The Farmer's Daughter: The Dragon Dream: Book One

by Robin Janney

  “I would care very much, as would Sherry. Your other friends would be upset too.”

  “What other friends? You’re the only one I’ve talked to in over a year.”

  “They still care Craig. I know they’ve called you. Both Jeff and Norm have mentioned leaving messages on your machine.” Kevin cleared his throat. “What’s really going on right now?”

  Craig couldn’t answer right away. His friend waited in patient silence. His friend probably already knew by now what was going on, he just wanted to see if Craig could voice it. “Angela was over tonight. I invited her and her brother over to watch a movie. I think we’re planning on doing it again next week. I thought I was prepared…but I wasn’t ready…they left, and this house feels so empty. I feel empty. And I was just suddenly struck by the realization of how alone I am in this town. No one would miss me if I were to die tonight.” He was no longer able to make his voice sound normal.

  “That’s not true,” his friend disagreed.

  “It is, Kevin, it is. This is the first time I’ve ever had visitors in my home. I feel so hollow and empty…I’m tired of this battle…I don’t know how to end it…”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I don’t want to talk about God. He gives permission for his children to be hurt. Why, Kevin? Why would God do that? Why would God give permission for Veronica to come to my room? She was supposed to be my mother!”

  His friend didn’t answer him. There was a mechanical sound Craig couldn’t identify. “Craig, tell me something.”

  “What?”

  “Do you still own that gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you thinking about using it?”

  He shuddered, his eyes darting to it. It was still an option at this point. “Yes.”

  “Where is it?” Kevin demanded.

  “It’s on the bed beside me. You…” Could he say it? He had to. “You kind of interrupted me.”

  “Craig, if you want the battle to end…walk away from the gun right now…please…leave the room if you can.”

  Could he do that? A very real part of him just wanted to hang the phone up and pull the trigger.

  “Craig…please…get up and leave the room…”

  The receiver was cordless, it would be easy to leave the room and maintain this human connection proving he wasn’t alone. “Okay. Come on, Princess.” He stood, still walking in darkness and left his bedroom. “I’m walking downstairs. Is that good enough?”

  “Yes. Please, let me come and take the gun from you, Craig. I am begging you. You need to get it out of the house.”

  “It won’t take the darkness away,” said Craig, sitting on the couch, afghan still clutched to his chest. Was it his security blanket? Princess sat at his side. “It won’t fix anything.”

  “No, it won’t. You’re right about that. But if you get rid of it, it won’t be so easy for you to contemplate using it. Let me help you, Craig. Please.”

  Craig thought about it, able to lift his hand to pet Princess. “Can you?”

  “Yes, Craig, I can. But you need to trust me.”

  Princess laid her head on his chest as he petted her, a soft whimper emitting from her. And something broke inside of him. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah. You can come and get the gun. When should I expect you?”

  “In about two hours. I’m talking on the car phone and I turned around a few minutes ago.”

  “No shit…”

  “I’ll probably break a few speed limits on my way too. Just keep talking to me, let me know you’re still there. Why don’t you tell me about your night?”

  He could do that, Craig decided. He was beginning to feel numb; it was better than the pain. The two hours passed, Craig talking about his quasi-date in broken patches. He hung up at the sound of his friend’s car in the driveway. Meeting Kevin at the door, he was mildly surprised by the fierce hug the other man gave him.

  Leading his friend up the stairs, Craig watched in silence as his friend unloaded the 9mm pistol. The other man going so far as to check the chamber.

  Putting the clip and gun in separate jacket pockets, Kevin asked, “Do you have any more ammo?”

  “In the drawer.” Craig’s voice was hoarse. It wasn’t the first time he’d called his friend on the verge of suicide, but it was the closest he’d ever come to succeeding. Maybe that was why he was willing to let the gun go. He felt so ashamed. As they headed back down the stairs, Craig spoke again. “I’m sorry for this, Kev.”

  “Don’t be,” answered Kevin. He smiled tiredly. “I don’t want to lose you, Craig. You’ve been my best friend for years. If my losing a night’s sleep helps you in the long run, then it’s a glad sacrifice.”

  The words echoed inside Craig’s hollowness.

  “Is there anything else you want to talk about before I go? Just say the word…I need to know you’re safe before…Craig?”

  Craig sat down on the steps, tears flowing freely. “I can’t breathe.”

  Kevin sat next to him, putting an arm around him. “When was the last time you cried?”

  When? Never? Not since his father and brother had teased him for crying at the end of All Dogs Go To Heaven. He’d never even shed a tear when his three friends had done the intervention after that one spring break. He managed to tell his friend this.

  “It’s alright, Craig. Let it out. It’s cathartic release. I think you’re allowed after all these years. I’m in no hurry.”

  B east howled in rage. He had failed once again. Taking flight, he pushed away from Craig’s home and fled toward his high peak. Light was beginning to infiltrate his kingdom. He growled at the small orbs of light flitting through the air; he knew better than to swat at them.

  But this wasn’t over yet. He’d find a way. He’d make a way.

  19

  “H

  ow long has she been at that?” Philip Carman asked his wife while he rinsed out his coffee cup in their kitchen sink. Through the window, he could see his oldest daughter chopping wood with his ax.

