The Borrowed World Series | Book 8 | Blood & Banjos

by Horton, Franklin

  “Guess we should have kept moving,” Lloyd mumbled. “Now look at all them people you’re going to have to kill.”

  Jim gave his old friend a sideways glance. “We aren’t there yet. Chill out.” He probably should have kept moving, but he was interested in what they were doing. It reminded him of old pictures of early farmers, men in misshapen felt hats wearing bibbed overalls held up by a single denim strap. Jim was uncertain as to what to do for a moment, then he held up a hand in greeting. “Y’all need some help?”

  A hand was raised to them, first as a wave, then turning into a beckoning gesture.

  Jim smiled at Lloyd. “See what I did there? I used my words like a civilized man and didn’t have to shoot anyone.”

  “I can see why you’re impressed with yourself since being a gentleman is new territory for you. I don’t expect we’re out of the woods yet. And why in the hell did you just volunteer us to help those guys?”

  Jim grinned. “I want to see what they’re doing. I might be able to learn something.”

  “Maybe you’ll learn how to keep your mouth shut.”

  “You think so?”

  Lloyd smirked. “I doubt it.”

  Someone in the field gestured down the road and called, “Come across!”

  The pair rode about eighty yards further and found a concrete bridge crossing over to the farm. It was a huge operation by local standards with over a dozen barns and sheds. There was a large old farmhouse near the barns and a newer house stood along the road. They passed through two gates, turning into the stubble of a freshly cut hayfield.

  They rode toward the one who’d waved them over. Even if these men weren’t wielding guns, they remained wary of the newcomers. Everyone stopped working and stood in a way that they could draw a handgun at any sign of trouble.

  “You’re late,” a man called to them. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties with the coarse, sun-ravaged skin of a lifelong farmer. He wore a straw cowboy hat, a t-shirt, and jeans.

  Jim smiled. “Sorry about that. Thought it was tomorrow.”

  The farmer approached Jim’s horse and stuck out a hand. “Name’s Orbin McCall. This is my place. What can I do you for?”

  Jim’s gut told him that he could trust this man and that these were not people to be wary of. He took the farmer’s hand and shook it. “I’m Jim Powell. This is my friend Lloyd. We were passing through from Russell County, going to check on a friend of his in Bland.” Jim pointed to the haystacks. “I saw what you were doing here and it made me wonder if this was something I could do in my neighborhood. We have a lot of this old equipment laying around but I’ve never seen it in use.”

  “Best way to learn is by doing,” Orbin said. “If you’re interested in helping, we can talk while we work. We’re putting on a feed when we’re done so you’ll get dinner. Probably got about three more hours before we call it a day.”

  “I’m in,” Jim said, climbing off his horse. He led it over to a hay wagon scattered with tools, a water jug, and discarded layers of clothing. He tied his horse and packhorse off, then gestured at Lloyd. “You coming?”

  Lloyd gave him a disgusted look. He couldn’t believe that after a day of hard riding he’d been volunteered for one of the hottest, most miserable jobs God had ever seen fit to provide. Jim could see it in his eyes, the accusation, the reminder that there was a reason Lloyd had become a barber. He didn’t like having to bust his ass all day.

  Jim took up one of the hay forks stacked on the wagon and jumped in while Lloyd tied off his horse. While the labor felt good after a day of having his spine compressed in the saddle, he also found it to be harder than it looked, especially as the stacks got higher.

  Watching discreetly from the side, Orbin handed out some pointers. “One of the secrets is using your arms, shoulders, and legs as much as possible. If you twist your back all day, heaving that rake, you’ll be so sore tomorrow you won’t be able to get out of bed. You’ll be all broke down.”

  Jim adjusted his technique some, using his legs more and his back less. He watched the others and soon fell into the same rhythm they employed so effortlessly. He would still be sore tomorrow. He could feel the stretch of muscles he hadn’t used lately.

