A Family For The Farmer

“Don’t worry about that. I can stretch my budget a little bit and handle the rent by myself for a while.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. You never do. And this time I’m not taking no for an answer. Listen.” Clary’s soft voice took on an uncharacteristic firmness. “You can do this, Em. I know you can! And what’s more, I know you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”

Clary had a point. Emily ended the call and set the phone down on the snowy bedspread. Well, she couldn’t put this off forever. She took one steadying breath and tore up the envelope’s flap.

Her grandmother’s message was written in blue ballpoint pen on a plain sheet of notebook paper. Sadie Elliott had never been one for frills or preambles. She got right to the point.

I know right now you’re probably pretty hot at me, but you’re just going to have to get over it.

You’re not much on trusting folks, Emily-girl, and I understand that. But you’re going to have to trust me on this one thing. I had my reasons for leaving things the way I did. Believe it or not, I did it because I love you, and I want what’s best for you. And like all old folks, I think I’ve got a better idea of what that is than you do, so I couldn’t resist taking one last opportunity to meddle a little.

You’ve got plenty of spunk and grit in you, Emily. I admire that—probably because you got those things from me. You’re also stubborn as a country mule. That part you got from your grandpa. When that man made up his mind about something, he was harder to move than a sack of bees.

You settled on an opinion about Pine Valley and Goosefeather Farm a long time ago, and I don’t think you gave either of them a fair shake. I always felt like you were made and meant for this old place, but you were too bullheaded to consider its good points and too busy mooning after the likes of Trey Gordon to notice what the good Lord put right under that pretty little nose of yours.

But there’s no point my going into all that now. Anyhow, it’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.

Maybe you’re right, and you never belonged here. Then again maybe you’re wrong. You know well enough what I always thought. Here’s your chance to find out once and for all which one of us is right.

As usual, I’m banking on me. I’m not much to look at, but I’m smart as a whip.

Praying God’s blessings on you and those sweet babies.

All my love,

Grandma

While she was reading, the tears Emily had been fighting all day had spattered down on her grandmother’s writing, making wet circles on the paper. She’d heard her grandmother’s voice just as plainly as if the feisty old lady had been sitting next to her.

She folded up the letter carefully and slipped it back into its envelope. She sat on the bed for a few minutes listening to the ponderous ticking of the grandfather clock at the base of the stairs and the occasional squawk of a chicken from the barnyard.

When nineteen-year-old Emily’s pregnancy test had come up positive, Grandma had set her lips together tightly and left the room for fifteen minutes. When she returned, she’d given her granddaughter a fierce hug and told her she was welcome to stay at Goosefeather Farm for as long as she liked. They’d raise the baby together with God’s help.

She’d never understood Emily’s unwillingness to take her up on that offer, and she hadn’t approved of Emily’s choice to return to Atlanta. Sadie’s concerns turned out to be right on target. When Emily got back to her mother’s apartment, she discovered that Marlene had followed her latest boyfriend to Florida, leaving nothing behind but a stack of overdue bills and a scribbled note saying that Emily was plenty old enough to manage on her own. If Sadie had known half of what Emily had gone through during her first months alone in the city, her grandmother would have driven her old Ford truck up there and hauled her granddaughter straight back to Pine Valley.

Sadie Elliott had been an independent woman herself, though, and she’d reluctantly allowed Emily to forge her own path. Still she’d never really understood why Emily was so stubborn in her refusal to return to Pine Valley or why Emily had gone to such great lengths to entice her grandmother up to Atlanta for holidays and birthday celebrations. Sadie had felt Emily was being unreasonable, and she’d said so on several occasions.

But Grandma hadn’t known everything.

Before Emily had gone to her grandmother with her suspicions, she’d already been to speak to Trey Gordon and his widowed mother, Lois. Naive as she’d been back then, Emily had banked on Trey’s boyish promises, and she’d confidently expected to be making wedding plans once the initial shock subsided.

Instead Trey’s socially prominent mother had wasted no time setting Emily straight. There would be no marriage. Her son’s bright future wasn’t going to be dimmed by tying himself to the likes of Emily Elliott, no matter what kind of fix she’d managed to get herself in. In Lois’s opinion Emily’s best option was to take herself and her problems back up to Atlanta. Given the sort of woman Emily’s mother was, Lois had no doubt Marlene would know how to deal with this. Trey had simply sat by without saying a word, letting his mother fillet Emily into quivering strips with her barbed tongue.

Trey had been killed in a drunk driving accident over four years ago, but apparently his mother had never forgiven Emily for having the audacity to expect her precious son to shoulder his rightful responsibilities. Lois had made that perfectly clear when she bumped into Emily on the morning of Sadie Elliott’s funeral. Emily had felt the chill radiating off Trey’s mother from all the way across the room, and it had been a profound relief when she’d finally been able to put Pine Valley in her rearview mirror and head back to the haven of the Atlanta apartment she and the twins shared with Clary.

Now she was supposed to stay here for the whole summer? It was a daunting thought.

She got to her feet and crossed over the creaking floor to the window that looked out over the farm. She could see her grandma’s milk cow grazing placidly in the pasture on the right-hand side of the house and the vegetable garden to the left with its tidy rows. The far field was dotted with black Angus cows. They were the farm’s bread and butter and depended on the hay fields, which were tucked out of sight behind the house.

It all looked so serene and orderly. Emily knew it was anything but.

