Forever Country

Forever Country

  By

  Brenda Kennedy

  ***

  Copyright 2015 by Brenda Kennedy

  Dedicated with much love and respect to my sisters Martha, Rosa, and Carla.

  This story is part of a trilogy. Books 1 and 2 have cliffhangers.

  ***

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abel Kennedy

  It’s been six months since I lost the Heavyweight Boxing Championship fight to Bobby Grether. Although I’m disappointed, I know that he won fair and square. Even I can admit that.

  After the fight, I stayed hidden in my suite at the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. I was waiting for the swelling and bruising to go down on my face before being seen in public. I looked bad. In fact, I looked as bad as I felt. I was never one for public humiliation. I was the fighting champion, and then suddenly I wasn’t. It hurt. It hurt almost as bad as the injuries.

  I talked to Momma and Pops every day. Pops said he saw the fight on television, and he knew the condition I was in. He said Momma busied herself in the kitchen, makin’ fried chicken and peach cobbler so she had an excuse not to watch the fight. I invited them to all of my fights, but they didn’t attend any of them. Pops is busy on the farm and Momma, well, she doesn’t want to see anyone hittin’ her baby. “Baby” is her word, not mine. I’m 31 years old, so I’m hardly a baby. But I’ll always be her baby, no matter how old I am.

  My managers, Tony and Mack, stayed with me during my recuperation time after the fight. They were disappointed when I lost the championship belt, but I think they were more disappointed when I told them I was retiring. Well, maybe I’ll semi-retire; I haven’t decided yet. I do know this body needs a long rest.

  I decided to return to my country roots in Rose Farm, Ohio for the holidays. My parents are getting old and when my brother called and asked if I could come home and help on the farm, I couldn’t say no.

  I fly into Columbus, Ohio, rent a pickup truck, and drive myself to Rose Farm. Pops calls the farm “The Kennedy Mule Hill Farm,” but I’m not sure why. As I travel the old country roads, I see not much has changed. I left the rural area right out of high school and returned home only a few times over the years.

  I didn’t want to be a farmer, and I didn’t want this life for me. I’ve stepped in manure way too many times. I like music, and I know that the Mississippi Sheiks’ Walter Vinson, who used to work as a field hand, had a very good reason for quitting and taking off with his guitar to play the country blues I love so much: “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life behind a mule that’s farting.” Of course, that was back in the days when mules pulled plows.

  Pops works hard, and he’s a proud man, but I wanted more for me, and for them. I thought if I made a lot of money, I would move my family away from the farm and into the city. I would be able to provide for them, and their life would be better, happier, and easier.

  I was wrong. They never left the farm, and they never cashed most of the checks I sent home for them. I sent them more than enough to pay off the farm, the farming equipment, and a sufficient amount to retire on and hire a farmhand. Those checks are stored away in a box in a closet. I will never understand why they chose to struggle the way they do. Pops did call me once and asked if he could cash one of the checks. He said Momma was getting’ mighty tired of holdin’ an umbrella over her head while hearin’ the gospel. I think that translates into “the church roof leaks.”

  Most people call their farms ranches, but not in this neck of the woods. They’re just farms. There’s nothing fancy about a farmhouse, country land, or country living.

  I drive through Crooksville, and nothing has changed. The old Crooksville Bank, now called “The Community Bank,” is still there and Peaches Place, a family restaurant, is just up the street. I watch the people as they mosey down the road stopping to talk to their neighbors. Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, Carhartt workwear, flannel shirts, and camouflage anything is still the dress code for these parts. I look around and I don’t see anyone I recognize. I wonder if I would even know anyone if I saw them. Probably not.

  I consider stopping at Peaches Place for some homemade apple pie but decide against it. I wonder if my sister-in-law, Mia, is working today. I’m not the same person I was when I left here, and I already feel out of place. I look down at my black slacks and white button-up shirt, and I definitely don’t fit in. I have cowboy boots, a guitar in the back of the pickup, and a cowboy hat. Maybe I fit in more than I want to admit. I also have a brand-new harmonica I’d like to learn to play. Fortunately, a harmonica doesn’t take up much space. 

  I stop at the only country bar between Crooksville and Rose Farm. The County Line Bar is a popular bar that was open when I lived here. It used to be called The Jolly Bar. It looks like the only place in town to grab a cold one. I put on my cowboy hat and make my way into the bar.

  It’s early on a Wednesday night and there’s already a small crowd gathering inside. Is it Ladies Night? I get I.D.’d and pay the $5.00 cover charge at the door. I’m a little surprised to have to pay a fee in this area.

  “When did you start charging a cover charge?” I ask the bouncer at the door.

  “Since the Max Bleu band started playin’ here.” He nods to the stage in front of the bar and I can see the band setting up. Max Bleu Band. I kind of remember in high school a few guys getting a band together. Max was one guy’s first name, and Bleu was another guy’s last name. For the life of me, I can’t remember their whole names.

  I make my way to the bar. After I order a Bud Light, I take the only seat left at the bar. It’s beside a girl with long brown hair. I don’t complain.

  I look around the bar and drink my beer. When the band begins to play, I turn and face the stage. They introduce the band members and then themselves. I quickly recognize them as the guys from high school.

  The brunette sitting beside me orders a Pepsi and I’m a little surprised. Who comes to a bar and drinks pop? Someone bumps into her and she almost falls off of the barstool. I quickly reach for her to prevent her from falling onto the floor. The drunken guy looks at her and stumbles away.

  “Asshat,” she yells after him, and scoots back onto the stool. She turns around and looks at me and says, “Thank you. You can’t even have a drink without some drunk bumpin’ into you.”

  I remove my hands from around her waist. “You’re welcome. You’re only drinking Pepsi?” I ask.

  “My boyfriend’s the drummer. It’s still too early to drink. If I started drinkin’ now, I’d be like that asshat,” she says, nodding to the drunk guy staggering across the room.

  I smile to keep from laughing. “I don’t think I ever heard a girl say ‘asshat.’” 
before.

  When I say that, her smile matches my smile. “Sorry, that’s not too ladylike, is it?”

  “It’s fine. It’s just not a word I hear everyday.”

  “And I’m not like any other girl.” She laughs. “Hi, I’m Megan Rose.” She reaches her hand out for mine.

  I shake her hand and say, “I’m Abel Kennedy.”

  “I know that name.” I watch as her brows furrow together. “Abel Kennedy… how do I know that name?”

  I watch her take a drink of her Pepsi from the can. I don’t answer her, I just smile. The room starts filling up and it’s now standing room only. Onlookers now block the view we had of the band. I watch as she leans forward to try to get a better view of her boyfriend.

  The drunken guy reappears and stands beside her to order another drink. “Hey, baby,” he slurs.

  She leans back away from him and says, “I’m not your baby.”

  I watch him, and he watches her as he orders a double shot of Jack Daniels from the bartender. “Not ye
t, you’re not, but I was thinking we could hook up later.” His licks his lips and it’s disgusting. I watch as she stiffens. He takes his double shot and downs the entire drink. I watch as he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand and says, “You ready to suck me off?”

  I stand and put my hand on Megan Rose’s shoulder. I look down at him and say, “Don’t talk to my sister like that.”

  She stiffens more but doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if it’s because I’m touching her, or because I just called her my sister. Probably both. His smile now fades and he stutters. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know she was your sister.”

  “Well, now you do.” I look down at Megan Rose and say, “Sis, why don’t you go and get us a table closer to the band?”

  She doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t look at him or me. She stands and quickly walks away.

  “You stay away from her, got it?”

  “It’s just a misunderstandin’,” he slurs. He raises both hands and stumbles away. I watch as he makes his way through the crowd to the exit.

  I finish my beer and pay my check and Megan Rose’s Pepsi bill. As I make my way out the door, I see Megan Rose sitting at a table closer to the band. She’s sitting with other girls who I assume are the band members’ girlfriends or wives. She sees me and I tilt my cowboy hat and leave.

  As I make my way to my truck, I see the drunken guy getting into a car with a girl. Just as I open my door, someone yells, “Abel.”

  I turn around and see Megan Rose running towards me. The air is cold and she wraps her arms across her mid-section for warmth. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for me in there,” she says out of breath. I look behind her and I see a guy standing at the doorway watching us. I recognize him as the drummer in the band.

  I watch her and say, “You’re welcome, but I really didn’t do anything.”

  She laughs. “You did do something, and I appreciate it. Most people just keep to themselves; they don’t want to get involved. I can tell that you aren’t from around here.”

  “I’m just visiting.” She doesn’t need to know that I am from around here. I’ll be leaving soon and chances are I’ll never see her again.

  “I told Nick what happened and we both appreciate it. Thank you.”

