The Sowing Season

by Katie Powner

  At that moment, Rae noticed him standing in the doorway.

  “Hey, Gerrit!” She hurried over to him and knelt beside Daisy, cupping the dog’s face in her hands. “And look who came along. Good girl.”

  “Cool, a dog.” The girl who had been pouting during Gerrit’s previous visit joined Rae on the floor. “She’s so cute.”

  Rae scooted over to give the other girl a chance to pet Daisy. The dog ate up the attention as if she’d been in isolation for a month.

  “Daisy, this is Taylor.” Rae made a show of introducing her. “Taylor, meet Daisy.”

  The girl leaned in, and Daisy gave her a tiny lick of appreciation.

  Taylor squealed with delight. “She can be our mascot.”

  Morgan slipped into the room and froze in his tracks at the sight of Daisy. He stared at her, and a small smile formed on his face. This was only the second time he’d seen Morgan, but Gerrit guessed he didn’t smile much.

  Gerrit raised his eyebrows at Mark, daring him to put his foot down and ban Daisy from the building now.

  Mark laughed and waved his clipboard toward the room in a grand gesture. “Well, Daisy, I guess it’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Community Hope.”

  DAISY HAD ALREADY become a celebrity by the time Gerrit made his way to the back of the room, where Morgan sat hunched over a notebook. Everybody’s new furry best friend pranced right up to the kid with the black hair and nudged his knee with her nose.

  Morgan pulled little speaker thingies from his ears. “Hello.”

  Gerrit almost replied before he realized Morgan was not talking to him. How come Daisy made friends so easily?

  He eased himself into a chair two seats away from Morgan to give him some space but not too much. Then he sat back to observe. Ha. This kid thought he’d never see him again, and here he was, with a dog. He folded his arms across his chest in a self-satisfied way.

  Morgan closed his notebook and set it on the table. He tucked his earphone things into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He had to be overheating wearing that. It was a perfect spring day in the best of all places: the Pacific Northwest. Why didn’t he take it off?

  Morgan put a hand on Daisy’s head and began a conversation, murmuring low enough that Gerrit couldn’t catch it over the din of the wild animals in the room around him. Gerrit didn’t interrupt. He waited.

  Daisy listened intently, and if Gerrit didn’t know better, he would say it looked like she nodded once in a while, urging Morgan on. After a few minutes, Morgan moved both hands to Daisy’s back and gave her a good hard rub.

  “I think she likes that,” Gerrit ventured.

  Morgan kept his eyes on the dog. “Yeah.”

  Gerrit scowled to himself. Would it kill the kid to show a little appreciation? He opened his mouth to say something else but nothing came out. What were teenage boys interested in? He had no idea. But this after-school program was meant to help kids with their homework, right? So they wouldn’t be held back? Maybe he should start there.

  “How many classes are you failing?”

  Morgan looked at him, a challenge in his eyes. “What makes you think I’m failing any?”

  Gerrit sputtered. “Well, Rae said—”

  “Rae talked about me?”

  “No, not really. She talked about the program. How it’s for, uh, kids who need . . .”

  Morgan glared. “I’m not stupid.”

  Gerrit’s heart stopped beating. His lungs suspended their life-giving work. And the rectangular white table turned into a square wooden one where a young boy sat swinging his feet. Noah must’ve been about eleven. Hadn’t gone through his growth spurt yet. The fridge in the calf barn had gone on the fritz, and Gerrit had run home to put a box of Ultravac in the kitchen fridge before the vaccines could get too warm and would need to be thrown out. Noah had been working on math homework.

  “Dad, can you help me?” he’d asked.

  “I gotta get back.”

  “But I don’t understand this.”

  “I won’t be able to explain it to you.”

  Noah’s face had fallen. “I’m not stupid.”

  That wasn’t what Gerrit had meant. Math was his nemesis, and he’d never been able to explain math concepts to anyone. Luke was the only reason he’d passed math. He’d stayed up late quizzing him and helping him work the problems out more nights than Gerrit could count.

