A Thousand Acres: A Novel (10 page)

I pressed down the telephone button and let it up again, ready to dial Caroline’s work number, except that suddenly I felt a shyness, as if there were a breach between the two of us that I had to brave. Here it was Thursday, and I should have called her Sunday night, that was suddenly clear. Rose, I would have called Sunday afternoon, trying her until she got home, but Caroline I had let slide, Caroline I had hardly thought of in the rush of Daddy and Rose and, well, to be frank, thoughts about Jess Clark. It was true that Caroline and I didn’t have a close, gossipy relationship. Her visits home every third weekend, when she stayed with Daddy and cooked for him, were generally the only times I spoke with her. For one thing, country people, even in 1979, were more suspicious of long-distance calls, and not in the habit of talking on the phone much—we’d been on a party line until 1973, so visiting about private things on the telephone was still considered risky. For another, Rose and I had been so long in the habit of conferring about Daddy and Caroline that it seemed a touch unfamiliar, even scary, to confer with her. Nosy. Interfering. Asking for something, though I didn’t know what. And then her office didn’t like her to get personal calls. The phones were monitored because clients were billed for telephone consultations. I pushed the phone button down again, then put the receiver on the cradle. Sunday would be my deadline. If I didn’t hear from her by Sunday, then I really would call.

I
DISCOVERED THAT
I
WAS KEEPING
an eye out for Jess Clark. Runners, I understood, liked routine, and I would watch, in the cool of the morning, for him to pass our house on his circuit. Except that I didn’t know what his circuit was. It might also be true that Harold would insist on Jess’s doing some of the farm work, or even that Jess himself would want to do some of the farm work. Running, and conversing, for that matter, could turn out to be city habits that Jess would quickly shuck. Certainly the talks we had then shared, especially the last one, were unique in my experience, and maybe that was why I kept thinking about them.

I would work in the garden, or water my tomato plants, or even realize that it was that midmorning time of day, and Jess’s anguish would recur to me, and I would feel something physical, a shiver, a kind of shrinking of my diaphragm. I realized that some of the worst things I had feared and imagined had actually happened to him—the sudden death of his fiancée, but also the death of his mother while he was out of touch. For that matter, hadn’t he been damned and repudiated, worse than abandoned—cast out—by his father as the opening event of his adult life? Possibly it appeared on the surface that we had nothing in common except childhoods on the farm, but I suspected that there were things he knew that I had been waiting all my life to learn. Even so, I was not exactly eager to see him. It was more like I knew I had something important to wait for, something besides the next pregnancy. In fact, it occurred to me that the
next pregnancy might be the final stage, the culmination or the reward, for learning what Jess Clark had to teach, a natural outgrowth of some kind of rightness of outlook that I hadn’t achieved yet.

One day, when Ty came in for supper, Jess was behind him. He had on jeans and a light blue T-shirt, and his hands were dirty up to his elbows. Ty said, “Hey Ginny. I got this guy to do some honest work for a change, but now he wants supper.” He kissed me on the forehead and went down in the cellar to drop his clothes by the washing machine and change. I said to Jess, “What did they make you do, muck out the farrowing pens with your bare hands?”

“We were fixing the differential on the old tractor.”

“The Farmall? What are they going to use that for?”

“I’ve been assigned to manure spreading behind your dad’s house.”

“Lucky you.”

“I don’t mind. Anyway, manure spreading is something I believe in, and judging from the size of the manure pile and the condition of the manure spreader, there hasn’t been that much manure spread in the last few years. Like forty.”

“We get good yields,” shouted Ty. “And that’s the name of the game these days. Anyway, wait till I’ve got that Slurrystore.” His heavy step creaked on the cellar stairs. “Then we’ll have manure spreading every which way. You going to eat with those hands?”

I handed Jess a towel and he went out to the back sink and turned on the water.

Ty murmured, “Is there enough supper?”

I whispered, “Isn’t he a vegetarian, though? All I’ve got is hamburger noodle casserole and some green beans and salad.”

