His Town
Page 8
I grabbed an armful of ears of corn and got to work, sitting on the only other chair on the porch and pulling the green, grass-smelling shucks off of the first ear.
“So, how are things going here?” I started pulling silk from the ear of corn in my hands, hoping—in a slightly cringing way—for a negative answer. If the Moores weren’t doing too well with raising geese, they’d be more likely to sell their property to us. Of course, that would mean that they would end up moving, but they could get one of the handful of apartments in town and make a go of some other business. With the new company moving into town, they could do well.
“We’re looking for some new markets for the geese,” Tracy said. “Beyond restaurants, which is who we’ve been selling to for most of the time we’ve been raising the birds.” She went on for a little while, explaining how the business went, and I nodded along, being a good listener. It was actually interesting to see how the different people in Mustang Ridge made ends meet, especially as farming became less of an option. I could only hope—and I really did believe—that bringing new business into the town would help everyone.
“Obviously things are going pretty well,” I observed.
Tracy shrugged, reaching for another ear of corn. “The price to keep the birds is going up—and geese aren’t always an easy sell, since they’re a premium meat.”
“Then, what do you think about maybe selling some of the land to us, get a new boost in capital?”
Tracy looked at me for a moment. “You know there are some folks in town who don’t think it’s a great idea,” she told me. “Rhett Baxter among them.”
“I do know that,” I admitted.
“Rhett seems to think that if there’s a big company in town, it’ll push a lot of the smaller businesses out,” Tracy said, and her voice was as level as the top of a master carpenter’s table.
“That’s a possibility, but another possibility is that it’ll bring new people, new business into the town,” I countered, keeping my voice just as neutral. “I really think that in the long run, having a big-name business will bring a lot more to Mustang Ridge than it takes away.”
“That’s what some other folks are saying, too,” Tracy said. “And I have to admit the money would be handy while Greg and I look for new markets. But I don’t know. Rhett’s sort of special to us here—you know why, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Local boy who made good, right?”
“It’s more than that,” she said with a smile. “He’s always been ready to lend a hand to anyone—whether it was helping the Kings with their barn last summer, or what he’s doing over at the Nolans’ right now. He just sort of jumps in whenever it’s needed, you know?”
“Why isn’t he mayor of the town, then?” I tried to keep the venom out of my voice but I wasn’t sure how much I succeeded.
“Not his style,” Tracy said, grinning. “He’s one of those who likes to help folks—not one of those who wants to lead, necessarily. He believes in the community.”
“That’s a good guy to have around,” I agreed. “I can see why he’s so well-loved.”
“Ask anyone in town,” Tracy said. “He’s always been that way—even as a kid.”
I said that I would think about it, and stayed to shuck a few more ears of corn before making my exit.
I was supposed to go and see the Nolans. Part of me wanted to dodge them, knowing that Rhett was there, but another part of me wanted to see him again, even if it was just in passing. I called my dad to tell him about the talk I’d had with Tracy, leaving out what she’d told me about Rhett being a town hero not just because of his prestige but because of who he was.
“I’m going to the Nolans’ now, but I’m going to have to tread carefully,” I said, as I stopped near the big farmstead.
“Why?” I could picture my Dad, sitting at his desk with lunch in front of him, confused.
“Rhett’s helping them, apparently, along with Greg Moore,” I explained.
“Probably just trying to take every chance he can to talk them out of selling,” Dad said dismissively.
I didn’t think a guy like Rhett could have the reputation he did if it were a new thing, helping people. But I didn’t say anything like that.
“I’m going to just have to be a bit careful about the topic,” I said. “Last thing I want to do is set up an insiders-versus-outsiders situation, you know?”
“That does make sense,” Dad agreed. “I trust your judgment.”
I finished the call and drove onto the Nolans’ driveway, taking a deep breath to push any sense of nervousness I felt about seeing Rhett again out of my mind. I saw Rhett’s truck and figured he must have been Greg’s ride to the older couple’s farm.
I got out and looked around, trying to think of how I could either talk to Violet Nolan or John Nolan. John, I thought, would be out in the fields with Rhett and Greg and whoever else was with them, but Violet was probably in the house.
I walked up to the house and took another quick, deep breath before knocking on the front door. There was no reason to be nervous, was there? I heard some movement from inside of the house, and farther away the roar of machinery, downwind of where I stood. For a moment I thought about the half-day I’d spent with Rhett on his farm, working at his side. I could see—in a certain respect—the beauty of such a simple kind of life.
“Oh, hello,” Violet said, opening the door. “I wasn’t expecting you, hon.”
“I’m just doing the rounds, and thought I’d come and say hi,” I said, smiling at her.
She was maybe two inches taller than me, and stout, with graying hair that she hadn’t bothered to try and cover and the kind of heavy breasts that looked like a big wave under her shapeless dress and apron. She’d started getting smile wrinkles around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. It was easy for me to see that she was overall a good kind of person.
“I was just finishing up a big thing of lemonade for the boys, if you want to come into the kitchen with me,” Violet said.