  As they worked, Jim prodded Orbin with questions about the equipment they’d used to cut the hay and how long they allowed it to dry before stacking. Others in the group of hayers spoke up in response to some of his questions, offering their perspective. They ranged in age from teenagers to some that looked even older than Orbin. There were some in the group who said nothing at all and wouldn’t even meet the newcomers’ eyes. Jim couldn’t be sure if it was distrust or simply the backward nature of folks who spent their lives in isolated communities, only socializing with folks they already knew.

  They worked until it was nearly too dark to see, the sound of crows cawing from the hay stubble giving way to katydids and frogs. Though the sounds were the same as those of Jim’s valley, this location felt more insulated. There were fewer houses and they were much farther from town. They were far enough from the local communities that people on foot wouldn’t wander out just to see what was going on. It wasn’t likely they got any foot traffic other than that of neighbors or the occasional traveler.

  They piled their hay rakes onto the wagon when they were done. Those who’d not worn gloves picked at fresh blisters. Everyone wiped itchy hay from sweat-dampened collars.

  “We’re laying out a feed for everyone who helped today,” Orbin offered. “Y’all are welcome to join us up at the barn. In fact, you’re welcome to spend the night there if you want. I assume you’ll be going on your way tomorrow?”

  “That’s the plan,” Jim replied. “But we’ll gladly take you up on the offer of food and a place to stay for the night.”

  “Good,” Orbin replied with genuine warmth. “We’ll head up to the barn then. You all can corral your horses for the night. There’s fresh hay and clean water. You can throw your gear anywhere in the barn. Nobody will mess with it.”

  35

  Orbin’s Farm

  Tazewell County, Virginia

  They smelled the food before they even reached the barn, a rich aroma of grilling meat, sauces, and spices. Orbin led them to the corral. It was too dark to see by this point and everyone was working by headlamp, though the interior of the barn glowed with warm lantern light.

  Seeing Jim immediately start unpacking his horse, Orbin said, “I respect a man who tends to his duties before himself. Take good care of that horse and it will take care of you.”

  Jim was pleased that Orbin made the comment, but not on his own account. It would discourage Lloyd from arguing that they should eat first and unpack later.

  “I was never a horseman before this whole mess,” Jim admitted. “I’m still not much of one, but I’ve got a whole new respect for the animal.”

  Orbin smiled fondly at the horse, stroking its neck. “Horses were the way for a long time. A man can love a truck but that truck will never love you back. It won’t look out for you the way a horse will. A truck can’t intentionally get you home when you’re not capable of doing it yourself. A horse will.”

  It took them a couple of minutes to remove saddles, weapons, and packs. When they removed the bridles and turned them out, each horse trotted off into the spacious fenced corral and shook off like a wet dog. One dropped to the ground and rolled. Another stepped to the water trough and drank.

  Jim and Lloyd hauled their gear into the barn and stacked it in a spot where they could keep an eye on it. It wasn’t so much out of concern there might be a thief in the group as out of a desire to keep an eye on their weapons. That gear kept them alive. There were battery and kerosene lanterns scattered around the barn, providing just enough light without being obnoxious. It made for a warm, comforting atmosphere. People stood at a row of plastic folding tables, filling plates with various cuts of roasted meats. There were baked potatoes, roasted carrots, corn, and various casseroles. There were pots of beans a
nd bowls of rich homemade barbecue sauce.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Lloyd said.

  Orbin grinned. “We know how to put on a feed.”

  Outside the expansive rolling doors at the front of the barn, a bonfire was burning, illuminating dipping moths and more smiling faces. Kids were eating hamburgers or roasting tiny sausages over the fire. Some poked at coals with sticks in the way of children, catching them on fire and then blowing them out. It was likely the oldest form of worship, that adulation toward the force that gave light, heat, and cooked food.

  Orbin introduced the newcomers to people in line and to others already eating. They nodded with mouths full or raised a few fingers in greeting.