  I look behind her, and I assume Nick is her boyfriend. He nods and I return the gesture. “You’re welcome, Megan Rose. You should get inside because it’s cold out here.”

  “Okay, be careful, and I owe you a drink the next time I see you,” she yells and walks towards the bar.

  I watch as she makes her way towards Nick. They both wave and I watch as he holds the door open for her and walks in last. I get in the truck and head home.

  I’m stalling and I don’t know why. It’s home; I’m home. I arrive in Rose Farm, which is only a few miles from Crooksville, and see that the old school is still standing. It’s been condemned: Windows are busted out, and pieces of graffiti are written all over the brick building. I have to wonder why the eyesore of a building is still standing. Why wouldn’t they tear it down? Memories flood my head with the stories of the old schoolhouse that I heard when I was a child. I was too young to attend there before they closed it. I look further into the field behind the school, and thankfully, the outhouses — there used to be one for the boys, and one for the girls — are no longer there. This was a three-room schoolhouse, and each teacher taught two grades: 1-2, 3-4, and 5-6.

  We still need to fight the War on Poverty, but we may never win it because in Mark 14:7 Jesus said that “ye have the poor with you always.” Even if we never completely win the war, we need to fight it. Let all of us remember Proverbs 28:27: “Whoever gives to the poor will not want, but he who hides his eyes will get many a curse.”

  When President Lyndon Johnson declared his War on Poverty, the Rose Farm School was shut down, and students were bused to York Elementary School in Deavertown, which was just a few miles away. Federal money flowed into York Elementary, which started a library. Boxes of paperback books arrived frequently at the school, and the students did the work of setting up the library. The school also got one of the first videotape machines, which was used to show students such things as anti-smoking documentaries.

  The school also occasionally put on special programs. A few days or weeks before he died in the late 1960s, an elderly world-famous violinist — was it Mischa Elman? — performed a concert there. The students were excited because he owned a Stradivarius, which they had heard was worth $100,000. However, the students were disappointed when a string broke on the Stradivarius and the violinist disappeared behind a curtain and brought out and played a different violin. The best part of the concert was when he played a medley of classical music that was used in famous movies and TV shows. For example, he played the theme from Hitchcock Presents: Charles Gounod’s “Funeral March of a Marionette.” The principal, Gerald Clutter, told me.

  This is a place where people sometimes say “George Warshington,” “warsh rag,” “drownded,” and “Crooksville swimming pull” — not “Crooksville swimming pool” — and lots of people don’t pronounce the ‘g’ in -ing words, but culture still comes here occasionally. Of course, now, with the World Wide Web and other modern technology, culture is available anywhere modern technology is available.

  Clarence’s small store is no longer at the bottom of my parents’ driveway. In its place is a parking lot for the only church in Rose Farm. The village is too small for a McDonald’s, but of course it has a church. I look up the snowy rocky path and thank the good Lord that I rented a Chevy truck. Otherwise, I would have to park at the bottom and walk up the one-mile long driveway that leads to my parents’ farm. I check my cell phone and of course, I don’t have any messages. I shut it off and tuck it into my jacket pocket before driving up the steep driveway.

  The road is dark and rocky. On one side of the one-lane road is a dirt wall, and on the other side is a cliff-sized hill. It would have been nice — and safe — if my parents had used some of the money I sent them over the years to install a guardrail running the length of the driveway. It’s a dangerous drive up the hill although no one has ever had an accident on it. Not that I know about anyway. In my younger years, Pops always warned me about the blind spot right around the sharp bend. Blind spot? Is he crazy? The entire driveway is a blind spot.

  When I reach the top of the lane, the red barn comes into view first. I look at the barn before I look past it into the open pasture. The sun is setting and I’m not sure what I expected, but the field is empty. The large oak trees that offer shade for the horses and cows are now bare of their leaves. I see no signs of farm life anywhere.

  I park the rented truck and grab my duffle bags and guitar case before heading towards the white farmhouse with tattered black shutters. The screen door bursts open, revealing Momma in her white apron and black dress. She wears a smile only a mother would have for her child. I could be a drug dealer, and she would still love me. Behind her is Pops. He smiles as he follows close behind her.

  “There he is — my boy’s finally home.” Momma throws up both hands and makes her way down the four steps leading from the large wrap-around porch.

  I place the duffle bags and guitar case down on the gravel lot and hug her tightly. Her hug is warm and welcoming. Sadly, it’s been awhile since I’ve been home. I hug Momma and wonder if she’s always been this small. I definitely get my height from my Pops.

  “I missed you, Momma,” I say, honestly.

  “You’re home and I couldn’t be happier.” She backs away and places her small hands on my face. She searches my face for what? Scars? Bruising? Battle wounds? Honesty and happiness? I can’t be sure. I hunch over so she can see my face and smile to let her know I’m okay. “I’m happier than a pig in waller,” she says seriously.

  Do people really say that? Happier than a pig in waller. “Huh?”

  “Oh, never mind. Are you hungry?” she finally asks.

  “I
am.”

  Momma is the best cook around. Pops always said she was an excellent cook — her food wasn’t always pretty, but it was always delicious. I have to agree. My mouth waters at the thought of her fried chicken and homemade biscuits.

  “Good, dinner’s almost done. Get warshed up and I’ll finish up supper. Your brother, Levi, and his wife, Mia, are on their way.”

  I hug Pops while Momma wraps her small arms around herself for warmth. It’s November and it’s already cold.

  “Let’s get inside before your Momma catches a cold.”

  Pops grabs a duffle bag and helps Momma into the house while I follow close behind with the other items.

  Once we are inside, Momma tells me to put my things in my old room. The smell of Momma’s chicken and biscuits fills the air. It’s my favorite meal and I knew she would make it. Since I became a boxer, I almost always only eat food on the healthy list. Fried chicken and biscuits were never on the healthy list. I’m looking forward to pigging out on a few home-cooked meals while I’m here.

  I walk through the kitchen, dining room, and living room, and then into my childhood bedroom. Everything is as I left it over ten years ago. The room is clean and smells of cedar. I look at the white curtains, white walls, and dark hardwood floors. My high school sports trophies are still on the bookcase along with some medals and ribbons I won. Although I loved football and weightlifting, I think track and wrestling were my favorites. Momma thought after-school sports would keep me out of trouble and it would set a high standard for Levi, my little brother. I think she was right.

  I place everything on the double-sized bed and head into the only bathroom to wash up.

  Pops is putting logs into the wood-burning fireplace. He still wears flannel shirts and Wrangler jeans. The house is simple and warm. A lot has changed in my life in ten years, but not much has changed on the ole homestead. The bathoom is just as I remember. The same white, iron claw-foot bathtub and cast iron pedestal sink from my childhood is still in place. I guess these things are made to last forever.

  I hear a car pull up and I know Levi and Mia are here. The long and winding driveway is not a welcome sight for people to travel on. I quickly wash my hands and rush out to greet my brother and sister-in-law. Levi and I were close as children, but I think he harbored ill feelings towards me when I left home.

  Just as they did me, Momma and Pops greet Mia and Levi outside on the porch. I open the door and watch as they exit their truck. Levi married his high school girlfriend right out of school. I suspected pregnancy, as did half of the town, but time proved us all wrong. Fortunately, no one brought diapers to Mia’s bridal shower; if they had, I would have heard. Neither went to college, both work hard, and they were able to buy a home in Roseville, not far from here. Mia works as a waitress at Peaches Place and Levi works for Shelly and Sands doing construction. His experience as a former Navy Seabee and a construction worker helps him in his personal life.

  He sees me and smiles. Levi is my height but not my size. I walk off the porch into the chilly night air and hug Mia first.

  “Abel, you look incredible,” she says, sincerely.

  “Thank you and you do, too. I’ve missed you.” I release my hold on my sister-in-law. Mia is small and petite with long blond hair. She’s wearing jeans, boots, and a brown Carhartt coat.

  “We missed you, too.” She backs away and smiles.

  I turn and look my brother in the eyes. He smiles and hugs me. His embrace is stronger than I thought it would be.

  “I missed you, Bro,” he says, laughing as he pats me on the back.

  “I missed you, too. You look great, Levi.” I back away and look at him. His hair is dark brown like mine, but it’s longer and curlier. His eyes are blue where mine are brown. We still look a lot alike, although he’s thinner than me. He’s wearing long johns under his flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots.

  “Just getting off work?” I ask in reference to his clothing.

  “No,” he says in confusion. “We’re helping Pops cut the firewood after dinner. Farmer’s Almanac is predictin’ a cold winter this year.”

  “Colder than a well digger’s butt in January,” Momma pipes in.

  Momma and Pops take turns hugging Mia and Levi. 

  “Let’s eat while it’s still hot,” Pops says.

