Rating:
R
POV:
3rd, Brendon's
Summary:
The neighbouring farm got sold to a Mr. Wentz from New York, but Brendon didn't think twice about it, not even when his fiancée excitedly told him that Ryan Ross, the folksinger, was to stay there. The summer of 1963 was expected to be rainy and hot. They were right.
~~~~~
Nothing much ever happened in Lenox, Massachusetts, so when the old Kemble Farm got sold early that year, Brendon heard of it almost immediately. He stepped out of Landers Clocks and Things, the ring box in his pocket, and he kept touching it to make sure it was still there. He had told Mr. Landers as kindly as he was able about the importance of apostrophes in the genitive plural, but Mr. Landers had just said that no one else in Lenox cared. "I care," he said. It wasn't enough.
He bumped into Spencer and Haley outside the post office, and Spencer said, "Say, you heard about that old Kemble Farm being sold?" He hadn't heard about it at all. "Some hotshot from New York bought it."
Kemble Farm wasn't really a farm. There was a barn with no animals in it, next to a big, newly built house that had been empty for a year or so after Mr. Kemble passed away. He had been a well-off man, and the house was one of the best ones in the area. It was a shame what happened to Mr. Kemble. Brendon talked to the town doctor Stokes about it once, and Stokes said that Kemble must have been stuck in that crunched up car for hours before dying from blood loss. One of the kids discovered the wreck once the sun came up.
The farm was only half a mile from Brendon's house, just outside the immediate town itself, surrounded by forests and fields. His parents spent the entire spring talking about Mr. Wentz, who had bought the farm. Mr. Wentz came by a few times while reconstruction was being done, but Brendon never met him. He only saw Wentz's silver Rolls Royce, turning the heads of all the town people. It was like waking up from a slumber: something happening, right there in Lenox. Word on the street was that Wentz was a millionaire.
Brendon focused his energies on his job, making the kids read
Of Mice and Men
. "Good thing the big guy got shot in the end," good-for-nothing Billy Stapleton said in one class, "He was really dumb."
It wasn't the literary critique Brendon hoped for as someone with an English Lit degree, but he knew that he would never get any actual insight in this town, with the simple children who didn't care much about education, their futures, or, well, much of anything. It still gave him a sense of purpose. Rooted him in place. The community college in Pittsfield had been only half an hour away, so he had stayed living with his parents while he studied.
He didn't really see the sale of Kemble Farm affecting his life in any way.
Joanie moved in with Brendon and his parents a month later. It had taken Brendon weeks to gather up the courage to ask. She said yes on the spot, blue eyes sparkling. Brendon felt stupid for having been so worried.
His mother baked a pie to celebrate.
"It's gonna be a rainy summer this year," his father mused when the air started getting warmer.
He was right, as they soon found out.
* * *
"You are not going to believe it," Joanie said. She was wearing a flower patterned dress that came down to mid-calf. She had bought it in Pittsfield the week before when she went to look at wedding dresses. She had also gotten her hair cut, the blonde locks now only reaching the top of her breasts. Brendon lowered the newspaper, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Mr. Wentz has got a guest staying with him." Joanie held a dramatic pause. "Ryan Ross." When Brendon didn't react, she said, "That folksinger! I've heard you whistling along to his tunes, you know who he is!"
