Pretear: Chronicles of the Harvest Moon

Chapter 1: Forget-Me-Not Valley

The train station sat quiet, so far down the line that everyone else had filed off several stops ago, save for a young man with a canvas rucksack.

Unlike in the city, there were no buildings (that he knew) close enough to reach on foot, or alternative public transit to take.

As he waited, he wondered how anyone lived out here, so far from hospitals and libraries and schools. But, he supposed that they must, or no one would.

It was a nice day, at least, and the country air was easy to breathe. He supposed he should count his blessings, even if the warm spring weather and clear sky seemed bittersweet.

The sound of a vehicle's approach pulled him from his thoughts; an antique pickup puttered up to the station.

"Are you Jack?" Asked the driver, a leathery old man with caterpillar-thick eyebrows.

The young man replied, "I am."

Jack watched green, tree-lined hills roll on forever from the passenger window. But for a handful of small buildings scattered across the landscape, this truly felt like the middle of nowhere.

The city he'd spent most of his life in offered an abundance of services and conveniences, many of which lay within walking distance-or at most, a short ride on public transit. All of which he'd left behind, along with friends and relatives; some of the former had begun to fan out and pursue life-goals, travel, romance, and higher education.

University had felt like a next step-after which would come a good job and everything else.

Maybe that was why-when Jack had read the rejection letter emblazoned with the logo of his chosen institution-he'd substituted its corporate words of consolation with, what he felt, a truer message: You've already failed.

"What do you know about farming?" Asked the driver. He was Takakura, a friend of Jack's late father.

Jack wondered how much of the old man's gruffness came with age, or if Takakura had ever smoked. Every once in a while, he could still pick the scent of his father's favourite cigarette brand from a crowd, though he didn't smell it now.

"Not much, but I've come this far so...."

Jack lacked talent. If he stumbled upon a green thumb, then, perhaps he could justify prior failures as simply not having found his niche. Now-out of school, and out of work-this felt like his last chance. Now or never. Sink or swim. Pass or fail.

Fail....

What an ugly word. It tied knots in his stomach and filled up his chest.

To say he wasn't nervous would be a lie.

For now, Jack moved on autopilot. The bulk of his emotional energy was spent, what now seemed decades ago, alone in a bachelor apartment.

When he moved out, anything in it was sold, given away, or put in storage. Jack would miss the coworkers he'd grown accustomed to, like the girl who sent him on deliveries (but often apologized when it turned out that the order was wrong). She was patient with him when clients weren't, and that warranted recognition. Perhaps, in another life, the two might have become close.

He'd packed light for this trip-clothes, toiletries, inhaler- as the place he'd be staying at had its own furniture and appliances. All of which had once been owned by his father, so money wasn't a major concern for now.

The drive lasted an hour and a half, with few words exchanged. Takakura parked the vehicle and declared that they would proceed the rest of the way on foot. "I'll never get it up the hill again." He explained.

The way in and out of Forget-Me-Not Valley was a dirt footpath wound into a cliffside. The village was otherwise surrounded by a natural stone border, too steep to climb without specialized gear. A stream flowed through it, towards a large body of water, and Jack noted the squawks of seagulls as he followed Takakura over a sturdy wooden bridge.

"Your Dad and I shared the same dream, you know." The old man's voice startled him after a stretch of silence "I bet he never told you, but, I remember it all."

He led Jack to a cluster of cobbled-together buildings encircled by trees.

"This land you see here, your Dad and I found it together. It has old but strong buildings and some fallow fields." He paused, then added. "So, I think it's your...destiny to take on this farm. I'll be here to help you out."

Jack didn't respond, other than a nod, but allowed that to sink in. This land was his now, to do with as he so pleased, though he doubted that Takakura would consent to something outlandish.

Takakura gave him a brief tour of the plot, which included a cow and a chicken purchased prior to Jack's arrival. Takakura explained that they would both need food put out for them each day, starting tomorrow. If Jack needed anything-food, supplies, medicine-he was to ask or leave a note; there was a tall building across from the barn where, Takakura informed, a ledger was kept on a crate. From now on, that would be used to record profits. Otherwise, there were old tools in the shed, and a small vegetable patch ready for use.

At last, Jack was shown the farmhouse where he was to live. Takakura had a log cabin of his own on the other side of the plot, which the old man departed to after he'd bid Jack good evening. Jack liked the idea that help wasn't far away (in case of an emergency), but also appreciated the privacy of his own space.

The farmhouse was larger than Jack's last apartment, but less stark by comparison. Something about wood felt more personal than drywall, and the fact that his father would have built it with his own two hands. Jack didn't think he could have done the same.

Takakura must have gone through and cleaned the place before his arrival, Jack noted. The bed was made and he couldn't see dust anywhere. His allergies and his asthma both gave their thanks.

Other than the sink, there was no indoor plumbing. Jack did not relish the concept of an outhouse. Especially at night, or in the rain, or in the winter....

He told himself that he shouldn't complain about rent-free lodging, and set to work unpacking his rucksack. He also started a shopping list for Takakura-but oh, but where was the fridge?

Jack scoffed. Did his father not have one?

He supposed it was healthy to use fresh ingredients and skip chemical additives-but where was he to store leftovers? It might be safe to leave bread on his kitchen counter for a few days, but meat required immediate refrigeration, as would eggs and milk!

Jack heaved a sigh. Tomorrow's problem. For now, he was exhausted.