  Levi says grace before we eat. We sit around the solid wood choppers block table and have dinner. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in a long time. I swear I recognize some of the serving dishes from my childhood.

  The table is full of food. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cheesy grits, creamed corn, homemade biscuits, and milk. While most Yankees don’t eat grits, we do. I developed a love for them in my early years. Momma met Pops when he was in the Air Force while stationed in Savannah, Georgia. Momma’s name is Nell, but he calls her “Belle.” It’s a nickname, short for his Southern Belle. Sometimes he’ll call her Nelly; it all depends on his mood, and her mood, too. Often, Momma calls Pops “Bud.” So do other people.

  Dinner is filled with light conversation and friendly smiles. Mia talks about her customers at work, Levi tells an anecdote about his days in the Seabees, and Pops talks about the homemade blackberry pie he helped Momma make.

  Mia talks about something that happened last year just before Christmas. Someone called Peaches Place and said, “Oops! Wrong number! I have you guys on speed dial.” The person was a regular customer who came in about 15 minutes later with a big container of homemade muffins for the people who worked there. She said, ‘You have been serving me good food all year and I thought I would return the favor.’”

  Levi learned construction when he was a Navy Seabee — soldiers have battalions; the Seabees are members of construction battalions. He says that the Seabees are not greatly impressed by rank. What impresses them is competence. One Seabee met an Admiral and told him, “You’ve got an important job, sir, don’t mess it up.”

  After hearing Pops talk about helping with the homemade blackberry pie, Momma laughs and corrects him. “Bud, you ate the berries as I was preparin’ them for the pie.”

  “Belle, I only ate the bad ones—” he begins to say with a chuckle.

  “—and some good ones,” she teases.

  “Okay, and some mighty tasty good ones.”

  I’m relieved when the conversation doesn’t get directed at me. Since my retirement from professional boxing, I have no plans. I know I need to do something, I just don’t know what. Momma probably wants a daughter-in-law and some grandbabies, but I’m not sure that’s what I want. I know my time here on the farm is limited. I don’t see this lifestyle for me long term. I’ll stay through Christmas, help out as much as I can, and hopefully, talk my folks into accepting some money from me.

  After dinner, Momma and Mia clean up and the guys go outside to cut and haul some firewood from the barn to the front porch. It’s definitely work, and I soon realize I’ll need some flannel shirts, a work coat, work gloves, and work boots.

  Before Mia and Levi leave, they make plans to meet up on Saturday to winterize the farm for the bitter winter. I had forgotten that people do that. I remember from when I was a child Pops covering all of the windows in plastic. Do people still do that? Use plastic for insulation? Time will tell.

  I throw on a jacket and walk Mia and Levi out to their truck. It’s dark and I notice that the light over the barn isn’t on. I’ll see if it’s burnt out in the morning. If memory serves, the light was set on an automatic timer. When that light came on, it meant to get your tail home.

  “How long ya staying for, Abel?” Mia asks as she pulls her coat tighter around her.

  “I’ll be here through Christmas.”

  She snaps her head up and looks at me. “You aren’t stayin’ for New Year’s?”

  “Not really planning on it.”

  “Your momma know that?”

  “Not sure, it hasn’t come up.”

  “A
bel, you think about that long and hard before you go tellin’ her and breakin’ her heart.” Mia leans in and hugs me. “I’ll be in the truck while you two talk.”

  I watch as she gets into the truck and starts it up. “She all right?”

  Levi looks at me, and then to Mia. “She’s okay. She doesn’t want Momma to be disappointed when you leave again.”

  “Levi, look.” I shift my feet in the dirt driveway and say, “I left the farm, but I didn’t leave my family.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No. As soon as I found my way in the world, I sent money. A lot of money.”

  “Did you ever think it wasn’t about the money? Bro, some people in these parts don’t care much about money. As long as Momma and Pops have food on the table, gas in the car, and a roof over their head, that’s all they care about.”

  “I understand that, but the money would have lightened their load. Made life easier for them.”

  “You think that’s what Pops and Momma want? A lighter load?”

  “Yes, isn’t that what we all want? It’s nice to live on the farm, but wouldn’t it be nicer to live on a new and improved farm?”

  Levi shoves his hands into his pocket. “You have it all wrong and you’ve been gone far too long.” He looks in the pickup at Mia before looking back at me. “I gotta go, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  “You’ll be here before you go to work?”

  He looks confused and says, “There’s a storm threatenin’ the area tonight. I come by every mornin’ and feed the animals and gather eggs. Who did you think did that, the farmhands?”

  I look in the direction of the chicken coop.

  “Really, Abel? Farmhands? We need to talk. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

  “It’s good seeing you,” I say.

  “You, too. Take Mia’s advice and consider stayin’ through the New Year. Momma’s gonna be right sad when you leave here again.”

  “She knows I’m not staying.”

  “Abel, she may know that, but in her heart, she doesn’t wanna believe it.”

  I shower and go to bed. Looking at my phone, I see I still don’t have any messages. After I put my things away, I set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. I no longer fight, but I still work out every morning. I don’t want to be the ex-fighter who gains 40 pounds the year after retiring, although if I’m not careful I may end up being like the many people who become obese by gaining one pound a year for 40 years.

  The high winds wake me from a restless sleep. The wooden shutters continue to beat against the house, and I wonder if my folks can hear it. Lying awake in bed, I wonder why my parents never spent the money I sent them. I understand this is their family farm, but why not use the money for home improvements or even a farmhand? Money isn’t everything, but it can be helpful. It’s a tool; people can use it to make their lives better.

  In the morning, I work on the farm. I dress in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of boots. My boots aren’t the kind of boots you work on a farm in; wearing them for farmwork is kind of like a woman wearing an original Dior to hoe weeds in a garden. I slowly open the creaky wooden bedroom door, and walk across the cold hardwood floor. I smell coffee and bacon before I notice a chill in the house and add more logs to the hot embers in the fireplace.

  Momma’s standing at the stove. “You’re up early?” I ask, looking from her to the clock. I take a seat on one of the four bar stools. She’s still in her nightgown and a housecoat.

  “Nah, this isn’t early. Your brother’s comin’ over, and I wanna make sure he’s got something hot in his belly before he leaves here. He comes over every day, and I make him breakfast every day.” She pours a cup of coffee and asks, “Did you sleep well?”

  I gratefully take the coffee she hands me. “I did, thank you.”

  She looks up at me and smiles. “Abel Lee, you didn’t hear that shutter bangin’ against the house all night?”

  I smile. “I did sleep well before the wind knocked the shutter lose.” Truth is, I didn’t sleep well at all.

  “It was so loud I thought it was gonna send the pigs into a panic.” She turns back around and flips the bacon over in the cast iron skillet.

  Pops walks into the kitchen and smiles. “Mornin’, Son.” He’s wearing a brown flannel shirt, Wrangler jeans, and work boots.

  “Morning, Pops.” I watch as he walks over and kisses Momma before he fills a large mug with hot coffee. The timer goes off on the oven, and I watch as she removes a casserole and biscuits.

  “Mornin’, Belle, breakfast smells delicious.” Pops smiles and takes a seat next to me. “We have a busy day today.” He takes a drink of his coffee. “The wind knocked that shutter lose again and the horse fence is fallin’ apart. If you’ll help me, I’d like to get those two things taken care of before noon.”

  “Sounds good. I need to run into town and get some work clothes sometime today.”

  “Good, we’ll stop in and have lunch with Mia. She’s workin’ today, isn’t she, Belle?”

  “She sure is. She’s probably there now. I’ll also need to get some groceries while we’re in town.”

  I see headlights before I hear the sound of tires in the rocky driveway. If I were at home, I would be concerned about who’s pulling up this time of day, but here on the farm, it can be only one person, Levi.

  “I should help him.” I stand and begin to walk towards the door.

  “Nah, don’t bother.” Momma looks out the window and using her apron, she wipes her hands. “He’ll get the eggs before he comes in and eats. It’ll only take ‘im a few minutes.”

  The way he made it sound, he really had a morning full of chores to do here, before heading to his real job. Momma was right, after a few short minutes he walks into the house, carrying a metal basket filled with farm-fresh brown eggs.

  “Didn’t get many eggs today,” he says, placing the basket on the counter. “Maybe the storm frightened the chickens.”

  “Maybe, or maybe they’re just gettin’ old,” Pops says.

  Momma hands Levi a cup and coffee and takes the basket of eggs from the counter. “Thank you, these are just fine.”

  I look at the basket of eggs and it’s full. I wonder how many chickens there are and how many eggs he thought he should have gotten. I don’t ask.

  After a hearty breakfast and two cups of coffee, I go outside with Levi to feed the animals. “You’re gonna ruin them good boots of yours.” I follow Levi’s eyes to my cowboy boots.

