Radclyffe - Homestead

“Tess,” he said, rising. He slapped his cap against his jeans and bits of golden pollen floated into the air. “Saw you truck over to the big barn. Thought you’d be coming in around about now. Heard about the ruckus last night. Any more news about what happened?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that woman’s in for anything except trouble the longer she’s here.”

Tess pressed her palms to her thighs. She wasn’t inclined to fight by nature, but her hands wanted to curl into fists. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s not too popular with quite a few folks. She been around to talk to you yet?”

“Not in any detail.”

“I suspect she will. Whatever they offer you for the land, it’s probably not going to be enough. I wouldn’t be signing anything away—”

“Pete,” Tess said, holding on to her temper by a thread. “I appreciate your concern, really. But I’m not about to make any hasty decisions. About the drilling or about selling.”

He smiled a little paternally, a little leeringly as his eyes dropped down her body and back to her face so quickly she might have imagined it. But she knew she hadn’t.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Pete said. “You’re not the hasty type. But I hope you give things due consideration…about the drilling and about my offer. I promise you we could work out something that was suitable for both of us.”

“I’ll do that.” As if she would be swayed by the promise of a fair deal from a man who thought she didn’t know the worth of her own land.

“See you at the Grange meeting tonight?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. That’s real good.” Pete settled his cap back onto his head and walked past her, his body nearly brushing hers. She didn’t move back when he passed.

Once he’d driven out and left her finally, blessedly alone, she went to the kitchen to prepare her lunch. The folder Clay had left with Ray’s paperwork sat on the table like an unanswered invitation. Pausing on the way to the refrigerator, she stared at the folder and picked up the phone. She dialed the number she already knew by heart.

“Hello?”

“Leslie? Hi. It’s Tess.”

“Hi, Tess! I was just thinking about you. It was so great seeing you.”

“Well, you might not think so when I tell you why I called.”

“I’m sitting down. Go ahead.”

Tess laughed. She’d forgotten how good it was to have a friend. “I think Ray might’ve gotten me into some trouble with NorthAm. They made him an offer for drilling rights on the land and he was apparently negotiating with them. I think money might’ve changed hands.”

“I think you need representation,” Leslie said, the laughter gone from her voice.

“So do I. I want to hire you.”

“All right. I’ll need to look at the paperwork. Can you scan it and e-mail it to me?”

“I don’t have a scanner here, but I can do it on Monday in the village.”

“That’s probably soon enough. In the meantime, don’t worry about it. You need to be prepared, though. You might be looking at a lengthy negotiation here.”

“I’m used to waiting,” Tess said, squinting out the window into the bright cloudless sky. Not a hint of rain. “I’m a farmer, after all.”

The Grange was a square, wood-frame box sitting at the four corners where a spur of the Delaware & Hudson Railroad had once connected the industrial cities along the Hudson River to the farms upstate. Farmers built their barns along the tracks so the train could off-load goods and machinery and pick up produce, hay, milk, and beef. Now the tracks were paved over, forming one of the main county roads joining the rural communities dotted over the countryside. The narrow two-lane intersecting the former rail line bordered the north hundred acres of Tess’s farm.

Tess decided to walk the two miles to the Grange for the meeting. Maybe the exercise would work out some of the knots in her neck and shoulders. The twinges and cramps had gotten steadily worse throughout the long afternoon and evening, reminding her of the sleep she’d missed. Not that a lost night was all that unusual—she’d gone plenty of nights without sleep over the years, waiting on a new calf to show up, watching the weather reports while hoping to beat a ten-day rain with an early haying. Catnapping was her specialty—anytime, any place—curled up in the cab of her truck, on an old shirt spread over a pile of hay in the barn, in the porch swing. Not today, though. She’d tried to nap but couldn’t. Even with all the windows open in her shady north-facing, second-floor bedroom, the solid mass of air crowding inside was heavy and hot. Not a breath of a breeze.