  “These are friends, families, and neighbors. We’ve been doing this up and down the valley all summer,” Orbin explained. “Putting up hay and corn for everybody with fields. Thank God for mild winters. Most of us are able to graze our cattle on grass all winter now, but we can’t count on that. We need something to fall back on if the snow comes. But y’all aren’t here to listen to me flap my lips so get in line.”

  Jim took a plate and began filling it. There was enough food that he wasn’t shy about sampling everything that caught his eye. Lloyd was in front of him and doing the same thing. Jim was certain these people were putting food back, but they also understood the value of celebrating a bountiful harvest with a good meal. It helped with morale and made sore muscles a little less irritating.

  “You guys fare all right last winter?” Jim asked. “We had a few bad snowstorms over our way.”

  “We got them here too, but it wasn’t too bad. Most of us got two cuttings of hay in before things fell apart. That gave us something to feed the cattle when the ground was covered. We never got the corn in so we just turned the cattle out into those fields last winter too. They ate well. All their eating, pooping, and stomping around helped plant this year’s corn crop.”

  “Really?” Jim asked.

  “Yep,” Orbin replied. “Cattle did most of that planting for us. Of course it ain’t as high a yield per acre as if we’d done it right but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Most of the farms around us are small cattle farms,” Jim said. “The only big operation is the Rockdell Farms bunch and you don’t see much activity there. They’ve got workers tending to bits and pieces of the operation, but I haven’t seen any organized farming there in a year.”

  “The one advantage I had was that my granddaddy farmed this place with no power,” Orbin said. “I grew up hearing stories about how they used to do things. The old man would point out pieces of equipment sitting by the barn and show me how they worked. That knowledge is what kept us going. Last winter I pulled all that old equipment into the shop and tinkered with it until I got it going. I repaired the harnesses and had everything working by the time spring came. We’ve run horse-drawn equipment all summer.”

  “I’m impressed,” Jim said. “I could tell from the road that you all knew what you were doing. It’s different than anything I’ve seen.”

  “Ain’t as good as the Amish over there in Burke’s Garden, but we try.”

  Jim finished filling his plate and stood at the end of the line, waiting until Orbin caught up. Lloyd wasn’t waiting for anyone. He took a seat on an empty bench and was tearing into thin strips of steak with his pocket knife. When Orbin had his plate full, he grabbed a small canning jar filled with spring water and directed Jim to do the same. They joined Lloyd on the bench.

  “Best meal I’ve had in forever,” Lloyd said. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

  Orbin smiled. “You’re welcome, friend. Good to see new faces.”

  “Ain’t always been so good to see new faces where we came from,” Jim said. “Most of them just brought trouble.”

  “You must be too close to town. We don’t get much in the way of strangers back in here,” Orbin said, forking into some green beans. “Usually it’s someone taking a shortcut across the mountain. A couple of times it’s been rogues who tried to steal off of us.”

  “You send them packing?” Jim asked.

  Orbin chewed, then spoke. “We dealt with them. We’re good Christian people, but there are some things you can’t tolerate. A thief is one of them. You turn them back out in the community and they just go back to stealing. It’s like rabies or something. Once it’s in their blood, they’re a blight on the community. You might as well put them down and be done with it.”

  “We’ve had our share of that,” Jim said. “Lone thieves, groups of thieves, people wanting to run us out and take our lands. We’ve fought with the government, other counties, and even some of our neighbors.”

  “The government, you say?” Orbin asked, slicing off a chunk of beef. It was done to perfection—charred on the outside, pink on the inside.

  “I ain’t sure it’s the same government we always had but they were from Washington. They were getting a local power plant up and running, but they were going to send all the power up to the Washington, D.C. and Northern Virginia area. The only power they were going to share locally was to be in one of those special camps where folks could go if they turned in their guns.”