Already weeds were impudently sprouting up between the plants in the garden, and each row of vegetables would end up requiring hours of labor before the produce made it to the local farmers’ market or to the farmhouse kitchen, where it would have to be processed and canned to be stored for winter eating. That cow would have to be milked night and morning no matter what else was going on, and the dairy pails and strainers would have to be scrubbed and sanitized daily. Those black Angus cows would need to be carefully monitored and fed if they were going to bring top price at the end of the summer. Then there were the goats and the chickens to look after.

And the hay field. Emily didn’t even want to think about that hay field. Haying was backbreaking work that required the use of a lot of complicated equipment that she couldn’t even imagine running on her own. She didn’t know much about any of this. She’d spent most of her summers on the farm trying to avoid this type of work so she could spend her time tinkering around in her grandma’s old-fashioned kitchen. And now she had the twins to look after, as well.

Her grandma had always counted on Abel Whitlock to do the toughest farm work, but Emily could hardly expect him to help out now, not when he stood to inherit the place if she made a mess of things. Besides, even if he were willing, she had no money to pay him.

She might as well face it. She was on her own. And that was fine, she told herself, lifting her chin a fraction. She was better off that way. Depending on other people was what generally got her in trouble.

Through the window Emily watched a hen that had somehow managed to escape from the coop, wandering the yard, clucking and pecking at bugs. She’d have to catch the silly bird before a hawk did and then try to block the hole in the chicken pen. She’d have to see the rest of the animals settled for the night, too, which meant she was going to have to take her first shot at milking a cow in years.

Then she’d have to go back to Atlanta and do her best to explain things to Mr. Alvarez. Given her boss’s temperament, she knew keeping her job was unlikely, but she’d see what she could do. She needed that job.

Because the minute the farm was legally hers, Emily planned to stick a for-sale sign in the yard, point her little car back toward Atlanta, and once again put Pine Valley and all its painful memories in her rearview mirror—this time permanently. For once in her life, Sadie Elliott had gotten things utterly and completely wrong.

Emily didn’t belong on Goosefeather Farm. She never had, and she never would.

* * *

Abel rounded the corner of Miss Sadie’s barn and stopped short in the wide doorway. Beulah the cow was clumsily tied into her stanchion, and Emily was crouched down beside her, trying to poke the stainless steel milking pail under the bulging udder. The twins were standing a respectful distance away watching the process with doubtful expressions.

For a moment Abel was distracted by the picture they made. The fading sunlight reached through the slats of the barn wall to highlight Emily’s honey-colored hair, which was gathered into a messy knot on the top of her head. The twins were mostly in shadow with only their faces picking up the light.

Abel’s fingers itched for a sketch pad. There was so much here he could carve: the curves of Emily’s face, the sturdy, childish shapes of the twins...

The cow shifted irritably. Abel blinked, and his mind shifted abruptly back into gear. “Emily, look out there! You’re on the wrong side. She’s going to kick you!”

As if on cue the Jersey lifted one fawn-colored leg and struck out sideways in Emily’s direction. Emily fell backward, her breath escaping her in a loud huff, while Beulah focused on aiming her second kick at the empty pail.

The pail landed next to Emily with a loud clang that set the hens clucking worriedly. Abel crossed the barn in three strides and knelt down beside Emily, whose gray-green eyes were wide.

“Did she get you?” Abel asked as he helped Emily back to her feet. “She can be an ornery old girl. You have to watch her.”

“I’m all right.” She stepped away from him, dusting off her pants with quick, irritated motions. “Stupid cow.”

“Beulah’s smart enough. That’s the problem. If she was stupid, she’d be a lot easier to handle.” Since Emily seemed unhurt, Abel turned his attention to the cow. He placed a reassuring hand on Beulah’s flank and murmured to her, settling her with his familiar touch and voice. The Jersey gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her big brown eyes reproachfully in his direction. About time you showed up, she seemed to be saying.

He almost hadn’t come at all. He’d dawdled a full forty-five minutes after his normal chore time wondering if he should. In the end his concern for the animals had won out. Emily didn’t know the routines, and she didn’t know where the feed was. He didn’t know if she wanted his help or not, but he knew she needed it. So, like it or not, she was going to get it.

“Maybe I’d better milk her out for you tonight.” He righted the toppled pail with one hand and scooped up the three-legged milking stool with the other. “Cows are kind of particular about their milking routine, Beulah more than most,” he explained, stepping over to the other side of the fidgeting cow. “She’ll probably behave herself better for somebody she’s used to.” As he settled in on the correct side, he could feel the cow relaxing. She took up a mouthful of grain and began crunching calmly, looking as if she’d never tried to kick anybody in her life.

Abel, on the other hand, felt as jumpy as a cricket in a henhouse...and a whole lot less welcomed. Emily was still standing in the spot where he’d left her, and the twins, their eyes big with curiosity, were watching him clean off Beulah’s full udder with the wipes Miss Sadie kept on hand.

Abel had never spent much time around kids, and the few he’d run into here and there hadn’t left all that favorable an impression. These two seemed different. He liked the no-nonsense way the boy had of summing things up, and Emily’s little girl had a real special sparkle to her.

He liked them just fine, but that didn’t mean he knew how to talk to them. It didn’t help matters that they kept staring at him wide-eyed like two tawny little owls. Fortunately for Abel, milking was a great way to avoid eye contact. He kept his gaze focused on the streams of creamy liquid that jetted into the bucket with a ringing hiss as his practiced hands did their work.