  “About half an hour,” Maude answered. She sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes. She hated peeling potatoes. She’d leave the peels on for mashed potatoes unless he asked her to take them off, or she needed to fill her worried hands with activity. “She just showed up and asked to chop some wood. Something’s bothering her, she’s just not willing to share what. You know how that goes. I haven’t seen her this upset since she turned down Derek’s proposal.”

  Philip crossed his arms across his chest and didn’t comment. He watched the way Angela swung his ax. Smooth motions, precise aim, and no wasted energy. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her use wood chopping as an emotional outlet. Mother and daughter were more alike than either wanted to admit. “If she keeps this pace up, I shouldn’t have to chop any until February.”

  His wife left her seat, wiping her hands on her apron and crossed the kitchen to peer out the window beside him. Her sigh was deep with worry. “Or March. Maybe she’s regretting her decision not to marry Derek? They were such a cute couple.”

  “No, no I don’t think so,” Philip said slowly. There were things he couldn’t tell his wife without Angela’s permission; an arrangement Maude had agreed to years ago.

  “Maybe she’s regretting not paying closer attention to Pastor Mark? He’s a kind man, and he’s willing to overlook her checkered past.”

  “Checkered past?” Their pastor had apologized profusely after he had learned he’d inadvertently triggered Angela’s panic attack. He’d promised to keep his distance and as far as Philip could see the other man been honoring his word. “When did the two of you have that conversation?”

  “Yesterday after church. He claims Angela’s been a little rude to him recently.” Maude sighed. “She hasn’t been quite right these past few weeks.”

  Philip turned away from the window and put some space between them. “Don’t kid yourself, Maude, she hasn’t been quite right ever since Randy died.”

  “Don’t take tha
t tone of voice with me, Philip Andrew Carman. I know that as well as you do. But what does Randy have to do with that out there?” Maude waved to their daughter on the other side of the window.

  “What does Derek have to do with it?” he turned, angry with her. “Every time she’s been upset since graduation, he’s the first name you bring up! She hasn’t even seen him since graduation!”

  “That’s not true!” argued Maude. “He started attending her college a while back, just a few classes and he said they ran into each other once or twice. She shot him down then too.”

  Philip didn’t trust his voice to reply right away. “So that’s why she quit living on campus,” he decided. “Aw, come on Maude…it was a puppy love romance from the start. It was never going to go anywhere, Angela just realized it before he did.”

  “It looked like love to me, but perhaps you’re right. We can’t all marry our high school sweethearts.” She returned to the table and began clearing her mess. “I just want my daughter to have the same kind of happiness we have. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No, it’s not. You just have to let her have space to find it on her own.” He returned to the kitchen window. His daughter was still going full steam ahead.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Maude reached past him to wash her hands in the sink. “By the way, I’ve heard from your mother. She’s decided to spend the holidays with your sister this year.”

  “The weather in Spring Valley is warmer than here. If I didn’t live here, I’d winter there too.”

  Maude swatted her husband with the towel when she was done drying her hands. “Always such a wise guy.” She hung the towel back up and looked back out the window. “I’m telling you, Philip, that has something to do with a man. If not any of the ones we know, then who?”

  “I don’t know.” Philip admitted with a shake of his head. “She’s been busy for weeks, I haven’t had a chance to talk much with her. Not even when I stop into the store.” Something he needed to remedy.

  “Even Michelle has been tight-lipped recently. It’s the funniest thing.” Maude shook her head in mild disgust, her freshly dyed curls bouncing.

  “Maybe that’s the way it should be,” he replied. He turned enough to reach out and touch her hair. There wasn’t a hint of gray left in the light brown curls. He twisted a strand around his fingers. “Maybe we’ve been looking to the wrong person for answers.”

  “Who should we be looking to for answers?” Maude demanded angrily. She pulled her head away and stepped back. “Angela? She can’t even tell us what happened the day Randy died unless she’s running a fever! She can’t even tell us why they were so far away from home.

  “And don’t say God. I pray every day for Angela and nothing ever changes! The fool girl insists on saving this farm and working herself to death.” Maude’s eyes closed, angry tears leaking from them. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to watch her run herself into the ground? Why can’t she stop?”

  “Yes, honey, I know how much it hurts.” He reached out to wipe her tears away. “And I don’t know why Angela can’t stop. Who knows, maybe she’s being chased. It took her five years before she could tell us about the demon in her dreams, remember? Just because we don’t see an immediate answer, doesn’t mean God isn’t working in her life. Maybe we just don’t like what He’s doing, or maybe we’re asking for the wrong things.”

  “What should we be asking for?”

  “No why’s. No demands for immediate answers. We’re talking about Angela’s heart and that’s never been something that could be rushed. How? I think we should be asking how to best help our daughter.”

  Maude’s eyes popped open, more than a little anger in them. “We gave her space, Philip, and we’ve never pressured her about that day. When she tried killing herself, we took her to that doctor and the skinny bitch did almost as much damage! What more could we have done, Philip? What more can we do? We’ve done everything we could, and now you’re saying it wasn’t good enough?”