I followed her into the house. “Oh yeah—I heard from Tracy Moore that Rhett and Greg were over to help you.”
“Is Tracy thinking of selling? I hadn’t heard anything from Greg,” Violet said, going back to making lemonade.
I jumped in to help her, pouring water from a pitcher into the big dispenser-cooler that she was filling up. She squeezed lemons and poured sugar into another pitcher, and dissolved the two together before adding them to the water in the dispenser.
Then there was just the job of adding about a pound or two of ice to the same container, and by the time we were done—to my horror—the men were headed back to the house for a work break. John Nolan was talking to Rhett about something, and Rhett looked over at the house as they approached. As his gaze locked on me, I saw his eyes widen, but he didn’t lose his composure other than that.
“John—Emily’s here to chat with us again,” Violet said, as I set down the dispenser full of lemonade. She put down a big basket of sandwiches. “How’s the day going?”
“Not bad,” John said. “Rhett and I were just talking about Emily here, about how she’s working to buy up about half of Mustang Ridge.” John Nolan—a few years older than his wife, with much grayer hair and a lot more wrinkles on his weathered, tanned face—smiled at me to show he wasn’t offended at my activities. Greg Moore and Ben Kinsman, two men I’d been speaking to as well, kept quiet.
“I figured while I was here I could lend Violet a hand with the lemonade,” I said, keeping my voice cheerful.
The men helped themselves to lemonade, and I had a glass as well, just for the sake of being a good guest. I’d soon take my leave because there wasn’t any point in talking to the Nolans with Rhett here.
As soon as was polite, I said my goodbyes and let myself out.
Rhett followed me out to my car, which surprised me.
“It’s nice of you to help them out, to get other people to help them too,” I said, leaning against the front end.
“Their kids abandoned them? That seems harsh,” I observed.
“No. Their kids both died a couple of years ago,” Rhett said. “Car accident, heading here for Thanksgiving.”
I cringed, looking in the direction of the house. Then a thought occurred to me. “If they can’t hack it on their own anymore, who are you to tell them they shouldn’t sell?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Shouldn’t they be able to live out the rest of their lives in some comfort, instead of back-breaking work?”
“They should be able to work until they don’t want to anymore,” Rhett said. “And then—and only then—they should sell if they want to sell.”
“They’d never be able to get the kind of money they need from an individual buyer,” I countered. “Someone looking to buy their land for farming isn’t going to be able to pay as much as my dad and me.”
“But someone who buys the land for farming isn’t going to destroy the community,” Rhett said. “They aren’t going to bulldoze over the farm and build over it.”
“So what if they build over it? Farming isn’t going to leave completely—you’ve seen to that,” I said tartly.
“Then when the business gets bigger, it pushes more of us out,” Rhett pointed out. “Until I can’t help but get rid of my Dad’s farm—lose everything that I’ve worked so hard to keep, lose the last connection I have to him.”
“I’ve looked at the plans,” I said, a little shaken by his conviction. “The company that’s coming in isn’t going to destroy the town. They’re just going to build things up a bit. They have no interest in expanding.”
That wasn’t technically true—or at least, I couldn’t make guarantees that the company we were bringing into the town was never going to want to expand. But from the plans I’d seen, we didn’t need that many people to sell to us, and there was no point in the company expanding for at least several years—if at all.
“I’ve seen this play out other places,” Rhett said, shaking his head. “And besides, you’ve lied to me before. Why should I trust you now?”
I thought about that question for a long moment.
“Meet with my dad,” I said. “Talk to him. Get to know him a bit. Ask him any questions you want.”
“What’s that going to accomplish?”
“You think you can take people’s measure, I assume,” I pointed out. “Ask my dad what you want to know, and if you still want to fight against this, then you can. But if you want the real deal on what’s going on, he has no reason to lie to you.” That was—as far as I could tell—the actual truth. I wouldn’t for a second trust Jacob with Rhett, but my father could talk to him. My father could convince him that, even if we weren’t altruists, we also weren’t out to destroy the town.
“Fine,” Rhett said. “I’ll talk to him. Set it up.”
He turned and went back toward the house.
I stood up straight, found my keys to unlock my car, and tried to figure out how to set up the meeting that I hoped would smooth the way and make peace between Rhett and my father.
Chapter Twelve
Rhett
When Emily pulled up to the house, I could see her father in the passenger seat. I thought about the impression that I’d gotten of him the first time that I’d encountered him. I still wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to this meeting, but something about how earnest Emily had been, and how obviously she’d wanted it to happen, had sold me on the idea. If there was going to be any kind of truce, if a truce was even possible, it was going to have to be between me and the guy who was actually in charge: Emily’s father, Martin Lewis.
He got out of her car and I had to stifle a groan. He was in the kind of clothes that I was sure he thought would help him blend in, but there was just something about the way that he wore them that looked fake. He wore dungarees and a work shirt, but they were spotlessly clean—he must have bought them the day before, or maybe even on the way out to Mustang Ridge—along with a pair of boots that looked fairly well-worn, but still the kind of thing that a guy would spend a lot of money on.