  “They’re just boots,” I lie. These are actually very expensive boots and I had them specially made. I can’t admit that out loud.

  “They don’t look like ‘just boots,’ but suit yourself.”

  I am surprised and amazed at all the animals that are still on the farm. Cows, pigs, chickens, roosters, horses, and even a few mules. It takes a good hour between the two of us to feed all of the animals.

  “What’s up with the mules?” I finally ask.

  “Pops went to a livestock auction in Hartville and got ’em at a ‘good price,’” he says, using air quotes.

  “It’s not very practical, is it?” I ask.

  “Not hardly, but when he came home, he named the farm and made a sign and hung it over the barn doors. Welcome to ‘The Kennedy Mule Hill Farm.’”

  We both laugh and Pops asks, “What’s so funny?”

  Levi looks at me and I say, “The mules. I’m a little surprised to see you have mules on the farm.”

  “Yep, got ’em for next to nothin’ at an auction. It must have been my lucky day,” he says proudly, petting a mule like it’s his favorite pet.

  I smile, although I am still confused as to why he would want mules. Has he not considered the amount of money he spends on feed for them weekly, monthly, and especially yearly? I look from Pops to Levi. Levi subtly shakes his head at me. He knows what I’m thinking.

  “Well, you can’t beat that,” I finally say.

&nbsp
; Once the animals are fed, Levi leaves for work. Pops and I fix the shutter before we repair the fence. The fence was in worse shape than he thought. Once it’s repaired, we head to the house for lunch. Pops wanted to have lunch with Mia at Peaches, but it’s too late. The repairs took longer than expected.

  After we eat, Pops and I shower and we all head into town to get me some appropriate work clothes. As Levi said I would, I ruined my expensive boots from working in them this morning. Since I need to return the rental truck today, I follow Momma and Pops into South Zanesville. Rose Farm is too small to have the stores I need to buy work clothes; actually, it is too small to have any stores. The country roads are winding and dangerous. I worry about my parents driving on them although they don’t seem concerned. The light dusting of snow that was here yesterday is just a memory now.

  I return the truck first, then we shop for some work clothes for me. I stock up on work boots, Wrangler jeans, several flannel shirts, and long john underwear. I’m also able to buy an insulated coat and work gloves at the same store.

  As I pay for my purchase, Momma tells the man he should be ashamed of himself for chargin’ an arm and a leg for the same things that Wal-Mart sells. Pops and I quickly usher Momma out of the store.

  “Nelly, you’re a feisty one today.”

  “I reckon his Momma don’t know what he’s chargin’ in his store. Abel, you coulda gone to Wal-Mart or even K-Mart for the same stuff and it’s a heck of a lot cheaper,” she insists.

  I understand the man sells better quality than the big-box department stores, and I also realize he needs to upcharge his items to make a profit. I didn’t think he was outrageously priced. The boots I ruined cost more than everything I bought today.

  “It’s all right, Momma. He has a family he needs to feed.”

  We go to the Campbell’s Food Town on S.R. 22, and the people there greet my parents by name. I am introduced to the owner and I think I remember him from my younger years. Momma compares prices, sale items, and coupons on everything she buys. It takes a lot longer to shop than I expected, and I have to remind myself I don’t have any place else that I need to be.

  Pops pushes the cart and reads a magazine he took from the shelf as we came in. I keep waiting for someone to say something to him, but they don’t. This is something straight out of The Andy Griffith Show. I must learn to relax. Momma shops for her Thanksgiving Day meal. I’m a little surprised that the cart is almost full when she finally gets to the register. I also notice that she bought two or more of everything.

  I’m disappointed and hurt when she refuses to let me pay. I almost have to threaten the cashier to make him use my credit card instead of taking Momma’s cash. I calmly and as nicely as I can explain to Momma that while I am here, she will not be paying for anything herself. “It’s the least I can do. I’m staying with you, so please let me buy the groceries,” I beg. She reluctantly agrees. Momma would expect me to pay for my girlfriend’s groceries, if I had a girlfriend, yet she doesn’t want me to pay for hers. Does she feel like this is a handout? Does she still look at me as her little boy she needs to take care of? The answer to the last question, of course, is yes.

  As we are in line at the grocery store, I overhear the cashier tell a woman that she is short on money. Momma is busy searching through her coupons as Pops holds her coupon organizer. They don’t notice. The manager comes out from the office and offers the woman store credit. She leaves with her purchase and her small child. I remember this same store used to help Momma out years ago. Pops got paid on Fridays and they would always let Momma shop on Thursdays. They would hold the post-dated check until the next day. It’s good to know they still help out in this small community.

  Campbell’s Food Town is a privately owned and operated business, with a hometown feel. The owners are older than my parents and still live like they did in the days when you trusted most people and helped out the community. I miss some things from rural living, and this is one of them. People in the city aren’t as trusting.

  While a young man loads up our groceries into the back of the truck, I run back inside and quickly settle up the debt owed from the woman. I also give Mr. Campbell a little extra money to cover arrears for future customers. He tells me, “You’re a good man, Abel Kennedy.” I watch as he places the money in an envelope and writes “Customer Emergency Fund” with a black magic marker.

  “Thank you. Can’t have people going around hungry now, can we?”

  “I can’t imagine anything much worse than hunger,” he replies. He hands the envelope to his wife, who is the only other person in the office with him. She smiles as she puts the envelope in the top desk drawer. “There needs to be more people like you in the world.”

  “Thank you, and Happy Thanksgiving. I would like the donation to remain anonymous.”

  “Yes, of course. Happy Thanksgiving to you. Many people run short this time of year. This emergency fund you set up will make many people happy,” Mrs. Campbell says.

  I nod and leave.

  On the drive home, Pops takes the long way. It’s late fall and many trees are bare of leaves. I remember how beautiful the countryside is in the middle of fall. Mom looks out the window as if in deep thought. I wonder if my paying for the groceries is still bothering her.

  “After we get the mail from the post office, I need to stop by the church.” Momma reaches up and readjusts the bobby pin in her hair.

  Pops looks over at Momma and smiles. “Whatever you want, Belle.”

  We go to the local post office, then we pull up at the church, and she asks, “Abel, would you mind helping me?”

  “No, whatever you need.” I get out of the truck and then help Momma out. We walk to the back of the pickup and she sorts through the bags of groceries. Pops also joins us.

  A man walks out of the church and greets us warmly. My folks introduce me to the preacher of the church, Pastor Jenson, and we shake hands.

  “Nelly and Bud, the church sure does appreciate everything you do for us.”

  “No need to thank us, we’re plumb tickled we’re able to help a family in need. I think this is about everything.” Momma looks through the last of the bags. “We bought Sugar-Frosted Flakes because kids like them.” It looks like she gave half of the groceries to the church. “Oh, I forgot the eggs. I’ll bring them down if you’ll still be here for a few minutes.”

  “That’s fine, I’ll be here for another hour or so.” Pastor Jenson gathers up some of the bags of food and offers a warm and friendly smile.

  We all carry bags of food into the cold church. After we place the grocery bags on the counter of the small kitchen, Pastor Jenson says that they already have a family to give the food to.

  “If you need anything else, let us know. We’ll do what we can,” Pops says. “I’ll run the eggs back down within the hour.”

  “Thank you so much, and you have done so much already.”

  We drive up the hill to the farm in silence. I think about how generous and caring my parents are. Not just my parents but also my brother. I also think back to the young mother in the store. Have I been that displaced from my hometown that I forgot that people still struggle? Is that why Momma didn’t spend the money I sent them? Is she afraid of becoming detached from her friends and the community she loves?

  Once the food is put away, I say, “I’ll take the eggs down to the church. I need to get some exercise today.”

  “Thank you, Abel. I’ll start dinner while you’re out.”

  Once I’m dressed for my run, I take the bag holding a few dozen eggs from the counter. “Hang on, your dad went to the basement to get some walnuts. He thought maybe someone from the church could use some, bein’ so close to the holidays and all.”

  A memory comes into my mind of my brother and me collecting fallen walnuts from the tree along the side of the house. It was considered one of our chores in the early fall.

  “Does that tree still produce nuts?” I ask in
disbelief.

  Momma smiles as she wipes down the counter. “Sure does, more now than she ever did. The peach tree on the other side of the house provides more peaches than I know what to do with.”

  Pops appears from the basement with a large brown paper bag of walnuts. Momma smiles as he sets them down on the kitchen table. I watch her as she walks into the pantry and returns with a box of freezer baggies.

  We all pitch in as we fill several bags full of the walnuts.

  “This should be plenty. Abel, are you sure you can carry all of this?” Momma asks as she places the nuts into another bag. I watch Pops, who has the nutcracker out and is already cracking open some of the nuts for himself to eat.