  Philip turned his wife to look out the window again, pointing at their oblivious daughter who showed no signs of slowing in her chore. “Does it look like we’ve done a good job?”

  “No!” Maude covered her face, tears flowing in earnest. “I should never have let them go on a walk. I should have brought her inside and spanked her for swearing at her brother. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “You don’t know that,” he whispered in his wife’s ear as he held her. “Accidents happen. We have to accept that. God wouldn’t have let him be taken if it wasn’t his time.”

  For several minutes, they stood there in the embrace. A husband comforting his wife. A father comforting the mother of their lost child. Angela was not the only one to still grieve for the absent member of their family, she was just the only one who had never been able to process her grief.

  When the tears ceased flowing, Maude tipped her head to look up at her taller husband. “Maybe we should pray for Angela to be able to accept that as well.”

  Philip smiled. “Sounds like a good place to start.” He kissed her, a slow lingering kiss with promise. Giving her a final squeeze, he decided on a course of action. “Right now, I think would be a good time to rescue my ax. I just put that handle on and I don’t need her breaking it.”

  “I’ll warm some water for drinks. The last thing we need is her getting sick this winter.”

  “Good idea.” Philip gave his wife one last kiss, then pulled his coat off the coat hook in the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen as he passed through. Indian summer had faded from memory already, and cold air greeted him as he slipped out the laundry room door. He crossed the yard to where the wood pile sat. There was a large chunk of a log segment sitting on end and it made a decent seat as he sat near enough to his daughter to be heard.

  Angela looked over at him but didn’t say anything. She continued to chop piece after piece. Philip glanced across the pond, thinking how his daughter hadn’t given it so much as a glance the entire time he’d been watching her chop wood. That was something new.

  “Hi, Angela,” he said, looking back at her. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “No, not especially.” Her arms swung the ax down.

  “Okay.” He just had to wait.

  After three more swings, she asked, “Dad, are all men obstinate and stubborn?”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “No more than women are.”

  The sound of the ax striking wood punctuated her short laugh. “That’s a lot of help!”

  “Well, it’s the best I can give without more specifics. Is there a specific man who’s bothering you by being stubborn?”

  “Craig. Moore.” His name was halved by the sound of the ax striking wood.

  This was a surprise, but hadn’t Jared mentioned something about watching a movie at his place a few weeks ago? For that matter, hadn’t Pastor Mark insinuated something about Angela and her boss recently? How had he missed this? He’d never even seen the two of them in the same room at the store when he stopped in. “He’s not giving you trouble with work, is he?”

  “No.” Her swings were slowing. “He will not tell me whether he’s decided to come to Thanksgiving dinner or not.”

  “You invited Craig Moore to Thanksgiving dinner?” he asked for clarification.

  “Yes.” Her ax missed, bouncing off the side of the piece she had centered. She let the ax rest, catching her breath as she looked at him. “Mom didn’t tell you? I talked to her about it first.”

  “No, she hasn’t mentioned it.” It was enough for Philip to pause as he thought. Angela hadn’t invited anyone to Thanksgiving dinner in years, not since Spider. What a ruckus that had been, but he was glad they’d finally let him in. It had been his last meal on earth; the boy’s motorcycle had hit black ice on the way home, and he hadn’t survived. “How long ago did you ask Craig? Maybe he has other plans.”

  “I asked him two weeks ago. He said his only plans were
to spend it at a cabin in Montana, but he’d think about coming here.” She lifted the ax again, briefly looking towards the sky. “So far, that’s the best answer he’s given me. That he’s thinking about it.”

  Philip rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, Angela, maybe he just hasn’t decided yet. Not everyone would want to go to a strange place for a holiday, with strange people. Craig doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends in the area. Is he meeting his family at this cabin in Montana?”

  “No, I get the impression he doesn’t get along with his family very well.”

  “Pity.” He watched as his daughter began swinging the ax again. “He wouldn’t be meeting a girl, would he?”

  Her swing faltered, and she missed her target again. Leaning the ax against the chopping block, Angela pulled another log piece on end near to him and sat next to him. “No, Dad. He…he’s not that kind of guy.”

  “So, you’re not part of the group who thinks he’s gay?”

  He smiled as his daughter snorted.

  “Dad, if he’s gay then I’m a turkey that can’t wait for Thanksgiving!”

  Philip laughed. So, there was something going on between the two. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that just yet. He couldn’t help but tease her with some fatherly outrage. “And how exactly are you so certain?” He watched as his already red-faced daughter turned a deeper shade of red. “Well?”

  “Would you accept instinct as an answer?”

  He grunted in dissatisfaction. “No.”

  She sighed.

  “Has he hit on you?”

  “Not…exactly. He…said he was ‘maybe’ interested in me.”

  “Maybe?” Philip was pained by the confusion he could see on her face. He felt just as confused. “And what did you say?”

  “That I was maybe interested in him too.”

  “I see.” He reached out and clasped one of her hands. Was she shaking because she was cold, or because the anxiety was pushing her towards a panic attack? “Angela, you know you can share anything with me. I won’t tell your mother, you have my word.”