The Farmer's Son

Chapter 5 In the Garden of Alan

By the time Ray got back to the farm the sun was already retreating from a spreading purple sky. Bear was there to greet him when he stepped out of the truck, and followed as he made his way into the house. The sounds of pots and pans and swearing lead him to the kitchen, where he found Noah.

"Why are you smiling?" the man asked gruffly in greeting. He was always in a bad mood when it was his turn to cook.

"Happy to see you, sir."

Noah grunted. "Get everything?"

"Yes, sir."

Another grunt. "Sure took your time."

"Sorry, sir," Ray said. "I stopped in at Sal to help with—"

"I heard," Noah said, banging a pan on the counter. It was not even a pan he needed or would use. "Good job."

Ray could not help the smile that spread across his face, and ducked his head. "I also stopped in at the bookstore."

Sudden silence. Ray blinked. Noah had paused, cast iron skillet in hand in midair. It lasted for only a few seconds, then he banged it down on the stove, and the racket resumed. It was almost like his reality had glitched. Ray opened his mouth, but Noah cut him off.

"You can unload the truck tomorrow." He paused, frowning deeply. "I need to make a phone call."

Ray just barely moved aside in time before Noah came barreling towards him and out the door, heading upstairs to use the phone, instead of the one in the living room—or in the kitchen.

"Guess it's personal," Ray murmured to himself.

He got himself a beer from the fridge, then went out to the front porch and sat in one of the creaky wooden chairs. With his feet up on the railing, he opened the book, but had only read one paragraph in the fading light before a whistle chimed in the air, followed by a bark. Looking up in the direction of the sounds as they came again, he dropped his feet to the floor and followed them, walking along the porch around the corner of the house.

Just off the kitchen porch stairs, and across a strip of dirt, lay the garden. It was a fairly small patch of land, sheltered by a wooden frame covered with white tarp, with bare bulbs and wires hanging from the beams, illuminating the space with an orange glow. The wooden frame had actually been one of the first things Noah had had Ray rebuild, though he had not planted anything. That was all Alan.

The young man now stood among the rows of fresh soil and new shoots in boots and a straw hat, his open shirt blowing slightly in the breeze. As Ray watched, he walked a few feet, then knelt down and patted the dirt with a whistle. On his cue, Bear, following along, attacked the pile of dirt and dug furiously for thirty seconds. In the new hole, Alan placed a plant clipping from a box at his side, then using his hands pulled the dirt back towards it, gently patting it back into place. As he stood, he felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Ray.

A smile split his face, and he waved, a big motion of his arm over his head, as if Ray was a whole field away, instead of twenty feet. Ray ignored him, turning and taking an exaggerated sip from his beer. He looked back just in time to see a clump of dirt hurtling through the air at him, and pulled back to avoid it hitting him in the stomach. With a laugh, he kicked the clump of dirt off the porch, then stepped down and crossed the tract of land.

"Not a bad arm," he said, having to duck slightly under the front flap of tarp, as he joined Alan. "Easily ninety miles per hour."

"It's a hundred and you know it," Alan said, making Ray laugh again.

"How come bear doesn't jump into your arms when you whistle?"

"I got him well trained."

Ray shook his head. "Is it normal to have a garden, when you also have crops?" he asked.