind and John thought of Lucky as she always had her nose in the air as she rode in the back of the truck.

  It was cloudy and looked like it could rain but it never did. After a few miles of blacktop and only the sound of wind blowing in the windows of the truck Gus broke the silence.

  “Ya know, when my old man died I sat there looking at that bastard not knowing how to feel.”

  John stared straight ahead through the windshield. He could relate exactly to what his boss had just said.

  Gus continued, “One minute I wanted to kiss the old man and then the next minute I wanted to punch him in the mouth.” Then he added, “I guess I just had all kinds of mixed emotions.”

  John felt like he needed to say something but the words didn’t come.

  Gus continued, “John, I didn’t shed one single tear for that old man but by God I was sad when they put his ass in the ground.”

  John knew that Gus was reaching out to him, telling him it was okay to have mixed emotions about the death of a parent. He knew Gus knew enough about his relationship with his dad to know it wasn’t good and his death would be conflicted. His boss and friend were saying he had been through exactly the same thing and although he had always believed he hated his old man in the end he realized there was some love there too.

  “I didn’t know if I was capable of feeling anything, hell I was almost relieved when he died.” Gus paused and then almost as if he were talking to himself added, “At least his suffering in this world was over.” John looked over at Gus as he drove the last few hundred yards to the farm. Gus smiled a weak smile and then turned back to the road. John became aware of an unfamiliar emotion. This boss of his was more than just a boss, he was a friend, unlike any friend he’d ever had.

  That lopsided conversation came to an end as they pulled into the driveway and Lucky and Muncie came bounding out from under the porch. Gus added one final thing as he turned off the truck.

  “I guess when someone loses a parent they just gotta feel something.”

  John thought of the conversation he’d had with his brother at the bowling alley as he opened the truck door and said, “I reckon so.”

  At first light the old farmer and his young protégé were at last back to farming. John reveled in the black dirt beneath his boots; the air seemed to be clearer than ever. Muncie and Lucky shadowed him all day. The young farmer was pleased with how the crops were doing although the ground was beginning to get a little too dry. After all the rain back in the spring John couldn’t imagine ever wishing for rain but a little shower would be nice right about now. He reflected how life was always challenging one to be satisfied with what you have.

  The big diesel motor roared to life and soon John was cutting hay with his two sidekicks watching from the shade of a large cottonwood tree.

  Gus checked on a couple of cows that were nursing calves to make sure they weren’t showing any signs of mastitis. He went to the house and got on the computer and checked prices on commodities, made a phone call to a buyer about a sale pending on some calves. He called a supplier about the rising cost of grain for the horses and after letting the woman on the phone know he wasn’t happy, was satisfied when a few bucks were knocked off the price. The transmission was beginning to slip on his farm truck so he made an appointment to have that checked out. He felt a new truck was probably in his future but hopefully they could change the fluid and tighten the bands and with some luck that would take care of it.

  The heat was beginning to build in the afternoons and the crops were showing signs of wilting. Gus almost laughed out loud at the concern of his young farm hand about the dry weather. It was amusing to see someone else concerned about something they had no control over. John had worked so hard planting in between the spring rains he felt almost as if he had a personal attachment to each and every corn stalk, milo and bean plant. He had grown to know the farm on an intimate level, knew how much rain each individual field had gotten, he knew where the herds of deer were doing damage nipping the tender tops out of the soybeans. Although he himself had no interest in doing so he had no problem with the hunters who would show up asking for permission to hunt the deer when the season opened. Gus had instructed him to be very careful about whom he gave permission to hunt telling him stories about livestock gates left open and whiskey bottles lying about the farm after they’d hunted.

  It had been almost three weeks since any measurable rain had fallen when a dark cloud appeared on the horizon. Both Gus and John noticed it but neither allowed themselves to get too hopeful. They had seen dark clouds come and go. When the skies began to darken and the burning sun disappeared John said a little prayer. The rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance and lightning streaked across the sky. The wind picked up blowing waves of dust and the tips of the trees bowed back and forth. The two men instinctively headed for the barn when the first few drops of heavenly rain began to hit the parched earth. Gus’s timing had been better and he reached the barn first, by the time John got there the rain was coming down in sheets. The young farmer was whooping and hollering as he cleared the barn door with Muncie and Lucky bounding along behind him.

  Rainy days are also times when farmers take a break, drink coffee and talk. Muncie had found one of his old tennis balls that he used to entertained the men by demonstrating his outstanding retrieving abilities and had volunteered John to throw it for him. John was getting a kick out of throwing it out the door into the driving rain. Muncie, apparently oblivious to the fact he looked like a drowned rat was happy as he could be. Lucky went as far as the door a couple of times but evidently chasing balls in the rain wasn’t her thing.

  Gus put a pot of coffee on and when it was ready the two men sat drinking coffee on folding chairs just inside the barn door watching the sweet rain which had let up some but was still coming down beautifully.

  The rain had cooled the air and the coffee hit the spot. Neither man said anything until they were on their second cup. John broke the silence by saying, “I suppose those are your kids.”

  He’d seen the pictures of a young Gus and Grace with a little girl and boy on the wall in the hallway of the big farmhouse. By Gus’s reaction he sensed he’d asked about something that he may have just left alone.

  After a brief pause Gus
said, “Yes sir, those are my youngens.”

  Muncie appeared with the tennis ball and John threw it as far as he could into the rain and Muncie was gone. The older man cleared his throat, took a drink of coffee and began to tell John about Abigail.

  “She was a spittin image of her mother and she was such a sweet little girl, her mother’s pride and joy. John listened intently as he went on. “There was never a child who was loved more than Abby.” The old man paused as if he was thinking about something and then continued. “About the time she was in high school she began to change” Gus paused again and continued, “Like she became a whole different girl.”

  John could tell this was a difficult conversation for his friend, he said nothing just listened and threw the ball for Muncie.

  “At first we thought it was just normal teenage rebellion.”

  John got up to get some more coffee and held the pot in the air, Gus offered his cup and John poured. Gus continued, “She began drinking and doing drugs.”

  John shook his head and made a clicking sound with his lips. He’d heard this story before.

  The old farmer said, almost apologetically, “John, we didn’t know what to do, we talked with people at church, we took her to counselors, even had her admitted to a rehab center. Eventually, she was running away, the police would bring her home until one day she just disappeared and we never saw or heard from her again.”

  John was stunned and didn’t know what to say and after gathering himself said, “Gus I’m really sorry.”

  There was more silence, only the sound of falling rain and Muncie’s panting. Both men drank from their cups. Eventually John asked, “Do you have any ideas why?”

  Gus took a deep breath then took off his hat and ran his fingers through his grey hair and while replacing his hat said, “Maybe.”

  John did not want to push him; he would go on if he wanted to. The old farmer looked sad, looked at John, lowered his head and stared unto the cup of coffee he had cradled in his rugged hands.

  “When my boy, Luke was six years old, he and Abby were in the truck while I was backing out of the driveway. They were fightin, ya know like all kids do, when the door of the truck came open and little Luke fell out.” Gus paused to swallow hard; still staring into his coffee he then said, “I ran over him and killed him.”

  John couldn’t speak, he tried to think of something to say but there were no words. Only misty eyes, storm clouds and pain.