  But Noah just looked at him with hurt in his eyes, and Gerrit had steeled himself. “Ask your mother,” he’d said, then went back to the farm.

  The rectangular white table returned. A pack of prepubescent boys roared with laughter at a table behind him. Daisy flopped on her back, inviting someone, anyone, to give her a belly rub, and Morgan leaned down to oblige.

  Gerrit shook his head. Of course his son wasn’t stupid. He’d never once thought that.

  He decided to try a different approach. “What are you working on in your notebook?”

  “Nothing.”

  So that’s how it was going to be.

  “What grade are you in?”

  “I’m graduating the end of May.”

  Gerrit’s eyebrows rose. This kid didn’t look old enough to be graduating high school and going out into the world. Then again, there was something in his eyes that spoke of a maturity beyond his years.

  “What do you plan to do after that?”

  Morgan gave Daisy’s belly one last rub and sat back up. He glanced at the red notebook lying on the table. “I don’t know.”

  Gerrit had always wondered what it would be like to be young and facing a future full of unknowns and possibilities rather than one that had been planned out for you by someone else since before you were born. He’d always figured it would feel like adventure and freedom, but looking at Morgan’s face, he wasn’t so sure.

  “You going to college?”

  Morgan shrugged. “What do you care?”

  Gerrit sat back, hard. “I care.”

  It wasn’t lost on him that he’d said those same two words to Evi only a few days before. She hadn’t believed him then, and Morgan probably didn’t now. Why didn’t anyone think he cared about anything?

  He didn’t want to delve too deeply into that.

  “There are some good community colleges around here.” He tried to sound casual. “Maybe that’d be a good place to start.”

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for college.”

  Oh, the pain cut deep. This kid sure knew how to hit him where it hurt the most. Those were the same words he’d said to Luke a hundred times. But his big brother had refused to take no for an answer. He’d been determined to get Gerrit through college if it was the last thing he did.

  He found himself borrowing Luke’s reply. “Says who?”

  Morgan’s eyes flashed. “My dad. My teachers. Everyone.”

  “What do you say?”

  Morgan leaned his elbows on the table, his notebook between them. He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s a coward’s response. You do know.”

  Morgan’s head shot up. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Gerrit’s face remained stoic, but his innards churned. Daisy sat up and scooted between them as if to play mediator.

  “Who do you think you are, anyway?” Morgan demanded. “You’re only here because you’re Rae’s grandpa.”

  Gerrit huffed. He wasn’t old enough to be her—okay, maybe he was. But still. “Rae’s my neighbor. That’s all.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Yes, why? That was the million-dollar question. He looked down at Daisy, who was swinging her head back and forth between them as if following the conversation. He wasn’t sure why he’d come. He’d mentioned it to Hannie, and she’d said it would be a great activity to keep him busy. Yet boredom alone couldn’t explain why he was sitting at a table with some angsty kid and a pesky dog, trying not to look like an idiot.

  All he knew was that he hadn’t been able to
get Morgan’s face, and that expression that reminded him of Evi, out of his mind.

  “I don’t know.”

  Morgan’s face turned smug. “Who’s the coward now?”

  Gerrit laughed. He couldn’t help it. It bubbled up and spilled over, and he couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted to. “I guess we both are.”

  The ghost of a smile flashed across Morgan’s face. Gerrit looked around at the dozens of kids caterwauling around the room. He had nothing to lose. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth, if you tell me the truth.”

  It was a scary thing, holding an offer like that out there.

  Morgan narrowed his eyes. “You first.”

  Fair enough.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve got two kids. They’re grown now.”

  Morgan waited.

  “You remind me of them. And of myself, when I was young. That’s why I’m here. Besides, you said you loved dogs, and I’ve got a dog.”

  Daisy laid her head on Gerrit’s knee. Aw, shoot. He’d claimed her as his own. She’d never let him forget it.

