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“That’s all?” I give him a look that I’d seen my grandma give my grandpap before.
“That look hasn’t worked on me since my mama passed some years back. Be a good girl and take the offer.”
I grin. “Yes, sir. Thank you so much. I promise to bring you pics of what it looks like as soon as I get it sorted since you can’t see it from the road. Though you are welcome up at the house anytime. Just ring the bell at the gate.”
“I sure hope you aren’t up on that farm by yourself. That’s a lot of land to work.”
“I’m not by myself now, nor will I be later. My son and his grandparents will be here in a couple of months, once school is out.”
“All grown up for sure. You make sure you let us old people meet that son of yours. We won’t scare him none.”
I move to his side, hugging him tight. “I promise. He’s only eight. He’s not learned to be weary of strangers yet,” I tease. I step back and hold out the folded twenty I pulled from my pocket. What he doesn’t see are the other two folded in with it. This man, God bless him, is being a rockstar, but I’m not going to take money from him like this. He is running a business as it is. If I bought them somewhere else, the price would easily be fix or six times his, or more.
“I’ll see you later, Mr. Jorgenson!” I hurry out of the shop before he realizes what is in his hand. I laugh to myself as I climb up into my SUV. If my memory is correct, the Jorgenson farm is about ten miles past the water tower. I sure as hell hope my memory is right.
Well, shit.
I’ve already turned around once and just passed the road again. My SUV makes a tight three-point turn, and I point it back toward the turn-off. The red and blue sign reads “Jorgenson’s Junk & More”. I don’t remember that sign, but hey, I am thankful for it nonetheless.
The drive up the long road has me remembering the parties and bonfires we’d have out here as kids. Not just at the Jorgenson’s. They would move week to week. People would gather to have fun and enjoy the comforts of friendship. For us kids, it was to see who could swipe a drink from a parent’s bottle or glass and not get caught. Or, and this happened more than not, wait for someone that was a little tipsy to put a glass down and swipe it.
There was more than once that we regretted that choice. I got a hold of old man Yates’ drink once. I should have known that if it was in a jar, it meant business. But oh no, I swiped it and took a giant mouthful. Then proceeded to gag, cough, choke, and spit most of it out all while I died. That mouthful of what I soon learned was moonshine, went right into the fire.
Which opened the gates of hell. That fire whooshed up about ten feet tall, embers flying this way and that. People scattered; my grandpap snatched me up, pulling me to safety. He’d gotten a good chuckle at my expense before giving me an ear full. His famous last words, “Yer britches ain’t big enough for no moonshine, girl. Best leave it to the grown folks,” sank in deep with a good swat to my backside. That dressing down was utterly heartbreaking for me.
My grandpap had never been upset with me before. I was maybe ten or eleven when that happened, so don’t be too mean. He did it out of love and the need to keep me safe.
Needless to say, I learned a very valuable lesson. If it’s not mine, don’t touch it. We all did stupid shit as kids, mine just happened to stay with me to this day.
After that night, our little game came to a halt. Grandpap and some of the other old timers built game areas for us to play: horseshoes, bean bag toss; you know, anything to keep us preoccupied. Those were the good ole days, I see that now. Wish I had that time back again, but as my daddy used to say, “You can’t live in the past if you’re in the present.”
I come to a stop just outside of the large red barn. I can’t help but smile as I look around. Those old memories haven’t done this place justice. The Jorgenson farm is still breathtaking. My heart aches as I think of the ruins of a cabin out in the woods not far from my house. My grandpap’s hunting cabin is all I have left of him. It’s the reason I bought the property.
I need to take Ian and Mack back there and see if they can salvage it. I can hear the horses in the barn as I get out. The wind is colder, causing me to shiver. I wrap my arms around myself as I walk to the barn doors. They open just before I get to them, scaring the hell out of me.
“Sweet Jesus!”
“Ah, shit—shoot. Pardon me. I didn’t mean to scare ya none.” He looks around then back at me. “Tori?”
At the sound of his voice, I know who he is. “Oh my God, Rusty? You’re all grown up.”
We share a hug and step back.
“You too. Granddad said you were on the way up. You wanted the old wagon wheels, right?”
“Yes, I have an idea for a flower box; I want to use them for it. It’s one of those “I hope the final product matches what’s in my head” kind of projects.”
Grinning, he says, “Sounds fun. You got a trailer on that thing?” With his chin, he motions toward my SUV.
“Uh, no. Do I need one? I was going to put the back seat down; it should be big enough.”
“I don’t know, let’s see how much room is back there.”
After a quick inspection, he asks me to pull the truck up and then back toward the barn. Apparently, these things are a little heavy. Makes me glad I have men waiting at the house that are used to moving heavy things. I’m sure I can get them to help me unload these in exchange for…I’ll offer to make them some sweets. After all, Grandma always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.
With them both safely loaded, I climb back into the SUV. “Be careful going back down the hill. When you get to the big turn, keep to the left of the road; that right side washes out, and with the snow, you can’t see it. It takes a bit to get the tow truck up here.”
“Ah, thanks. Appreciate all of your help. I left your gloves on the hay bales just inside the door.”
