Enos

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Between the ignorance and the just-plain-stubborn mule-headedness, Enos Quaiver saw no chance of ever getting Briony to see things his way. To say Briony was set in her ways was like saying granite was a flexible rock.

Enos dropped three seeds in the row and carefully stepped off fourteen inches. He knew it was exactly fourteen inches. Years of stepping off rows had honed his eyesight to that precise measurement.

Not that precision counted for much against the fickleness of Mother Nature, or the inevitable decrees of Fate, or even against Briony's ever changing moods, whims, or fancies.

Enos was convinced all hemming and hawing must be a woman thing.

He looked down the long rows that seemed to stretch clear to Texas.

If only he had more education, knew the words to strengthen his arguments, had the gift of persuasion, the silver tongue of great men like Abraham.

Not the Biblical one, though he was surely a blessed man.

But Abraham Potterfield.

***

Abraham's mother, Lilly Mae, and Enos' mother, Stanora, had been best friends for over thirty years.

The boys grew up together.

But Abraham had an uncle who'd sent for him. He'd educated the boy, and given Abraham a runaway head start on Life.

Abraham came back a lawyer and set up a practice in town on Main Street.

Enos, who had dropped out of grade school in the sixth grade to help on the farm, could only stand back in wonder, and more than a little envy, and wish Life had not handed him the chamber pot instead of a royal throne like Abraham.

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