The Farmer's Son

Chapter 26 What is Love

At the washing machine near the back door, Alan looked up at the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps. His hand stalled closing the top loader as he watched Ray stride down the hall and pass into his room, shutting the door behind him. Ray didn't look up as he passed, but from his paler than normal face, the twisted brows and clenched jaw, it was clear he was in the throes of some inner turmoil.

Stunned as to what could have happened in the span of a couple minutes to make him like that, Alan opened his mouth to call after him, but the shrill ringing of the kitchen phone cut him off. He glanced in its direction and back towards the closed door, hesitating between the two. But before he could make his decision about which to attend to first, his father, coming in from the porch door into the kitchen, hooked a finger under the receiver and lifted it to his ear.

"Lo?" Noah said.

"Who is this?" came the voice over the line.

"Mind your tone, boy," Noah said severely. "You tell me who you looking for. You the one calling people."

"Someone from this number called me just a second ago and hung up," Tommy said, his irritated voice spilling from the receiver.

"Ain't no one called you from this phone," Noah said, his own irritation rising in response. "I been here when it rang, and ain't no one here but me. Now stop bothering good people trying to work and get yourself something constructive to do."

With that Noah slammed the receiver down, turned on his heel and headed back outside, muttering about manners, and completely forgetting why he had come inside in the first place.

Standing outside the kitchen door out of sight, Alan listened to his father leave. After the screen door stopped rattled from the force of his exit, Alan leaned forwards and glanced inside. The kitchen was empty, his father far off by now. Stepping through the doorway, he paused.

On the floor, kicked into the corner by the wall, was Ray's notepad and pencil. Bending down, Alan picked them up and held them, gazing at them pensively. Placing them on top of the phone, he hooked a finger under the receiver and lifted it to his ear. On the rotary he dialed 1169. He listened to the number of the last call received, then pressed 1 to return the call. It rang once.

"Hello?" came Tommy's annoyed voice.

Alan paused, then said, "Hi. I'm the number you just called."

He heard a deep breath being drawn. "What do you want?" came the question, asked with forced calm.

Alan glanced towards the door and the hallway beyond and made a split-second decision. "Well, see, I just wanted to apologize for my Pa," he said, lightening his tone and increasing his accent. "My little girl was playing with the phone and when she saw my Pa—the man you spoke to before—she hung up and ran off in a hurry. Now my Pa don't have a long temper, so I'm afraid the whole thing just caused a ruckus."

"Oh," Tommy said, his natural calm returning.

Alan licked his lips. "I just wanted to explain the situation, make sure there are no hard feelings, Mister...?"

Silence, then, "Tom," he said.

"Tom," Alan repeated, heart beating fast. "She's just a kid, all by herself without her Ma. With just me and her grandpa on the farm, she gets awful bored. I honestly don't know what to do with her."

"I get it. I'm a teacher myself," Tom said. "How old is she?"

"My baby's turning six this August, god help me."

"Try getting her involved in an activity or sport. Drawing, painting, something like that. To take up her time and energy."

"Well, that is a great idea, Tom," Alan said. "Thank you so much. And once again, I'm real sorry about all the trouble."