  Morgan nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  Gerrit let out a long breath as his shoulders drooped. This whole thing was exhausting. “Your turn.”

  Morgan picked up the notebook and gripped it with both hands. The cover was worn. The spiral stretched out on top. “I want to be a songwriter.”

  It took a minute for the words to sink in. A songwriter? Did people go to school for that sort of thing? He had no experience with any form of creative endeavor. Didn’t know anyone like that.

  Except Hannie. His mind flashed to Hannie at her shop, carefully arranging her bouquets, and it smacked him like an errant hoof upside the head that it was more than a job to her.

  She was an artist.

  “What does that mean?” He was way out of his element here. “What do songwriters do?”

  He braced himself, half expecting Morgan to snap at him with the obvious They write songs, dummy. But he was looking for more than that, and Morgan seemed to understand.

  “They usually go live somewhere they can meet a lot of other songwriters and singers. Then they pay their dues.”

  “Dues? Is it expensive?”

  Morgan leaned closer. “It’s not money. It’s time. You have to put in the hard work, start from the bottom.”

  “Where’s the bottom?”

  “The bottom is on a street corner in Nashville, playing for quarters dropped in a guitar case.”

  Gerrit tried to picture that. “You got a guitar?”

  Morgan hesitated. “It’s my dad’s.”

  “And you’re a singer?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I just want to write the songs. But I’ll sing if that’s what it takes.”

  “Oh.” Gerrit clasped his hands together, trying to concentrate. “Do songwriters go to college?”

  Morgan looked away from Gerrit and stared at the wall on the other side of the table, a wistful expression on his face. “Sometimes.”

  “Seems like a good place to start.”

  “I’ve already got a few college credits.” Morgan shrugged. “From summer school.”

  “You’re well on your way, then.” Gerrit smacked the table with his palm. “You don’t want to waste those credits.”

  It was all but decided, as far as he was concerned. Morgan could sing on as many street corners as he wanted once he graduated college.

  His work here was done.

  Morgan hung his head. “It’s not that simple.”

  Gerrit’s confidence deflated. Few things ever were. He should know that better than anyone.

  “Five minutes until closing time,” Mark called from the doorway.

  Daisy’s ears perked up.

  Morgan smiled at her. “She’s ready to get out of here.” He leaned his face close to hers. “Aren’t you, girl?”

  She licked his chin.

  Gerrit rose from the table. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll be here Friday,” Morgan offered. “It’s something to do after school. Wish they had it every day, but . . .”

  “You could always come to my house.” Wait, what was he saying? This kid was going to think he was a psychopath. But Morgan looked at him like the offer was worth considering.

  Emboldened, Gerrit forged ahead. “Rae hangs out there sometimes.”

  Morgan tensed, his eyes flicking around the room. “Um . . .”

  Gerrit cringed. There went his big mouth again. Bringing Rae up wasn’t going to put Morgan at ease.

  Morgan tucked the red notebook into his backpack and zipped it shut. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Gerrit wasn’t the brightest or most perceptive man to ever walk the earth, and he’d never claimed to be. But even he could tell what Morgan meant was no.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Gerrit could not stand the awful racket another second. He stomped to the back door, grumbling to himself, and flung it open.

  “Enough!” His shout carried across the drive and echoed off the barn. “Shut your beak, or I’ll shut it for you.”

  From the fence post where he was perched, Bernard the Terrible cocked his head to the side to stare at Gerrit with one beady eye. Then he dug deep and let out another deliberate squawk. Gerrit winced. Ugh. He’d been putting up with this for almost two weeks now. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

  He glared at the bird. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

  Bernard redoubled his efforts. Daisy hid behind Gerrit’s legs and whimpered.

  Gerrit slammed the door and kicked the wall, his foot narrowly missing the blue-and-white suitcase that stood sentinel over him whenever Hannie was away, reminding him of how much he didn’t know. He wanted to throw it into the driveway and run it over with his truck, but something held him back. Something told him its continued presence in the mudroom was a test.

