The Farmers Daughter // Jake Kiszka

Chapter One

"But Daddy!!!" You protest, flinging yourself into your Father's chest. "I love him!!!"

Those arms which once held you above his head as a child, which carried you on strong shoulders through fields of wheat and barley, now pushed you away and reached for the shot gun hanging behind the door.

"You're not to see that damn boy again! D'ya hear me?!" He wails, whistling to the dogs to follow him out into the yard. "He's no good for ya, darlin'."

There's a cool breeze in the air as you follow him outside on bare feet. You feel the mud between your toes as you run across the yard to where your Father is headed.

"I wont give him up, Daddy! I won't!" You scream, trying to be heard over the sound of the dogs barking and the horses whinnying in the stables.

Your Father is a staunch man. He's raised you on horseback and the belief that one day all of this was going to be yours. The rolling hills and the house which sat atop of it all. The cattle and the poultry and the safety of the land upon which you'd watched him cultivate since you were old enough to sit upon his knee on the tractor.

None of it mattered if you couldn't have him by your side.

"Darlin', you listen to me." He said, his voice calm and sweet again as if you were still his little girl. "That boy 'aint no good for you. I'm not sayin' he 'aint a good fella. I'm saying he 'aint a good fella for you. Sittin' on that damn guitar all day, singin' those blues. How's he gon' look after you?"

You were already clawing at him to look you in the eye. To make him see things the way you did.

"Please, Daddy! I'm gon' keep on seeing him with your blessing or not. I don't wanna fight with you. Please, won't you let me decide for myself?!" You plead.

He slings his shot gun on his back and takes one of the horses out, heading to the back of the stables to pasture. You can't bring yourself to follow anymore. You feel your heart break on his insistence that the one you have chosen for yourself will never be the one he would have chosen for you.

The mud has climbed up the back of your legs. The hem of your white dress is peppered with it, and you sigh at the sight of yourself. The cool breeze brings in a melody on the wind and you turn to where it's coming from.

Jake liked to sit in the hay loft and strum his guitar, away from where others could hear. Sometimes it felt like he played it only for you, summoning you to him as dusk began to fall. You peered out towards the pasture and watched as your Father made his way towards the fields. He would be gone until after dark. You knew his comings and goings as well as your own. He was a man of structure. Which had been broken, somewhat, when he'd been forced to take on farm hands during the summer.

Jake had been the only one who stayed the course. Something your Father had been belligerent about. Jake was useful, but a dreamer who liked to sit and play guitar most nights and sing quietly to himself in a way which had drawn you to him so effortlessly it felt as if it had been a dream.

You made your way on muddied feet through the yard, past the house and out towards the barn that sat idly by the trees at the very edge of the land. It was where old machines came to rest when they were broken and rusting. The hay loft above, no longer home to dying grass but where your Father had put Jake's living quarters.

He saw you approach from the open window, where he sat with his brownish red acoustic guitar resting on his knee. Your hair blowing away from your face in the breeze, holding down your muddied dress as you walked towards him. He put down his guitar as you came closer.

"You didn't have to stop playing."

You ascend the old stairs and watch him put his joy back in the guitar case. His eyes remain on you, though. Barefooted and hair wild from the wind.