  “It’s fine. I’ll take this to the church, run for a bit, and then when I return I’ll feed the animals. I also want to look at the light outside of the barn. I noticed last night that it was burnt out.”

  “Levi’s been wantin’ to change it, just not enough hours in the day,” Momma says as she hands me the grocery bags.

  I smile and she kisses me on the cheek before I leave.

  “Thank you, Abel.”

  “Momma, you never have to thank me. I’m happy to do it.”

  I walk towards the driveway and look over at the huge walnut tree. It’s much bigger than I remember. It still produces nuts and my family still harvests them. This should not surprise me. I have very fond memories of gathering them with Levi, peeling the foul-smelling green husk from the shell and then seeing who collected the most. Momma and Pops always had something special for the child who did the best, collected the most, or helped out when they weren’t asked. It wasn’t much, maybe a couple pieces of candy, or a cookie. But it was enough for Levi and me to always want to do better.

  When I arrive at the church, I see the woman from the grocery store leaving. I nod at her and she gives me a shy smile. The preacher is still standing at the door, watching her drive off.

  “Thank you for bringin’ these by so quickly, Abel. Your folks never let the church down.”

  I smile and hand him the two bags with the eggs and the walnuts. “They’re good people. They also sent some walnuts.”

  He smiles and peeks into the bags. “I was hopin’ they would. They do that every year. With the holidays fast approachin’, these will be nice to have.” He looks up from the bag and says, “Please, thank them for me.”

  “I will, have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  I don’t run. Instead, I walk around the old neighborhood. I look at all the homes and try to remember who lived where. It’s too cold for people to be sitting outside, but I can see them through their windows. Although the community is poor, it doesn’t lack love or happiness. I can see smiling faces and can imagine the laughter coming from within the house. I smile. It’s a good feeling.

  I walk past the houses in the direction of the old Rose Farm Elementary School. It’s disheartening to see the building in such shambles. The busted-out windows and the graffiti on the walls are painful to see. What makes it worse is that it’s in the middle of town, within view of many homes. I once wondered why no one fixed it up, but now I understand the financial reasons. I also have to wonder who would have busted out the windows and written the graffiti on the red brick building. It doesn’t seem like an area with juvenile delinquents running around.

  “It’s sad, isn’t it?”

  I turn around and I see the woman from the store walking with her small son.

  “Hi, I’m Savannah Mae Dickerson, and this is my son, Sawyer Jackson.” She smiles and reaches her hand out for mine.

  I extend my hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Savannah Mae and Sawyer Jackson. I’m Abel Kennedy.”

  “Nelly and Bud’s oldest boy? Your Momma’s been braggin’ about you all week.”

  I smile. “Has she now?”

  “She sure has. Been tellin’ everyone that Abel Lee’s comin’ home for the holidays.”

  I admire her country twang and laugh before I release her hand. “It’s Abel.”

  She laughs and searches my eyes. “I wondered did you go by Abel Lee.”

  “Not since I was five years old.” Although on occasion Momma still calls me Abel Lee. On a very rare occasion.

  “I was born Savannah Mae and I’ll die Savannah Mae.” She thinks for a minute and says, “Just Savannah would be nice.”

  “I think Savannah Mae suits you just fine, Savannah Mae.”

  She smiles. “Thank you. Mae’s an old family name. I imagine my folks would be disappointed if I stopped using it.” She looks past me in the direction of the old school.

  I turn around and look at the old dilapidated school. “Do they have plans for the old school?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. The township struggles enough. They don’t have to announce it by having this building lookin’ the way it does.”

  I put my hands in my hoodie pocket and frown. “Maybe they are going to turn it into something to benefit the community.”

  “Really, Abel Lee. No one in this neck of the woods got money to spend on fixin’ this here buildin’.”

  I look at her and smile. She’s cute and that country slang is music to my ears. I hear a horn and she says, “C’mon, Sawyer Jackson, your daddy’s here.” She looks at me and says, “Abel Lee, it was mighty nice meetin’ ya.”

  I nod and say, “The pleasure’s all mine, Savannah Mae.”

  Savannah Mae

  “Ethan, buckle him in the booster seat and I’ll get his overnight bag from the house.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Ethan asks, noddin’ in the direction of the school.

  I look up and follow his eyes to Abel Lee. “Don’t start.”

  “I just asked who your friend was. I ain’t startin’ nothin’.”

  “He’s Nelly and Bud’s oldest boy.”

  “The boxer?”

  “I didn’t ask, but he must be. They only have two sons, and we know Levi don’t box.” I look at Abel Lee and then at Ethan. I shake my head and run into the house to get Sawyer Jackson’s overnight bag. I hate it when Sawyer Jackson leaves to go to his daddy’s house. We have been divorced for only a few months and every day it’s still a struggle. It’s hard livin’ in these parts with a man, but to live here without one is mighty tough.

  I walk outside and Ethan is still watchin’ Abel Lee. I hand him the duffel bag with Sawyer Jackson’s change of clothes in it, and focus my attention on my little boy. “Sawyer Jackson, you be a good boy for Daddy.”

  “I will, Momma.”

  I smile at my dark-haired, four-year-old son. “I know you will. I love and miss you.” I look at Ethan and ask, “Any news on a job?”

  “Savannah Mae!”

  “I’m just askin’. I’m fallin’ behind on the bills, Thanksgiving’s this week, and then Christmas is next month. Gettin’ a little worried.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m doin’ my best.” Ethan gets in the driver side of the truck and fastens his seatbelt. He looks sad and worried.

  I try to smile to assure him everything will work out. “Well, maybe something will come up this week.”

  “I hope so,” he says as he starts his old Ford pickup.

  I know he’s tryin’ so I don’t say anything else. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Savannah Mae.”

  Abel

  I stand in the field, looking at the old schoolhouse longer than necessary. I want to see if Savannah Mae was leaving with her son’s daddy. She didn’t. He kept watching me when she disappeared into the house. Me being me, I just watched him back. I don’t even know that girl. Why would I have cared if she left with him? She didn’t say her husband or boyfriend. She did say, Sawyer Jackson’s daddy. Maybe she’s divorced.

  While running, I push the thoughts of Savannah Mae far from my mind. I’m here only for the holidays, and I’m not looking to hook up with a country girl. Even if she is beautiful. The gir
l from the bar last night was also beautiful. Megan Rose. This area sure does have some pretty girls.

  I run around the local streets of Rose Farm before I run on the back roads. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, but it doesn’t take long for me to remember where the back roads take you. The air is cold and crisp, and it feels good pumping in and out of my lungs. I think about being back in Rose Farm, and I also think about Savannah Mae. If anyone else ever called me “Abel Lee,” I think I might have been angry at them. But not Savannah Mae. It sounded like honey coming from her sweet mouth.

  After completing my run, I force myself not to look in the direction of her house on my way to my parents’ farm. My body deceives me. As soon as I turn the corner, my eyes dart straight to her little white house with red shutters and her yard with a white picket fence. The house is dark with only a single dim porch light lit. Turning in the direction of the farm, I walk up the mile-long driveway to my parents’ house. It’s dark and the barn light is still out. I chastise myself for not fixing that earlier today. Even though I had only a few things to do, I couldn’t get everything done. Tomorrow, I’ll do all of the chores, and then I’ll complete my workout.

  I see Levi’s truck and it makes me feel even worse. He helped on the farm this morning, went to work, and still had time to come back and help out on the farm again. Momma and Pops need help and I feel like I let them down. I hang my head in shame as I walk through the kitchen door.

  The house smells of food and the sound of laughter fills the air. Momma looks up at me and smiles. “There he is.”

  I smile. It feels good to be home. “I’m sorry I’m late.” I look over at Levi, who is standing at the refrigerator door. “How was work?”

  “Good, I could use some help feedin’ the animals, you game?”

  “Ready whenever you are.”

  “We’ll be back.”

  Momma turns to stir a pot on the stove. “By the time you finish, dinner will be done.”

  I smile and nod before shutting the door behind me. I feel resentment against Levi for being here helping Momma and Pops. I know it’s misplaced anger. Why would his helping them bother me? It makes no sense. Maybe I feel bad for not doing what needs to be done today.

  “Something wrong?” he asks as he walks into the barn to get some feed.

  “No, nothing. I’m just glad you’re here to help.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  When we return to the house, Mia is standing in the kitchen with Momma, and Pops is adding more firewood to the fireplace. Levi smiles and rushes over to Mia. “I missed you.”

  Mia stands on tiptoes and kisses him. “I missed you. How was your day?”

  “It just got a heck of a lot better.” He smiles.

  Tonight’s dinner consists of soup beans and hamhocks and homemade cornbread with peach cobbler for dessert.