“I forgot about that.” He opened the refrigerator. When Jess came back, he handed him a beer, but Jess put it back and took out a Coke. They sat down at the kitchen table. Jess said, “Ah, you farmers always think a big new piece of equipment is the answer.” I glanced at him. His expression was aggressive but merry, and Ty took this as a joke. He said, “Nah. Two big new pieces of equipment. That’s the answer.”

I set the food on the table, with a bowl of cottage cheese, then said, “Anyway, we’ll see what the answer is. We’ve got plenty of big new pieces of equipment on order.”

“Mmmm,” said Ty, with dramatic relish.

“I’d forgotten what a nice kitchen this is,” said Jess. “Didn’t the Ericsons have some kind of bird in here?”

“They had a parrot. But I thought he was always in the living room. Remember how he used to order the dogs around?” I said to Ty, “From overhearing Cal training them, I suppose, this parrot had learned to give the commands, and when any of the dogs went into the living room, the parrot would start shouting orders, and the dogs would obey. Once we came in from outside, and we heard the parrot squawking and shouting ‘Sit! Roll over!’ and we went in the living room and there was the collie panting and doing all these tricks. Mrs. Ericson had to put a sheet over the parrot’s cage.”

“When did they leave?” asked Jess.

“Oh, I’m sure they were gone before you were. I was fourteen when Daddy bought this farm.”

“Stole it from Harold, you mean.” Jess stared me down, that audacious twinkle again.

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

What I had forgotten was the pleasure of a guest for dinner, someone unrelated, with sociable habits learned far away. While we helped ourselves, Ty said, “What do they think about this oil shortage out west?”

“Oil company scam.”

“They’ve got Carter by the short hairs.” Ty glanced at me, because he knew I rather liked Carter, or at least, liked Rosalynn and Miss Lillian. I rolled my eyes.

“The thing is,” said Jess, “he’s a realist. He looks at all sides. He ponders what he should do in a thoughtful way. You should never have a realist in the White House. Being president is too scary for a realist.” I laughed. Ty said, “Ginny likes him. I voted for him, I’ve got to say, though I don’t know a thing about farming peanuts. But every time something comes up, he just wrings his hands.”

“Nah,” said Jess. “He says, ‘What
should
I do?’ A president’s got to say, ‘What do I
want
to do? What will make me feel good now that I’m feelin’ so bad?’ He’s like a farmer, you see, only the big pieces of equipment he’s got access to are weapons, that’s the difference.”

Ty was smiling. When dinner was over, I didn’t want Jess to leave. Ty didn’t either. There was a moment, after I had picked up the plates, when we all looked at the table. Then Ty got up and opened the refrigerator again, and said, “How about another beer?”

I was as smooth as a professional hostess. I said, “It’s so hot in here. Why don’t we go out on the front porch?”

Once Jess had settled on the porch swing and Ty on the top step, his spot, I felt a rare rush of luxuriant delight. The evening lay before me, and all I had to do was receive it.

Jess took two or three deep breaths. The swing chains rattled and twisted against one another. The lilacs were over with, but I’d cut the grass around the house that morning, and the sweet fragrance of chamomile floated on top of the sharper scent of the wet tomato vines I’d watered before dinner. There weren’t any lightning bugs, yet, but I could see one or two cabbage moths pale and dim against the dark greenery around the porch. “This is nice,” said Jess. “This is exactly what I was looking for.”

“Are you going to stick around the area?” Ty never hesitated to ask what others might only hint at.

“We’ll see. It’s only been, what, ten days. It still feels like a vacation, though Harold is edging me toward a full day’s work.”

I blurted out, “You wouldn’t move in with Harold and Loren for good? After having your own place and your own life for twelve or fourteen years?”

“They do live kind of a strange life, don’t they? I asked Loren who he was dating and he just shrugged, as if he didn’t want to talk about it.”

Ty said, “He told me, ‘Girls don’t want to move out to the farm. They’ll date you and they’ll come pick things out of the garden, but that’s all.’ ”

Jess laughed. “I’m sure he’s not the world’s most dynamic suitor. I think his idea of a heartfelt declaration of passion is, ‘We could, you know, get married or something.’ ”

Ty said, “In high school, he dated Candy Dahl a little bit.”

“She was cute, wasn’t she? But she wasn’t going to stay on the farm. Marlene told me a long time ago that she’s doing real well in Chicago. I think she’s the weatherlady for some TV station there.”

