by Andrew Grey
In the end they planted extra spinach, green and yellow beans, and some squash for the fall.
“That ought to do it,” his mother said.
Foster was exhausted, and so were his mother and grandmother, but everything had been planted, and the rain was coming any time. The women headed inside, and Foster went out to the barn. He let in the first group of cows and got them milking as the sky opened up. He knew the others were waiting out under the overhang that extended from the barn, so they’d be out of the worst of the rain.
The routine of milking gave Foster a chance to think. He’d put together a plan and hoped it paid off. If most things came to fruition in the garden, there would be way more than they could use, which would give them plenty to sell. By the time he was done milking, the storm had passed through. Moisture hung in the air and dripped from the eaves. Puddles had formed in the drive, but they would be gone fairly quickly. The important thing was that they had gotten a good rain, and with crops in the fields and the garden planted, that was the number one ingredient at the moment. That and his ability to stay ahead of the chores that needed to be done.
FOSTER WOKE up the following morning barely remembering that he’d slept. He shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen. His mother and grandmother weren’t up, which was surprising but not concerning. After how hard they’d worked, they must have been tired. Foster started the coffee and then went back upstairs to finish getting dressed. By the time he came down once again, the coffee was ready, and he drank his first cup of the day before heading out for morning milking. Once that was done and the truck had arrived to take delivery of the milk, he was ready for breakfast.
He reached the back door as a familiar van pulled into the drive. He paused at the door and then went over to meet them.
“I thought you were arriving next week,” Foster said, hoping there wasn’t a mix-up.
Carlos Ramos looked ragged and tired. The others looked even worse as they slowly climbed out of the van. The two younger ones had hollow looks and stayed close to their mother. Javi’s eyes blazed with anger that seemed to be focused on his father.
“We…. Things didn’t work out at our last job.”
“I see.” Foster wanted to ask the details, but he figured he probably wasn’t going to get them. They had done a great job the year before. “Come on in and have some breakfast, and I’ll give you the key so you can go set up. We can’t pick for another week yet, but you can stay and get some rest if you like.” Foster could tell Carlos was on the verge of saying no.
“Breakfast would be very nice,” Maria said in a heavy accent. Foster tried to remember if she’d ever spoken to him before. Ricky and Daniela looked up at their mother in disbelief. Javi continued staring daggers at his father as Foster motioned them toward the house. There was an interesting dynamic playing out in front of him that he found curious, even if it was none of his business.
He led the way inside. Grandma Katie was already in the kitchen making breakfast. She took one look at the family that trooped in and began cracking more eggs and frying more bacon. The toaster got a heck of a workout, with his mother coming down and helping a few minutes later.
By the way they ate, Foster wondered just how long it had been since they’d had a good meal. All five of them tucked in, clearing everything on their plates. They thanked Foster and his mother and grandmother, saying very little while they sat at the table. Maria cleared the table and insisted on helping clean up. Carlos herded the others outside, and when Foster went out, he found them hauling and stacking the remains of one of the old buildings that had fallen during the winter. The building hadn’t been used in years, and Foster hadn’t had a chance to clean it up. But it seemed they were determined to work for their breakfast.
“Please be careful of any nails,” Foster said gently. The job didn’t take long and the jumbled mess was turned into a neat pile of debris. Maybe once it rained enough, he’d burn it all to get rid of it permanently. He didn’t want the fire to get out of control.
“Here’s the key,” Foster said. “Do you remember the way to the field?”
“Yes,” Javi answered, taking it. “Thank you.” Somehow Foster got the idea he was being thanked deeply for a lot more than just the key or the food. Again, there was so much going on between father and son at the moment that Foster wondered if he’d been dropped in a production of Kafka. “I’ll bring it right back.” He pocketed the key, and they all gathered back inside the van. Once Maria joined them with a bag that his grandmother had no doubt given her, they backed out of the drive, and Foster watched the van disappear before getting to work.
The rain started in the midafternoon. He did what he could, but many of the items on his list were outdoor tasks. In the end, Foster made sure the herd had taken shelter and that they had feed, and then he retired to his father’s office to recheck the bank accounts and make phone calls.
First he called the people who’d bought their asparagus crop the last few years.
“Justice Produce,” a woman said.
“This is Foster Galyon, and I wanted to talk to someone about purchasing my asparagus crop.”
“That would be Mr. Justice. Please hold a minute.” The line went quiet for just a few seconds.
“Foster,” Mr. Justice said with too much energy. “Is it that time of year already?” He laughed. Foster didn’t get the humor, but the man apparently thought he was funny somehow. “I ran the numbers and can offer a dollar five a pound for your entire crop.”
“Actually, I’m looking for a slightly higher price. The quality is excellent.” He looked at the closed door to the office and cringed before plunging on. “I have someone interested at a dollar fifteen a pound, and I wanted to talk to you first before I accepted their offer. I’m only selling eighty to eighty-five percent of the crop. The rest we’re going to take to market ourselves.”
A squeak sounded in the background. “Your father never did that.”