  During dinner, Mia and Momma plan the Thanksgiving Day menu. Pops listens intently. Thanksgiving will be on the farm. For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving dinner has only been on the farm. My parents always host the dinner. I think it’s because Momma likes to cook, and it’s easier to have it here as opposed to transferring all the food to another location.

  After we eat dinner and clean up the kitchen, Levi and Mia leave. Momma and Pops go to bed, and I’m unable to sleep. I take my guitar out to the barn and prop myself up in the corner on a hay bale. Strumming a few chords, I close my eyes. I play a few country songs by Luke Bryan and Josh Turner. When I finally open my eyes, I have an audience staring at me. “Hey, girl.” I stand and walk over to the midnight black mare watching me. I pet her mane and she moves her head closer to me. “You like music, girl?” I see a few apples and pick them up to feed her. Watching her eat, I admire her beauty. All black with a white diamond shape on her nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I give her one last stroke and leave. I know there is another horse in the stable, but he doesn’t come over.

  The night is dark and cold. The sky is clear and filled with stars, and a crescent moon. I soon realize everything is so much clearer and cleaner in the country. Living in the city, you don’t understand what pollution does to the air. Light pollution from such things as streetlights also makes it hard to see stars. I stop on the porch and take a seat on the step. I listen. Nothing but silence. I reflect on the last decade of my life.

  Savannah Mae

  “Momma, can we please put the tree up?”

  I stand and put my hand on my hip. “Sawyer Jackson, what did Momma say?”

  He frowns. “Not until after Thanksgiving.”

  I smile. My son was listenin’. “And why did I say not until after Thanksgiving?”

  He thinks for a minute and raises a brow. “’cause you’re not supposed to rush the holidays.”

  I walk over and kneel down to my son. “That’s exactly right.”

  “Why not?” He frowns again and crosses his small arms over his tiny chest.

  I take Sawyer Jackson’s hand and walk him over to the couch. Because I don’t have money for a tree. Because I don’t know where the money will come from for the gifts this year to put under the tree. I don’t say any of those things. I set him on my lap in hopes the right words come to me. A smile forms on my face when I look him in the face. My beautiful baby boy. “Because we’re supposed to enjoy the holidays, not rush through them.”

  “We can still have Thanksgiving with the Christmas tree up.”

  He’s right, we can. “We can, but we aren’t. When Thanksgiving is over, and not a day sooner, we’ll put the tree up.”

  “Momma…,” he whines.

  “Sawyer Jackson? If you keep that up, we’ll wait until Christmas Eve. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Good, go get your hat and coat on, I need to run to the grocery store.”

  A quick trip, we walk in, and I attempt to pay off my credit debt, but Mrs. Campbell says, “Savannah Mae, I’m not showing a debt from you.”

  I scoot closer to the customer service window/ manager’s office window, and whisper, “Are you sure? I was here the other day and told your husband I would bring the money back in. I still owe $24 and change on my purchase.” The privately owned store is too small to have a customer service desk; instead, it has a manager’s office with a sliding glass window.

  “Ah yes, I remember that day. I was here working. Your debt has already been taken care of.” She smiles and I wonder did she and her husband erase the debt for me. They own the non-franchise store and it wouldn’t surprise me if they did that.

  I look down at Sawyer Jackson and smile. “Just a few more minutes, Buddy.” I adjust his hat and he readjusts it after me. Holdin’ his hand, I look back up to the window. “No, please don’t do that. I have the money to pay it.” I show her the money I’m holdin’.

  “Savannah Mae, it wasn’t me, dear. We had a visit from an Angel.”

  I hold Sawyer Jackson’s hand tight. More people are comin’ into the store, and the line behind me is gettin’ long. “Okay, thank you. I appreciate it more than you know.” I have no idea who would have paid for my purchase. Ethan doesn’t have the extra money and he didn’t even know I was short the other day.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Savannah Mae.” She smiles, and it’s a genuine, friendly smile.

  “Thank you, and Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

  I drop off Sawyer Jackson with his daddy before my shift at Peaches. I kiss and hug Sawyer Jackson and wait at the door for Ethan to answer my knock. This sure isn’t the life I had pictured for myself. I always thought Ethan and I would be married forever, have two kids and some grandbabies, and grow old together.

  “You know you can come in,” Ethan says, opening the door.

  Looking into the apartment, I fidget. “I know, I need to get to work.”

  Ethan leaves and when he returns he hands me some money. “It isn’t much, but it should help you with some bills.”


  I reluctantly take the money and say, “Did you find work?”

  “I sold the infant cradle today.”

  Ethan makes the best wooden furniture in these parts. I swear it’s better than what the Amish folks make. I remember the cradle he’s talkin’ about. Dark walnut wood with spindle sides. “I hope it went to a good home.”

  He smiles and nods. “It did.”

  I look at the money again and it reminds me of the grocery store. “Have you been in Campbell’s Food Town lately?”

  “Not since the divorce. I feel funny walkin’ in there. I get sympathy stares from Mr. and Mrs. Campbell.” It wasn’t him. “Why?”

  I fidget again. “They’re havin’ a sale on meat this week,” I lie. I bite my lip to keep from spittin’ out the truth that threatens to escape my mouth. “I need to go. Are you sure you mean for me to have all of this?” I hold up the money for him to see.

  “I’m sure.” He looks behind him at Sawyer Jackson and looks at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for us to end up like this.” He looks sad and tears threaten to spill from my eyes.

  I’m not sure what to say. Never in a million years did I think my high school sweetheart and I wouldn’t be together. I swallow the lump in my throat. I try to dismiss the memory of when I caught Ethan kissing Heather Sue under the maple tree last year. It was the night of her birthday party. I walked home cryin’ and he came home drunk shortly after. I wasn’t able to get over it, although he swore he didn’t do anything. But kissin’ ain’t nothin’.

  “Well, you better get goin’ or you’ll be late for your shift.”

  “Thank you for the money. If you need some…”

  “No, Savannah Mae. You take it.” He takes his hand and pushes my hand with the money in it away from him. “It’s for you, and our son.”

  “Thank you, Ethan.” I step back and give him a sad smile. “I’ll be here in the mornin’ to get Sawyer Jackson.”

  “Sounds good. Be careful and if you need me, call me.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I peek into the apartment and say, “Sawyer Jackson, I love you, Buddy.”

  “Love you, too, Momma.” He runs up and hugs me goodbye, almost knockin’ his daddy over.

  During my shift, the customers and the employees are all talkin’ about a local girl who was murdered earlier this mornin’. I pick up the Zanesville Times Recorder and read the main headline: “Local girl found murdered outside of County Line Bar.”

  “Are you kiddin’?”

  “Where have you been? It’s the talk of the town,” Cathy says.

  I shiver at such tragic news hittin’ so close to home. I don’t have time to read the article before we start to get busy. I don’t need to read the paper to know what it says. I hear the story over and over again from the customers. Cathy was right, it’s the talk of the town.

  The girl, whose name is not bein’ released yet, was found outside of the bar, by the wooded area in the back parking lot. I overhear people say that Megan Rose hasn’t been seen around town in a few days. I don’t ask any questions and I try to not engage in any gossip.

  Ethan and I used to frequent that bar when we were married. It’s a nice place. Everyone in town goes there. I can’t imagine who or why someone would have been murdered there.

  “They don’t know who she was?” I ask Cathy when the customers leave.

  “The paper’s not releasin’ her name, pendin’ notification of the girl’s family. But I heard she was unrecognizable.”

  I sit down before I fall down. “The chance is very good we know her,” I whisper.

  “Who you tellin’? Everyone knows everyone in this town. I heard Diane and Bobby say it was Megan Rose. You remember her, don’t you?”

  I can only nod. I do remember her. She went to school with my sister, Samantha Marie. After my shift at the diner, I walk into my lonely house. The house is small and at one time, it felt too small. However, since my divorce, and with Sawyer Jackson at his daddy’s, the house seems too large. After a shower, I make a pot of coffee. After the news I heard at work tonight, I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. I place a few logs into the fireplace and go outside to sit on the porch. The air is crisp and cold, and the neighborhood is dark and quiet. Work was busy and it feels good to just listen to nothin’. I pull the quilted throw tighter around me.

  I sip on my hot coffee when I see a dark shadow joggin’ down the street. It is out of the ordinary to see a dark figure runnin’ this time of night. I should probably run inside and lock the door, but I don’t feel threatened. I continue to watch the figure in the dark hoodie jog closer.

  The person stops when he gets in front of my house.

  What am I doin’? I look up and down the street and I don’t see anyone. Maybe it was a mistake to sit on the porch. Maybe I should have run into the house and locked up.

  The jogger lowers his hood before speakin’. “Can’t sleep, Savannah Mae?”

  My heart beats hard and fast. I look closer at the figure walkin’ into the street lighting. “Abel Lee.” I smile. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you it’s not safe to be out this time of night?”