She’d tossed and turned on top of the sheets for twenty minutes, reliving the memory of Clay lying in the street, dazed and bleeding, and the sight of her naked back, bruised and beautiful all at the same time, and the way Clay’s face had softened in sleep, making her appear at once vulnerable and desirable. She’d lain awake thinking of the many facets of Clay, her skin tingling and her blood racing, excited in a way no other woman had ever been able to arouse her. And what bothered her most of all was knowing it wasn’t memory that tormented her, but a woman who loomed large on the canvas of her life right now. Clay wasn’t a figment of her imagination or a girl viewed through the cloudy lens of time. She was a handsome, confident, sexy woman whose voice struck long-silent chords in Tess’s heart. Irritated with herself for being so susceptible to Clay’s charm all over again, she’d finally gotten up, showered, and dressed, killing time until she could leave by reading one of the novels she’d been meaning to get to for weeks. Never mind that she had to keep rereading page after page when she realized she didn’t know what her eyes had just passed over. At least she’d kept herself occupied and thoughts of drowning-dark eyes and a seductive grin at bay.

At eight p.m., the sun finally dropped over the horizon and a faint breeze promised a little cooling overnight. She walked along the side of the road, assessing her fields and those of her neighbors. The earth was dusty and cracked, like the parched lips of a lost soul wandering in the desert. The corn was half the height it should be, yellowing at the base of the stalks, the shoots raggedy from insects, the fledgling plants unable to fight both the unending heat and the onslaught of nature’s pests. Soybeans were stunted, and hay grew too slowly for even a second cutting when it should have been ready for a third. The cows slumped with heads drooping, tails swishing listlessly in whatever bits of shade they could find under the trees along the edges of the pastures. Every living thing—human, animal, and plant—wilted in the unrelenting drought.

Finally she picked up her pace and stopped torturing herself with images of a woman she didn’t want in her life and weather she couldn’t change.

Pickup trucks filled the gravel lot in front of the white clapboard Grange building and both sides of the road adjacent to it. The big double doors at the top of the four wide wooden steps stood open, held there by iron planters used as doorstops. The slatted black shutters were folded back from the open windows. Men and women stood outside, talking and smoking. Tess nodded to some and made her way inside. Rows of wooden chairs formed uneven lines in the single large room. A wooden table along with four rickety chairs sat in the center of a makeshift platform stage at the front. The village board members and the Grange president congregated in a cluster in one corner drinking coffee, waiting for everyone to straggle in and sit down. Tess searched for a seat on the side of the room opposite where Pete Townsend held court with several of the larger landowners. Making her way down a narrow row, she said hello to Cliff Wright, her nearest neighbor.

“Keep me company,” Cliff said, motioning to the seat next to him, “and maybe I’ll stay awake.”

“How are things over at the farm?” Tess settled onto the slat-backed chair next to Cliff and tried to find a comfortable position. Cliff was a jovial man in his midfifties, of irrepressible good humor and optimism. Tonight, even he looked a little weary.

“Oh,” Cliff said with a hint of his usual good nature, “we’re doing all right. Watching the sky and doing what we can. I was thinking I might get Joni to do a rain dance one of these nights if it don’t rain soon. You know, one of those moon rites that are supposed to call up the woman spirits from the earth and whatnot.”

Tess laughed. “Why do I think you’re serious?”

His blue eyes twinkled. “Well, if it doesn’t rain, at least it will be a good show.”

Tess looked around the room. “If she hears you, you’re going to be in trouble.”

“She’s home—we’ve got a cow about to freshen. She wants to make sure the baby’s all right.”

“Well then, you’re safe for a while.”

“It might work even better if there were two females doing the dance—you’re welcome to come and join her.”

Tess regarded him solemnly for a moment. “Does this perhaps require being sky-clad?”

Cliff laughed, his ample belly shaking over his faded jeans. “I haven’t heard that since Woodstock. And I do believe it does.”

“Well,” Tess said contemplatively, “I really do want it to rain.”

“I’ll have Joni call you if she gets adventurous.” He laughed again and they both looked forward as three men and a woman scraped back their chairs on the plank floor and took seats behind the table facing the crowd.

The room slowly quieted, except for the shuffling of feet and a few people clearing their throats. Once in a while a cell phone chirped, and someone would mutter sorry.