The Greatest of These (Sequel to Kansas Summer) -- Faith

June 3, 2004

--Colin

            “Good morning, Tom,” I greet the man who walks into my store.  “How are things?”

            The man simply removes his hat and brushes the top of his head.  “Oh, you know, Colin, same ol’, same ol’.  Crops are doing well, weather’s nice,” he pauses to chuckle, “And Dana’s pregnant again.”

            The man of thirty and I share a little laugh.  “Well, congrats,” I tell him.  “What number is this?”

            “Three in the past four years, I guess.  But the farm’s doing alright, and God’s blessed us real good, so I figure it can’t be too bad.”

            I smile.  “Well that’s excellent.”  I can’t help but feel just a pang of jealousy, wishing that Jenna could also have kids, but I quickly remind myself of all of the things I love about Jenna despite her infertility.  “So what brings you in this afternoon?” I ask, changing the subject.

            “Well,” the weathered Kansas man drawls, “I need some fertilizer and some mulch.  Lots of mulch.  I’ll swing my pickup around back if you could help me load it.”

            “Of course, of course!” I interject.  “We’re not busy, as you see.  Nothing like it was this spring!  Lots of people planting stuff this season!”

            “Well, King, you are the best man in the business.  No one sells as cheap as you do, and I know that means a lot to people around here.  ‘Specially since us farmers aren’t as well off as we’d like to be,” Tom Guthrie thanks me as we walk out the back door through the storeroom.

            “I appreciate your patronage,” I reply, grabbing some leather gloves and a large shovel, “Earl Compton has been after me for years.  I’m afraid he’s going to get this place sooner or later.  I run prices so low that I usually just make enough profit to feed me and Jenna, pay what little bills we have, and then restock the store.  It’s not a popular business model, for sure, but I’m here to serve, so that’s what I’m going to do.”  I stop to laugh a little.  “Drive’s Earl Compton crazy though.  He offered me three-hundred-fifty grand for this place, but the deal I ended up making with him was renting some of the land by the house so he could farm it this season.  I wish I could work it myself, but I don’t have nearly enough resources to do it, so I didn’t see a problem with it.”

            Tom clambers into his pickup truck and drives slowly to the sheds behind the store so that I can still talk with him as I walk beside him.  “And then, of course, Jen appreciates it too,” I continue, “She makes lunch for the immigrants that Earl has working our fields.  Says she has too much time on her hands.”  I shake my head sorrowfully.  “She needs kids, Tom.”

            My elder stops his truck alongside a pile of mulch inside one of the sheds.  “Yeah, I know.  Just a shame.  I’ve known Jenna for a pretty long time; she’s definitely got a motherly instinct.  I remember her being so excited when she turned thirteen so that she could help in the nursery.  Susanne kept telling me how patient, how firm, and how mature she was for her age.  You guys need kids.  Thought about adoption?”

.           .           .

            We keep talking for about fifteen minutes while we shovel the steaming mulch in the sweltering June heat.  “…I know that the Rockies are the team around here, but my team is the Rangers.  I wish that we hadn’t traded away ARod, but how can you compete with a team like the Yankees?  Anyway…”