  He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth and a single dimple. “As a matter of fact, she did.” He walks closer to me and stops when he reaches the steps leading up to the porch.

  “And you chose to not listen to her?” I take another sip of my coffee to try to hide my smile.

  “Lots to do throughout the day, so running at night works out better for me.” He takes a step closer and raises his right foot to the next step.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asks.

  We make eye contact. “No. Sawyer Jackson’s with his daddy, and I just got off work. Just enjoyin’ some quiet time before bed.”

  He nods. “Let me leave the pretty lady to her quiet time then.” He lowers his foot to leave.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  I can see uncertainty in his eyes. He puts his hand in his hoodie jacket pocket and says, “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked ya, if I didn’t want the company.”

  Abel

  I have to think for only a second before I answer. “I think I would, thank you, Savannah Mae.”

  She stands up and drops the quilted throw she was wrapped in on the wooden rocker she was sitting on. “Don’t just stand there, c’mon up.” She motions with her hands for me to join her on the porch. “How do you take your coffee?”

  I walk up the three steps as she holds open the screen door for me. “Black, please.”

  She smiles and says, “I figured. Come in while I get your coffee.” She holds the screen door wide open for me.

  “Thank you.” I stand at the door and wait as she disappears behind a beige wall. I look around the room and notice the handmade walnut end tables, coffee table, and the corner cabinet. The house is small and comfortable.

  The local newspaper is on the coffee table, and I walk over to pick it up. I recognize the bar on the front page and I read this headline: “Local girl found murdered outside of County Line Bar.” I skim the article looking for a name. There isn’t one. Savannah Mae reappears with a mug of black coffee.

  “Thank you,” I say as I take it from her. “You have a beautiful home.”

  She looks at me and raises a brow. “It’s small and cozy, but beautiful? I’m not so sure.” She walks over to the fireplace and adds another log. “Shockin’ news, isn’t it?” she asks, looking at the newspaper I’m still holding.

  I lay the paper down on the coffee table and say, “It sure is. This is out of the ordinary for this area, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I still can’t believe it. Everyone at work was talkin’ about it.”

  I think back to the girl sitting at the bar, the drunken guy, the bouncer, the bartender, and the band members. Could that sweet girl be the victim? Could she have lost her life so soon after I met her? Could any of those guys have killed someone? God, I hope not.
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  I take a sip of the hot coffee and follow Savannah Mae outside.

  I stayed talking to Savannah Mae a lot longer than I intended to. We talk briefly about the local murder, and then we talk about something more uplifting. I learn she was born and raised in Crooksville and then moved to Rose Farm after she got married. She is easy to talk to, and down to earth. I like that. She runs her hand up and down the arm of the wooden chair.

  “These are nice chairs,” I admit, honestly.

  “Thank you. My ex-husband and his father made them. He also made most of the wooden furniture inside the house.”

  I run my hand along the arm and feel the smooth wood. “Do they own a shop around here?”

  “No. They currently work out of my ex-husband’s parents’ garage.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “One day maybe they’ll be able to open a store. They do great work, but it’s barely enough to pay the bills.”

  When my coffee is gone, I decide it’s time for me to go.

  “Savannah Mae, it was my pleasure, but I do believe I need to get going.”

  I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it and smiles.

  “Thank you, Abel Lee.”

  I hand her my cup and open the screen door for her. “Have a good night, Savannah Mae.”

  She takes the cup from me. “You, too, Abel Lee.”

  I wait for the click of the door before turning to leave. I already feel better, knowing that she locks the doors, at least at night. Placing the hood on my head, I finish my run.

  The next few days leading up to Thanksgiving, Pops and I get a lot done on the farm. We place plastic over each window on the farmhouse, replace any burned-out light bulbs on and in the barn, and go to the old mill and load up on feed for the animals.

  Pops buys a newspaper daily, and we watch the news when we can. The whole town is concerned and frightened about the recent murder. I hear bits and pieces about the killing from the locals, and although I try to not listen to the gossip, it’s hard not to.

  I drive past the County Line Bar and see that it’s taped off with crime-scene tape. I have to know if the victim was Megan Rose. I want to see where the body was found, but I can’t tell from the road.

  On Sunday, we go to church. I am surprised to see the church is full. The sermon is about living your life to the fullest. He’s talking about the murder, no doubt. After the service, we all stay for a potluck dinner. The church used to have potluck on the third Sunday of every month, but they now offer it every Sunday after church. The women of the congregation said they had to cook anyway, so they might as well bring the food to the church. Pops said he readily agreed and thought it was a great idea. Momma later said that Mrs. Hackler makes a chocolate cake from scratch and Pops was hoping she would make it every week for church. I have to admit, it was the best chocolate cake I ever had.

  On Wednesday, before Thanksgiving, Momma and Mia spend the day at home cooking. It reminded me of past Thanksgivings. Momma always cleaned several days before the actual holiday, and cooked all day, the day before. It feels and smells like Thanksgiving. I have to admit, I’ve missed this. If I could bottle up the smell and the feel of the holidays on the farm, I think I could make millions. It just smells and feels that good.

  There’s breaking news on the television because the name of the murdered girl has finally been released. I’m in shock when I see a picture of Megan Rose come across the screen.

  They show a picture of the drunken guy and say he’s wanted for questioning. “Do you know them?” I ask everyone in the room watching the news.

  “Megan Rose Bower. Everyone in town knows her,” Mia says. “One of the nicest girls you ever met.” Everyone in the room is now sitting down and watching the news broadcast.

  “What about him?” I ask, referring to the male suspect.

  “Nope, can’t say I know him,” Mia says.

  Levi adds, “I don’t know him, either “If he’s from around here, they’ll find him. Pretty much everyone in Rose Farm knows everyone in Rose Farm. Pretty much everyone in Crooksville knows everyone in Crooksville. The same is true of all the other little towns around here.”

  Momma stands and wipes her hands on her apron and says sadly, “I reckon we all need to pray a little harder tonight for Megan Rose’s family. I imagine they don’t see much to be thankful for this holiday season.”

  Right before dinner, Momma packs up several large containers of food and says, “Are ya’ll ready to go?”

  “I’m ready, Belle,” Pops says, standing up from the brown rocker/recliner nearest the fireplace. Mia is removing her apron and Levi is putting his coat on.

  I also stand. “Where we headed?”

  “Every other Wednesday we go to the church for a community supper.”

  “You mean a soup kitchen?”

  Momma says, “We prefer to call it a community supper at the church. No since is taking the dignity of the people who eat there.”

  “It’s the day before Thanksgiving, are they even open?”

  “Abel Lee,” Momma says sternly, “just because it’s a holiday doesn’t mean people aren’t hungry.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  I feel like a scolded child and put my boots on in the bedroom. I think everyone is right, I have been gone too long. Of course my family would cook and volunteer to feed the hungry. It’s what they do. When I return, everyone is standing by the kitchen door with large containers of food.

  “Abel, if you can get that roaster on the counter, I would appreciate it. Be careful, it’s mighty hot.” Momma smiles and I feel better.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  We take two cars to the church. When we pull up, a small group of people are already waiting. They smile when they see my family getting out of the car.

  “Larry, Mark, and Pearl, would you mind givin’ us a hand carryin’ the food?” Pops asks.

  I look over and see three smiling faces walking towards us.

  “Is that turkey I smell?” an older man asks.

  Momma smiles brightly. “Larry, have I ever let you down?”

  He smiles a toothless smile. His clothes are worn and dirty. “I can’t say you have, Miss Nell.” He takes a step closer, and Pops hands him several containers of food. “Smells mighty good. Been a long time since I had turkey.”

  Momma’s smile fades before she says, “You’ll have to eat extra today then.”

  He smiles and starts to walk into the back door of the church leading to the kitchen. “Yes, ma’am. I think I can do that.”

  Once the food is in the kitchen area, Levi adjusts the heater, while Pops and Momma get the food ready. The room fills up quickly and I wonder if there will be enough food. Fifteen people must be here, including us. I hear a familiar voice and turn to see Savannah Mae and Sawyer Jackson walking through the back door. She’s carrying a large Crock-Pot and a tote bag.

  She sees me and smiles. I nod. Before I can get over to help her, Pops is at her side. I’m surprised and happy to see her here. Sawyer Jackson stays close by her side, and Mia rushes over to hug her. It’s a small community, so I’m not surprised they know each other.

  I help set all the food out in a line and Sawyer Jackson stacks the paper plates and other paper items on the other side of the serving window. There’s no television on or music playing, just the sound of polite conversation filling up the spare room.

  Levi makes coffee while Mia and Savannah Mae cut the desserts.

  “Everything all right, Abel?”