I came out of the house to meet them on the driveway, and extended my hand to the man as Emily made introductions.
“This is Rhett, Daddy,” she said. “Rhett, this is my father, Martin Lewis.”
“Good to finally meet you officially, Mr. Lewis,” I said, shaking his hand. I had to admit that Martin Lewis had a good handshake: firm, dry, but not crushing. A businessman’s handshake, like the dean of the school at Notre Dame had, and the guy who’d signed me to my first year at the NFL.
“Good to meet you too, Mr. Baxter,” Emily’s father said.
“Please call me Rhett,” I insisted, as politely as I could. “Everyone around here does, and I’m still not used to ‘Mr. Baxter’ being anyone but my Dad.”
He smiled. “Then you call me Martin, how about that?”
I took my hand back from him as politely as I could and nodded.
“I think I can do that,” I said. My impression of him still wasn’t exactly good, but I could see he was making an effort to be personable.
“Emily, good to see you again,” my mother said, coming out onto the porch.
“Actually, I was just about to leave—I’ve got work that needs doing,” Emily said apologetically.
“Surely you can stay for a cup of coffee?”
Emily looked at her father, and I saw the old man looked relieved at the invitation.
“I think we could all use a cup of coffee,” I said. “Get to talking a bit.”
We went inside, and my mom served up coffee and cookies she’d made the night before.
“You know, this is not that different from the house I grew up in,” Martin said, looking around. “My mother had a stove just like that one.”
“This old thing?” Mom laughed, and I looked in her direction a little sharply. She’d only ever taken that tone—flirty, a little bit—with my father, and hearing it come out in the presence of Emily’s dad made me uncomfortable. “I used to hate it, to tell you the truth. But after working on it and with it for thirty-some years, I can’t imagine using any of those newer models.”
“Probably just glad it isn’t wood-burning, right?” Martin gave my mom a little grin and I saw that Emily didn’t look any more comfortable about the flirting between our parents than I felt.
“Oh lord—I stayed with one of the older families a while back while Rhett was in college, just kind of helping out around the house. They were super old-school, and of course their stove was wood-fired.” Mom shook her head. “In this day and age! Can you believe it?”
I watched my mom and Emily’s dad talking to each other, and after a minute or two I sort of lost my sense of being uncomfortable about the fact that they were flirting. It was something I’d seen in town. Even people who didn’t have any actual romantic interest in each other tended to flirt as a sort of way to grease the wheels, like being polite.
I hated to admit it, but it actually gave me a better impression of Martin Lewis. Watching him interact with my mom, hearing him talk about the house he’d grown up in, told me he’d grown up not all that differently from me. Maybe he hadn’t had farmers for parents, but not far off from it. Maybe they’d been ranchers, or at least they might have run one of those tourist ranches.
“I have an idea,” I said, cutting in when there was an opening. “Why don’t you spend the day out here? Do some good old-fashioned hard work, see how you feel about the town?”
“I don’t know if I’m in shape for that, Rhett,” Martin said, shaking his head.
“What I have to do today, well, it’s not much more strenuous than a day of golf,” I said. “Emily, back me up.”
“Well you worked me pretty hard,” Emily said. “But I think you’re up for it, Dad. In fact, I think it’d be good for you to spend a day working like an honest Joe.”
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p; “You’re hanging around town, right?” he asked.
Emily nodded. “I’m supposed to be making rounds again,” she said. “Seeing about what we can offer people, what price they’re looking for to sell.” She looked at me.
“I won’t get in your way,” I told her cheerfully. “Not today, at least.”
She gave a huff of impatience, but then turned to Mom. “These cookies are wonderful, Mrs. Baxter. But if I eat any more of them, I’m not going to be able to move.”
Mom laughed and got up from the table, and that seemed to be the cue for Emily to go as well.
“So, what do you say, Martin? Willing to spend a day as a small-town farmer?” Mom asked.
Martin looked from me to his daughter, to my mom and then back to me.
I added, “Or are you too far away from your roots to put in an honest day’s work?”
It was just on the edge of almost being rude, but I was pretty sure I could get away with it. I was right.
“Well if you put it that way, I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Emily’s dad grinned. “I’ll work with you for the day, get a real feel for how things are around here.”
“And I’ll come and get you at the end of the day,” Emily said.
I took stock of what I needed to do and crossed a few things off of my mental list; there was no way I was going to put Martin Baxter through a real day on the farm, but I wanted to give him the full experience—sort of, in a way, reconnect him with what I thought his roots might be.
We headed toward the fields, and waved goodbye to Emily and my mom.
I turned to Martin. “We’re going to check the traps, see if any of the fence needs mending, and then head into town for some errands.”
His brand-new work clothes were going to get dirty—that much I was sure I wanted to see happen.
I showed him the path through the fields, and we went through the rows, checking the traps I’d laid for the different creatures that might come to try and eat my crops.
“Emily and I did this when she came over to work for half a day,” I told him. “Among other things.”