Foster shrugged even though no one could see it. “I’m not my father. Do we have a deal?” He’d never truly trusted this man, and from the instructions his father had left him last year about making sure everything was weighed before it was picked up, his dad hadn’t either.
“Well….”
“If you can’t….” Foster was becoming very afraid that he’d overplayed his hand. There wasn’t another buyer, but it was a tactic Mr. Dulles had told him to use if he felt the need. He’d also explained that if it didn’t work, Foster could be left with the unenviable task of going back later and getting a lower price than the original offer. And he was afraid he was seconds from being called.
“Let me see….” He knew Mr. Justice was stalling.
“I can just call…,” he began, his heart pounding.
“No. I can do a dollar fifteen a pound for everything you’re willing to sell.” He sighed, and Foster knew he’d been right—his father had been underpaid for years. He pulled out the file he’d created for the crop and made a note to negotiate another buyer in the fall for an even better price. Maybe Meijer would buy it lock, stock, and barrel.
“Thank you,” Foster said. “Dad always said to do business with people who treated us right in the past.” His father had never said anything of the sort. “We’re going to start picking next week, so I’ll call to confirm the daily pickups. E-mail over the agreement, and I’ll sign it and get back to you.”
“Agreement?”
“Yes. Just to document our price. It’s a good practice for both of us.” Foster kept his voice light, but he was determined to have things in writing. That was the best way to protect himself and the farm. “I look forward to seeing it soon.” He tried not to be nervous as he ended the call, sinking back into his chair and letting out a breath.
“What’s going on in here?” Grandma Katie asked, poking her head in.
“I just got us fifteen cents a pound more than Dad was getting from Old Man Justice.” He grinned as his grandmother came inside and sat dow
n.
“You watch that man. He’s slippery as an eel and has the heart of a snake. I knew his father, the old bastard. What he can’t get one way, he’ll try to get another. Greedy and heartless, the whole family.”
“Well, I need to get the best price I can for all of us.”
“Of course you do, just don’t trust him.”
“I told him to send an agreement.”
She patted his hand. “You ain’t no fool.” Grandma Katie got up and went to the door. “You get that from me.” He pulled the door closed after she’d left, then called the dairy as well as the veterinarian. A number of cows would be giving birth soon, and he wanted to make sure Dr. Martin was aware of what needed to be done.
“How are things going?” the veterinarian asked once they’d taken care of the immediate business.
“Overwhelming,” Foster told him.
“You need to find a wife who understands the life of a dairy farmer and start your own family. You can’t run the place on your own, and while your mother and grandmother can help, they can’t take on that workload.”
“I know.”
“And you can’t do it all yourself. You may try for a while, but things will get away from you. I’ve seen it before, and I’d hate for you to get sick or too run down to be productive.”
“For now things are the way they are.” It was the only answer he had, and there was no way on God’s green earth he was going to marry someone, especially a woman, just so they could help him on the farm. He had no interest in women, not like that, but he’d always kept those thoughts to himself, and would continue to do so.
“Will you be in church on Sunday?” Dr. Martin asked.
“Yes. I’ll bring Mom and Grandma after I finish the morning milking.” Much of their non-farm life centered on the church. Foster had been attending the Church of Christ since he was a kid. It was where his parents went, so he’d gone. “Will I see you there?”
“If I don’t have an emergency.” A phone rang in the background. “I need to go, but I’ll see you Sunday.” He hung up and Foster did the same.
It was still raining, and from the looks of the radar app on his phone, it seemed to be settling in to do that for the rest of the day. Foster put on a raincoat and went out to the barn. He might as well get the inside work done. He hung up his coat once he was inside, then grabbed a shovel and cleaned out the residual dung before grabbing the hose.
“You wouldn’t need any help?”
Foster jumped, dropping the hose. He hadn’t expected anyone.
“Sorry,” Javi said as he stepped forward. He was soaked to the skin, and Foster guessed he’d walked over. “I need some work.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “Things have not gone well.”
Foster had guessed that. “Can you hose down the floor and milking stations?” Foster wondered how Javi kept from shivering, but he picked up the hose and started cleaning everything. Foster went to work on the milking machines, making sure they were spotless. “Mop the floor in the milk room too.” Foster figured he might as well get a leg up on his chores. He went to the loft and brought down some hay for the feeders along with the protein supplements. He added some silage, as well, to sweeten the mixture.
The rain had let up by the time he was done, and Foster pulled out his wallet and handed Javi some cash for the work he’d done. Javi shoved the bills into his pocket. Foster wanted to ask him what had happened and why they were so desperate, but the pride Foster saw in Javi’s eyes told him he could ask, but that answers wouldn’t be forthcoming.
“Do you need help tomorrow?” Javi asked.
Foster wasn’t going to be able to afford someone to help him all week, but he found himself nodding anyway. He knew his mother and grandmother would try to help them any way they could, so it was best to let Javi work and earn the money he needed to help his family. Foster knew that machismo, male pride, was huge in Latino culture. Getting Javi to take charity would be difficult. “If it’s nice, the garden will need to be tended and weeded.” After all the rain, what they’d planted would sprout overnight. “You can also help me shift the hay in the loft to help make room for the new cuttings.”