  I look at Momma and say, “Just taking it all in.” I look around the room filled with people. Most of them are sitting around the folding tables on gray metal chairs. Some are standing up and talking to each other. “How does this work?”

  “The church opens up the kitchen every Wednesday and calls it a community kitchen. They provide a free meal to the community,” Momma says. “Everyone is welcome and anyone can come.”

  I look out the window at the chur
ch sign: Free Community Supper Every Wednesday. I then, look at Momma and ask, “Who supplies the food to feed everyone?”

  “Those who volunteer that day are responsible for preparin’ enough food for everyone. Sometimes we fix it at home and bring it in and sometimes we make it at the church. It all depends.” Momma looks around the room. “We try to make it fair for everyone. People struggle certain times of the month. As you know, certain foods are cheap and can stretch a long way. Sometimes the meals are all-you-can-eat pancakes and eggs, soup beans and cornbread, or rice and beans.”

  I furrow my brows together. “Where do these people come from?”

  Momma sadly looks around the room again. “They’re all locals. People who have lost their jobs, or who have become ill and can no longer work or cook.”

  “Are there always this many people?”

  “No, not usually. It’s Thanksgiving. I think that brought out more people than normal.”

  “You ready to start serving?” Levi asks.

  “We are.”

  Everyone stands and Pops says the grace. Once the food is blessed, we all do our part in serving everyone. Even Sawyer Jackson does something to help. He stands on a chair and hands the plates out for our guests. Once everyone is eating, we all get a plate and sit down at the table to eat. I look around the room, and I see my family has all separated and is eating dinner with other people. It looks and feels like a casual dinner at a diner. I see an empty seat near Savannah Mae and Sawyer Jackson, and I decide to sit there.

  I sit down quietly to not interrupt the conversation already going on.

  “Are you sure you want a turkey?” someone asks Sawyer Jackson.

  “Yep, it’s Thanksgiving. It has to be a turkey.”

  “Okay, as soon as dinner is over, I’ll make you a turkey.”

  Savannah Mae tries to include me on the conversation already taking place. “Larry here makes the best balloon creations around.”

  “Really? That takes some serious talent.”

  “Thank you. Unfortunately, it’s talent that doesn’t pay the bills,” Larry says.

  Sawyer Jackson pipes in and says excitedly, “Yep, Larry can make anything you want.”

  The conversation at the table flows easily. Savannah Mae looks over at my plate and frowns. “Didn’t like my soup?”

  I look around the table and everyone has a bowl of soup sitting in front of them. I didn’t take the soup because I didn’t want to take food from the people who need it.

  “We’re out of bowls,” I lie.

  She leans into me and whispers, “There’s plenty of food and bowls.”

  I stand and get a bowl of Savannah Mae’s soup.

  After dinner we all clean up. I watch Larry go to the kitchen drawer and remove a few brown, yellow, red, and orange balloons. I decide to observe for a few minutes. I toss the dishrag on the kitchen counter and join Larry and Sawyer Jackson at the table.

  Savannah Mae also joins us. Taking a seat across the table from me, she raises a brow, smiles, and says, “Watch this.”

  I turn my attention to Larry. He blows the long thin balloons up and ties them off. It makes my cheeks hurt just to watch him. Soon he turns the brown, red, yellow, and orange balloons into a beautiful turkey complete with a beard. Sawyer Jackson jumps up excitedly and thanks Larry for making him the “best turkey, ever.”

  Sawyer Jackson jumps down from the table and shows everyone in the room. I look from Savannah Mae, who is grinning ear to ear, before looking at Larry, who is also smiling.

  “That’s very impressive.”

  Larry looks up at me. “It’s nothin’.”

  “How did you learn to do that?”

  He runs his hand across his graying beard. “My granddaddy taught me many years ago.”

  “That takes skills.” That definitely takes talent.

  “A bunch of useless skills,” he mumbles from under his breath as he stands to walks away.

  I watch Larry walk away from the table. He joins some of the others at the far end of the room. Savannah Mae turns to face me, and I say, “Not much work in these parts requiring balloon animals.” I look to Savannah Mae, who is still watching Sawyer Jackson.

  “No, I guess not.”

  Savannah Mae

  I watch as Abel Lee looks around the room. I follow his eyes as he watches Sawyer Jackson play with his balloon turkey. I smile. Anytime I watch my son, I smile. He is so young and innocent and pure at heart.

  “Please excuse me,” Abel Lee says before he gets up from the table.

  After we clean up, Sawyer Jackson and I say our goodbyes before leaving. I search the parking lot, wondering if the murderer is still lurking around. I’m glad that Megan Rose’s murder wasn’t the main topic of discussion at dinner tonight. I saw a glimpse of the broadcast on the news, before Sawyer Jackson walked into the room. I quickly shut off the television. I don’t want my son to be tainted by the ugliness in the world.

  I bathe him before puttin’ him to bed.

  “Momma, I had fun tonight.” 

  “You did? Why?” 

  “Because the food is good, and the people are nice.” 

  I warsh his face before cleanin’ behind his ears. “The people are very nice.” 

  “And I got a balloon animal.” 

  “You got the coolest balloon animal, ever.”

  Later, at home, I listen to Sawyer Jackson sayin’ his prayers before bed, and I make sure he is asleep before I shower. I call my sister to make sure the plans for Thanksgiving haven’t changed. They haven’t. I work every day, and make the money stretch as far as I can. The church calls me whenever Bud and Nelly drop off eggs. I am forever appreciative of the church and everything they do for me and for Sawyer Jackson. Without them… I don’t even want to think about it. The church gave me a few bags of soup beans, and I made them with a ham hock tonight. I like makin’ food and volunteerin’ my time at the church for the community supper, but some days, I’m not sure where the food will come from. It’s hard to feed Sawyer Jackson and me some days, so it’s often very difficult to help feed a church full of hungry people. 

  Sometimes… well, a lot of the time, Sawyer Jackson and I have breakfast for dinner. We call it our special meal. He loves pancakes, and so do I. I can’t tell him we have to have pancakes for dinner because it’s the only food in the house. He doesn’t need to know that. The late comedian Bernie Mac knows that. I heard him say on TV that if you’re eatin’ breakfast food at night, you’re poor. I’m glad Sawyer Jackson wasn’t watchin’. 

  The next mornin’ Sawyer Jackson and I get up early and go to his grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad are excited to see us. Mom is in the kitchen cookin’ with my sister, Samantha Marie, and Daddy is in the livin’ room watchin’ the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

  Sawyer Jackson runs in and jumps in his granddaddy’s lap.

  “There’s my boy. I’ve been waitin’ on ya. Where ya been at?” 

  “Momma had to do her hair and makeup,” Sawyer Jackson teases, and he makes a face at me. I release a soft laugh. “She wanted to look purdy,” he adds.

  Daddy looks up at me and smiles. “She’s beautiful without all that fuss.” 

  I walk over and bend down to kiss Daddy. “Thank you.” 

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Pumpkin.” 

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Daddy.” 

  Sawyer Jackson looks at me and asks, “Why did you fix your hair?”

  “Because it’s a holiday, and I wanted to look nice.”

  “Why are we watchin’ a parade on TV?”

  “Because it’s only on once a year,” Daddy says to Sawyer Jackson as he looks up at me. I shrug my shoulders. My son is asking a lot of questions today.

  “Why’s it only on once a year?” Sawyer Jackson asks.

  Daddy laughs, “Why you askin’ so many questions?”

  “Because I don’t know anything �
€” I’m only four. How old are you?” Sawyer Jackson asks.

  Daddy laughs. “How old do you think I am?”

  I watch Daddy and I also watch Sawyer Jackson think for a moment. “What’s the biggest number in the world?” Sawyer Jackson asks.

  I try to hide my laugh and quickly turn to leave before Daddy answers. I help Mom and Samantha Marie in the kitchen, while Daddy keeps Sawyer Jackson entertained in the livin’ room. Daddy keeps walkin’ in and askin’ if the food’s done. Every time he walks in, he samples something before leavin’.

  “He’ll be plumb stuffed full before suppertime,” Mom laughs. 

  Ethan shows up and spends Thanksgiving with us. It’s more of a benefit for Sawyer Jackson than anything. This is the first Thanksgiving since our divorce, and I wanted our son to have both of his parents with him. I’m grateful that Ethan and I are still on friendly terms. Sawyer Jackson likes havin’ him here, and it reminds me that I am doin’ the right thing for my boy.

  After supper, Mom plays a DVD of the Christmas movie Rudolph for us all to watch. I fall asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. When I wake up, Sawyer Jackson is in my old bed, sleeping peacefully. I kiss him and cover him up before turnin’ to leave. I take a pillow and blanket out of the cedar chest and sleep the rest of the night on the couch.