New Leaf

by Catherine Anderson

  With the crops all harvested, old Tony was in “winter” mode, when he repaired his equipment, fed his animals, watched TV, and worked crossword puzzles. Jeb found him tinkering with his tractor, an ancient John Deere that had lost nearly all its identifying green and yellow paint and was probably worth more as an antique than Tony’s whole farm was.

  “Hey, Tony!” Jeb called out. “Got tractor problems?”

  The old man resembled a stout stump with a two-day growth of whiskers and was dressed in tan Carhartt outerwear smudged with grease. He cast a cranky glare at Jeb. “Betsy never has problems. Kind of like a woman, son. All she needs is a little lovin’ to keep her motor tuned.”

  Jeb drew to a stop near a front tire that was taller than his hip. Bozo chose that moment to shake his head and send drool flying. Just then, Mike, Tony’s red tri Australian shepherd, bounded out from under the tractor. The two canines sauntered off to take turns pissing on every bush in sight.

  “What brings you over?” Tony wiped his hands on a rag so greasy that it only smeared more oil onto his fingers. “If you haven’t found a new cleaning lady and you’re wantin’ to hire my wife, you’re out of luck. Mike sheds like a son bitch and I’m sloppy, so we keep Myrna pretty busy.”

  Jeb hadn’t started looking for a new cleaning person since his last one had quit. “I’m between jobs right now.” Jeb saw no need to elaborate. He and Tony had been neighbors long enough that the old man understood his on-and-off-again work schedule. Jeb had just finished a furniture order from a man who’d wanted a special Christmas gift for his wife, but otherwise it had been a slow season. “I figure I can muck out the house myself for a while. When the building market picks back up in February or March, I’ll send out some feelers.” He winked. “And I promise not to steal Myrna.”

  Tony, a tobacco chewer, leaned sideways to spit. “Good thing. She’s got a hip goin’ out on her, I’m afraid. Hurtin’ her off and on.”

  Jeb hated to hear that. Myrna was a sweet gal and only sixty-three, a bit young to need a hip replacement. “I hope she gets to feeling better soon. A couple of months back, my mom hobbled around from pain in her hip.” Kate Sterling’s version of hobbling was to limp at a fast pace. “She was about to see Doc Hamilton when the discomfort went away.”

  “I see his partner, Dr. Payne.” Tony chuckled. “Signed on with him out of curiosity. If I was a young doctor with a last name that sounds like pain, I’d get it changed.”

  “He may be young, but I’ve heard he’s good,” Jeb observed. “Maybe you should take Myrna to see him.”

  “Damned woman won’t go. She’s too stubborn by half, my Myrna.”

  Not sure what to say, Jeb whacked the frozen ground with the heel of his boot. Tony worshiped his wife and didn’t share personal stuff unless he was truly troubled.

  “So what brings you over?” Tony asked.

  Jeb fished a handful of pink strips from his coat pocket and extended the crinkled lump. “Just wondering if you’ve found any of these on your land.”

  Tony squinted. “Son bitch. You gettin’ those, too? Got my Myrna in a tailspin, I’ll tell ya. She drives me half nuts tryin’ to figure out who’s writin’ ’em. Has me lickin’ my finger to test the wind direction.”

  Jeb stuffed the notes back in his pocket. “I didn’t consider the possibility that they floated into my place on the wind. How many have you and Myrna found?”

  “A good twenty.” Tony spat again, narrowly missing Bozo, who’d come to lie at Jeb’s feet. “I got my theories on it, if you don’t mind me sharin’. The writer is a female, and she’s lonely. Has no friends. Works as a cook somewhere and makes barely enough to scrape by. Also yearnin’ to find herself a man. In one message, she wished for Prince Charming to carry her and her child away on a white steed to live happily ever after.”

  “Really.” Jeb recalled the note about the woman’s wish to find a hero. “She must be having a hard time of it.”

  “And she’s probably uglier than a fence post if she’s that desperate.”

  Jeb thought about it and decided Tony might be right. A beautiful woman didn’t normally have to search for a man to rescue her. Men stood in line to apply for the job. Not that Jeb cared if this gal was homely. She clearly needed a friend. He tried and failed to imagine having nobody to talk to. He’d grown up in Mystic Creek and couldn’t go into town without seeing someone he knew. He also had heaps of family here.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m glad to hear the notes aren’t landing only on my property.”

  Tony laughed. “You’re safe. I haven’t asked our neighbors if they’ve found any, but you can rest assured, as many as we’ve gotten, you aren’t bein’ singled out.”

  Jeb studied the clouds. “Looks like snow tonight.”

  Tony nodded. “Myrna says there’s a bastard storm front moving toward us.”

  Jeb ended the conversation the way he and Tony always did, by walking away. He and Tony said only what needed to be said. Polite farewells weren’t part of their repertoire.

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