“I’ll get here early.”
“Do you want a ride back?” Foster asked. Javi shook his head. He left the barn, jogged out to the road, and then down toward the field. Foster watched him the entire time, enjoying the smooth way he moved. He had to force himself to turn away. He shouldn’t be having thoughts like this. He went back in the barn up to the loft and started the process of cleaning and shifting the hay. Moving the heavy bales was just the ticket to work away these thoughts about the gorgeous farm worker.
He retrieved the remaining wayward bales of hay from the edges and corners, placing them near the chute to the main floor, stacking them neatly and then going for more. Foster hated that he had these feelings. He’d heard since he was a toddler all about the evils of alcohol, smoking, and many more prohibitions from the front of the church. More than once he’d heard the prohibition about men lying with men and had sworn the minister had been looking right at him and could see into his soul. In the last year he’d been able to find a lot of chores that had to be done, so he hadn’t been going to church as often. In a roundabout way, he felt better not hearing that he was a godless sinner all the time.
“Foster,” his mother called up. “Your grandmother and I are going to town. Do you need anything?”
He checked his watch and realized he’d been working for hours. “Some snacks would be nice.” He climbed down. “When will you be back?”
“About an hour. We’ll make dinner then.” She left, and Foster went about the process of getting ready for milking, thinking that this was a much easier job with two people, but it was only him, so he might as well get to it. Besides, the work gave him something to think about other than the same set of eyes, light caramel-brown skin, and full lips that had stayed in his mind now for nearly a year. Part of him wished that Javi and his family hadn’t contacted his father about working. Then he wouldn’t be reminded of how he felt and could go on with his life. Not that he knew if Javi felt the same way.
He let in the first half of the herd and started the milking process, noting the cows that were going to be getting ready to calve soon. He kept detailed records and made notes in his mind regarding when he’d need to separate them into the calving pens. The work never ended, and Foster got to it, finished the milking, cleaned up the barn, and went inside to have dinner. Afterward, he checked that everything was all set for the night, then spent a quiet hour before going up to bed.
That night, as he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, tired and worn out, his mind would not let up. All he kept seeing was Javi, worn and hungry-looking, at least to start. It didn’t take long before his mind put Javi, not smiling, his eyes filled with heat, standing near him, pulling off his shirt and then tugging at Foster’s. Javi pulled him close, their chests touching, breath heaving, lips finally exploring. The funny thing was that Foster had never kissed anyone the way Javi kissed him in his fantasies, like he was reaching down deep to Foster’s heart and soul. As heated as he became, Foster shook his head and put a stop to his fantasy. This was not helping him. He needed to be strong.
Foster hated guilt. The animals he worked with all day never felt guilt about anything. They went about their day, crapped where they were, ate their food, sometimes nuzzled him when he put on the milker. Foster always talked to them and gave them a few pats. Of course he’d seen mothers with young, licking them and caring for them. The cows were simple creatures, and there were times when he wished he were as well. They felt no guilt over whatever they did, and yet something that seemed as innate and deep as the basic actions his cows did had been drilled into him as wrong. That seemed off to him, and he’d like to charge that those people, preaching what they didn’t know about at all, were the ones who should be feeling guilty. Foster got up and went to the bathroom, getting a drink of water and trying to settle his mind.<
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He wasn’t going to find any answers, certainly not in the next five minutes, and he needed to get some sleep. Foster willed all of the worries and the weight of the farm off his shoulders for the night and got back into bed.
“Honey,” his mother said, knocking softly on his bedroom door. “Are you sick?”
That was a bad term, because the first answer that came into his head was that he was in the eyes of the church, but that wasn’t what his mother had asked. “No, Mom.” She opened the door and came in. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”
“Me neither. I haven’t since….” She turned away. “I slept next to your father for twenty-five years. We didn’t go places because we had the farm, so I can’t remember a night we slept apart in all our married lives. Now the bed’s way too big.” Foster wasn’t sure how much he wanted to hear about his parents’ bedroom life, but if it did his mother good to talk, then he’d listen. “It’s so unfair. Your father could be a control freak… as you’ve called him many times, but he did his best for all of us and worked hard his entire life.”
“I know, Mom.” One minute his father was there and the next he was dead just outside the milking barn, lying in the grass. That was it. He was gone.
“You know what I thought when they first told me? That it was a good thing he didn’t die in the barn or they’d make us throw all the milk away.” She covered her face and wept. Foster got out of the bed and held her, his fantasies long gone.
“Mom, we all think strange things when we’re under stress.”
“I know. But it took a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t coming back. That I was going to be alone.” She pulled away and wiped her face. “I’m acting like an idiot.”
“No, Mom. You’re grieving, and that’s healthy.” He didn’t know what else to do other than try to comfort her. “All we can do is move on and take care of things as best we can.”