“Well, that’s the kind of girls he goes for. Lots of ambition. Good dressers.”

I said, “I remember some girl he brought home from college, too. She was that way. It’s sort of sad.”

“I’ve noticed he’s gotten to be incredibly like Harold. Sometimes I think of them as the twin robot farmers. Time to plow! Time to plant! Time to spray! Time to harvest! Time to plow! Every morning they eat the exact same thing for breakfast.”

“Do tell,” I said.

“Three links of sausage, two fried eggs, a frozen French bread pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese, and three cups of black coffee.”

Ty chuckled.

I said, “You should laugh. You always eat the leftover salad from the night before. Anyway, Jess, you didn’t answer my question, you only made it more interesting. I can’t believe you want to live like that. And Loren isn’t completely wrong about girls, either.”

“I don’t know. Everything is up in the air. I gave up my lease in Seattle and put all my furniture in storage. I’m thirty-one years old. I felt like I had to figure out a life, and it seemed like I should sort this out before I could figure that out.” He sat back, stretching his legs toward me and making the swing jump, then went on, “I’ve been like one of those cartoon characters who saws off the limb between himself and the tree, and just hangs in midair for a second before the limb drops. But the second has lasted almost fourteen years. I guess I feel like if I reattach the limb, somehow, then the restlessness that’s always gotten into me whenever there’s been the chance to settle down and figure out a life will go away.”

Ty said, “But do you want to farm? You don’t have to live with Harold to do that—you could rent my place next year. That’s a quarter-section south of here about halfway to Henry Grove. A guy down there farms it now, but you could get started on that.”

Jess rocked his heels, moving the swing back and forth. Ty looked at me and I smiled. He was right. It was worth something to have Jess in the neighborhood.

Jess said, “I don’t know. When would you have to know?”

“I have to inform the present tenant in writing before September first.”

Jess rocked his heels some more, then said, “That’s it. That’s what drives me crazy. Yeah, of course I want it. But the idea of sending for all my stuff, and moving it in and being here and saying, yes, this is what I’m going to do, I’m going to practice what I learned when I ran those gardens and I’m going to really dedicate myself to organic farming and make something of my beliefs. It’s not the work. I could do the work. It’s saying, this is it.”

Ty said, “Organic farming?”

Jess guffawed. “Hey. You make it sound like I offered to shoot your dog! Just think of it as manure spreading on a large scale, okay?”

I said, “Anyway, that’s not the point.”

Jess said, “Sometimes I think I ought to get married so I’ll be forced to figure this out.”

We all fell silent. Thunder rumbled off to the southwest, and Ty said, “An inch of rain would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

I said, “I should get the dishes done.”

Jess said, “Think that tractor’s going to run tomorrow?”

Ty stood up. “That’s a question I never ask myself before bedtime.”

We all laughed.

Now there was a long silence. The darkness had deepened into real night—time to get to bed—but Jess and I sat rocking and creaking, reluctant. Ty said, “You know, I can’t get over that family. Those people in Dubuque. I’ve been thinking about them for the past two days.”

I said, “You mean where the girl was killed.” It had been a shocking murder, especially vivid, even though the paper had a penchant for covering murders in detail. A man had tried to break in to his ex-girlfriend’s family’s house. When the father and brother chased after him, they happened to leave open the heavy front door, which gave him access after he eluded them. He got in, and the girl hid in a bedroom. Then she came out, apparently hoping to calm him down, and he grabbed her and dragged her into another bedroom and slammed the door. When the family and the police managed to get that door open (a matter of seconds) they found him stabbing her with a long knife. The police shot him in the head.

I said, “The paper went into a lot of detail.”

Ty said, “Yes, but there were just so many things about it that didn’t have to be. I keep rewriting it in my head. Remembering to lock the door behind you, for one.”

“In a city,” said Jess, “the door would have locked behind them automatically.”

Ty said, “Anyone could be that father. Anyone could just react by trying to chase the guy, thinking you could do it. Being that mad.”

I said, “It was like the movies, where somebody just throws off all his enemies with superhuman strength. Isn’t there some drug that gives you that kind of strength?”