The Farmer's Son

Chapter 57 The Calm Before

Bright, blaring sunlight poured onto deathly still cornfields, heat radiating up from the baked earth and scorched asphalt roads in shimmering waves, making even the hardiest farmer stop and take off his hat to fan himself.

Boots crunched over dried earth and desiccated twigs, disturbing dust that simply hung about in choking clouds with no wind to shift them. Pausing under the shadow of a stalk, Noah reached out to a drooping leaf, fingers grazing over the dry, brittle membrane. Under the crisscrossing shadow of his straw hat, a deep frown marred his brows.

This wasn't good.

Despite sweat dripping from his every pore, plastering his shirt to his back, prickling goosebumps broke out up his arms and across the back of his neck. All the warning signs were there.

This was dangerous weather.

Up at the house, Alan had taken the fan from Ray's room into the kitchen while he made breakfast, not so much to cool, but just to move around the still, oppressively hot air. Combined with the din of the spinning fan blades and Bears heavy panting under the table was the radio.

"...high temperatures. People are urged to remain indoors, and to keep a watchful eye on the elderly and children, as well as overheating pets. Have emergency supplies on hand, which include plenty of drinking water, canned food, and..."

"This ain't our first rodeo," Noah said, coming into the kitchen.

"Ray would appreciate that analogy," Alan said. Turning off the stove, where he was cooking scrambled eggs, he turned towards his father, face tense and eyes filled with expectation.

In response, Noah held out his hand. In it was the leaf from before, half crumbled. Alan grimaced.

"Better warn Ray," Noah said, letting the leaf fall onto the island.

"I will," Alan said seriously, as the radio announcer began listing off counties under fire watch.

Pulling out a chair, Noah glanced up at the oscillating fan, sitting in the doorway that led to the dining room. "Ain't that Ray's?" he asked, as a blast of hot air washed over him.

"He won't mind," Alan said, taking a seat opposite his father. "I'll put it back before he notices."

"Not like he around to use it," Noah grunted, loading his fork with egg.

Then why did you bring it up? Alan thought, hiding a smile as he buttered a slice of toast. No one knew how much his father missed having Ray around as much as he did. "Ray still technically lives here," Alan said.

"New farm needs a lot of work. Can't be helped."

"So does an old one," Alan said. Licking his lips, he shifted to the edge of his seat. "Pa," he began. "Have you thought about having...someone else come in and help out?"

"Help out how?" Noah said, taking a big mouthful of eggs. "Ray got us back to a good starting point. So even without him around, we—I can manage, even through the winter."

The air shifted, thickening ever so slightly at the reminder that come winter, Alan was leaving again. But Alan had not yet told Noah that it wouldn't just be for the winter—he would be starting his new job and be gone for most of the year.

"What about for the housework?" Alan said. "You could hire a woman to come in, cook meals for the week, do the laundry. That's what Dusty does."

"Suppose so," Noah grunted, without looking up from his food. Shoveling the rest into his mouth, he guzzled his juice and stood. "I'm goin' to check on some people."