  “I heard tell of those. Not sure there was one close to here, but I ain’t fond of the idea. I’m not a fan of the government coercing people into doing stuff. It was the biggest mistake we ever made in this country, letting the government get big enough that they couldn’t keep their nose out of our business and their hands out of our pockets. There’s some that will tell you the poor in this country are parasites, living off the working man. The truth of it is that the government is the real leech here. They throw all kinds of blame around because they want you looking everywhere but at them. They like to keep us fighting with each other so we don’t throw them out on their butts.”

  “Don’t get him started on politics. You’ll never shut him up.” The comment came from an older woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. She was smiling warmly. “I’d shake your hand but I know you’re busy eating.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to lose a finger either,” Lloyd commented. “Get it close to his mouth and that’s what’ll happen.”

  Orbin gestured at the woman with his fork. “This is my wife, Frannie. She’s responsible for the spread we’re all appreciating at the moment.”

  “It’s amazing,” Jim said. “Thanks for having us.”

  “Definitely,” Lloyd chimed in. “I was telling Orbin it’s the best food I’ve had in a while.”

  Orbin pointed at Lloyd, then Jim, and introduced each of them.

  “Whereabouts are you all from?” Frannie asked.

  Jim swallowed what was in his mouth. “Russell County.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a lot of friends and family over that way.” Frannie started rattling off a list of people she knew in Russell County, some of whom Jim knew and some of whom he didn’t. When she’d exhausted her list, she addressed Lloyd. “You’re from Russell County too?”

  “I’m living there now, but before the country fell apart I was living in Wythe County.”

  Frannie furrowed her brow. “Don’t know many folks over there. What are you all doing so far away from home?”

  “They said they were headed to Bland County,” Orbin offered.

  “What for?” Frannie asked. “Ain’t nothing over there but woods and maybe a couple of people.”

  Jim tossed his head in Lloyd’s direction. “It’s his deal. I’m just along for the ride.”

  Frannie looked at Lloyd expectantly.

  “I’m a musician. I have a barbershop over in Wythe County, but I’ve played music all over the world. I give lessons too and there’s this camp over in Bland County where they focus on Appalachian music. Kids and adults can come and stay there for sessions where they get to play all day, every day. They improve as musicians and learn how to play with other folks. I play square dances over there and teach a few classes over the summer. I just wanted to check on the place and see how the old man th
at owns it is doing. He’s become a friend.”

  Frannie tapped her lip with a finger and shook her head. “Ain’t heard of a camp like that but do you have an instrument with you?”

  Jim fought not to roll his eyes. It was the question Lloyd lived for. He was mouthing the words to Lloyd’s response even as Lloyd was speaking them.

  “I just so happen to have a banjo with me. Would you like to hear a tune?”

  “Oh, I surely would,” Frannie cooed. “Let’s do it outside so there’s plenty of room for people to dance.”

  Lloyd retrieved his banjo from the soft case and tuned it up. While he was tweaking a tuning peg, he gave Jim a look. “You coming?”

  Jim shook his head. “Think I’ll just hang out here and talk to Orbin for a bit.”

  Lloyd scowled. “Fine, be that way.”

  “Reckon I will.” Jim noticed Orbin looking at him. His response must have appeared unfriendly to someone not used to their interaction. “It’s okay. We grew up together. That’s just how we talk to each other.”

  Orbin smiled. “Yeah, you build a special language with the folks who have known you longest. I’ve got a few like that in this valley.”

  “Lloyd and I crossed paths right after the attacks and I invited him to come join up with us if he wanted to. It’s a long story but I had to walk home from Richmond. In fact, I passed through Burke’s Garden on the way home, not too far from here.”

  Orbin let out a low whistle. “That’s a long haul.”

  “It was long and ugly. I’m home now, but things are still ugly. To be honest, I’ve struggled with it a bit. You seem to be the person in charge around here so you probably understand. In my valley, that’s me. I’m the one who people come to. It’s a lot of responsibility. You have to make hard decisions. People expect things from you.”