  He looked at Daisy. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Besides the rooster driving him nuts and the suitcase mocking him, he had Luisa on his mind. He hadn’t seen her since signing the farm papers, but he’d been thinking about her a lot, ever since he’d gone into the pony barn and seen the boxes of Luke’s things. She was an independent woman, sure—Luke would’ve never fallen for her otherwise—but if he didn’t check in on her once in a while, who would?

  Careful not to strain his back, he slowly pulled on his shabby tennis shoes. Hannie might be right about his needing a new pair. The rubber on the bottoms was beginning to separate from the rest of the shoe, and the laces were dingy as dishwater.

  Daisy whined and butted his knee with her head.

  “You’ll be safe in the house.” He struggled to tie the laces with his oversized, gnarled hands. “Bernard can’t get you in here.”

  Her liquid brown eyes stared up at him.

  “I only brought you the other day because Morgan wanted to see you.”

  She scooted closer.

  “There’s no reason for you to come this time.”

  That face. How could a dog be so expressive? Regardless, he wasn’t going to give in this time. He’d been spending way too much time with Daisy.

  He rose to his feet. “Not today. And that’s final.”

  He grabbed his keys and hurried out the door without looking back, so he wouldn’t be tempted to change his mind. He was a grown man. He could not—would not—allow a four-legged fur ball to dictate his decisions. It was time to put his foot down.

  Gerrit was positive the clamor Bernard subjected him to as he got in his truck was rooster-speak for a string of obscenities. He considered answering Bernard in kind but held his tongue. Like he said. He was a grown man.

  The drive to Luisa’s house was quiet. No animals, no Rae, and he kept the radio turned off. He hadn’t even brought his phone. He couldn’t afford any distractions because he needed to think. What was he going to say to her?

  She was the only person Gerrit had ever had to compete with for Luke’s atten
tion. Luke had been a sworn bachelor for fifteen years. He’d said if Gerrit alone could have a wife and family, he’d be content with that. “And where would I meet a girl, anyway?” he’d say with a smile. “In the milking parlor?”

  One day, Luke had gone to the feed store for Calf-Manna and chanced upon Luisa buying a forty-pound bag of wild-bird seed. He’d helped her carry it to her car. Gerrit would never forget the look on his brother’s face when he told Gerrit about the “Italian angel” he’d met. Gerrit knew Luke was a goner from that moment. No matter that Luisa was almost twelve years younger and didn’t speak much English. No matter that neither of their parents approved. He’d fallen hard and fast.

  Gerrit parked along the road in front of Luisa’s bright blue ranch-style house. He never could decide whether he was pleased she hadn’t remarried or whether it was a shame. She was a nice-looking woman. Fiery and confident. She could’ve found another man. Still could. But what she and Luke had together . . . well, you don’t find love like that twice.

  As he walked up the path to her door, he noticed her gutters dripping over in a few places from the rain that morning. When was the last time they’d been cleaned? And her screen door had a tear in it. He had a utility knife in the truck but hadn’t brought a spline roller. There was a hardware store nearby. He could run and get one.

  He stuck his finger in the tear. Was it small enough to patch or should he replace the whole screen?

  The door opened. “Are you coming in, or do you plan to stare at my door all day?”

  Gerrit pulled his hand back as if he’d been caught stealing a cookie. “Your screen’s ripped.”

  “Oh, that.” Luisa waved a hand. “I was carrying a bunch of things into the house a couple weeks ago, and I got caught on the screen.”

  “You should’ve called me.”

  She pulled the door wide and ushered him in. “It’s nothing. And you’re here now, aren’t you?”

  She was a diminutive woman, dark hair and distinctive features. Her personality always made her seem bigger than she was, and the wisdom and grief in her eyes made her seem older.

  She urged him into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge with a flourish. “What can I get you? Iced tea? Milk?”

  He’d seen and hauled and cleaned up enough milk to last a dozen lifetimes during his years on the farm, but he’d never grown tired of it. “Milk, please.”