The Only Best Place (15 page)

“Leslie, I need that tractor for the farm…”

“If that was the case, you should have asked your mother for the money.”

Dan's angry glance cut away and I knew I had scored a direct hit.

But I didn't want to be keeping score, to be shown I was right. But I had to keep the vision or it was going to blur and once
again I was going to lose myself.

“You chose the farm over me, Dan.”

His gaze swung back to me. “No. It's not always about you, Leslie. It's not always about choosing one over the other. Sometimes
it's about doing the very next thing that's right in front of you. Sometimes it's about making the best of where you are right
now instead of always looking ten years into the future.”

Our gazes locked. I turned away first. Maybe I was too caught up in what lay ahead, but if people didn't have goals, didn't
have plans, they were vulnerable. You had to take care of your life. No one else was going to do that for you.

“Okay. I'm not going to say anything more about your job,” Dan said, conceding that point. “But could you do me a favor? Could
you at least try to make the best of being here?”

Considering I had ruined one of my favorite jackets “making the best of it,” his request seemed a tad unfair. But I wanted
peace in our home. I didn't want Dan and I to be carping and fighting.

This skirmish was over, and though nothing concrete had been resolved, at least he was resigned to my working.

“I came here with the intention of making the best of it, Dan. This is part of how I intend to do it.”

Dan sighed, got up. “Let's go outside, honey.” Dan said to Anneke holding out his hand to her. Obviously this conversation's
shelf life had expired.

Anneke hopped alongside him, chattering about the dog and the chickens, each word, each step carrying them both farther away
from me.

Nicholas saw them go and spun around, twisting away from me toward his father and sister. His deafening wails exploded when
the screen door slapped shut behind them.

“I know exactly how you feel,” I muttered as I tried to console him.

But he wasn't having any of me, either. I finally resorted to bribing him with some forbidden chocolate chips and set him
in the high chair, freeing myself to get lost in the soothing motions of folding laundry.

“It will be fine,” I said to the empty house. “He'll get used to it. His sisters will get used to it. His mother…” That
one was a stumper. I doubted Wilma would get used to it. But that didn't matter. It would all work out.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I got rhythm. In my life that is. Dan is busy in the fields. We don't talk about my work though he doesn't seem to mind the
extra money in the account. He's still upset with me, but I'm busy enough in the house and at work that I can ignore it. And
I have a wonderful babysitter. She loves my kids and she's one of those casual mothers who makes raising kids look as effortless
as riding a bicycle. Something I never quite got a handle on, either. Remember how many times I skinned my knees?

Loopy Leslie Loving Her Life

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

That church thing Dan goes to. That's not some kind of cult is it? U won't have to pledge UR kids to it or wear funny hats?
Can't go with the flow if U are going to join a cult.

Terra

It was time. I had found all kinds of excuses to put it off, but I had run out. The windows sparkled, the counters gleamed.
The beds were made, and the floors were tidied. My immaculate house was a small penance for working the day before and enjoying
it so much.

It was time. I looked outside. Sunshine. Warm, friendly sunshine.

I didn't need to put bulky coats and boots on the kids, which meant Nicholas could walk on his own. I slipped a light coat
on, picked up the pail of burnt cookies that didn't make the grade, and braced myself to face my nemesis.

The warmth of the sun surrounded us as I closed the door of the porch behind us. I released a lungful of stale air welcoming
the change in scenery. I automatically glanced around, wondering who saw us, then caught myself midsilliness. There were no
neighbors twitching aside curtains to see what I was doing. No one watching us.

Though we'd already been on the farm four weeks, (twenty-eight chocolates' worth), I still had to get used to the fact that,
if I so desired, I could run outside naked and no one would be the wiser. That was unless Uncle Orest stopped by or Wilma
made a sudden stop on her way to town or Bradley VandeKamp, the neighbor, decided to borrow Dan's harrows.

Today, stillness reigned over the yard. Dan was at his mother's house fixing a clogged drain and partly as penance for our
fight the other day and partly because Dan had to leave so early this morning, I had volunteered our services to do “chores.”

Nicholas didn't want to go in the wagon, so I left it behind, and as we started walking down the sidewalk, Sasha came bounding
up, her mouth open, tongue hanging out, a doggy grin on her fuzzy face.

“Oh, Sasha, I love you.” Anneke grabbed the dog by the neck and buried her face in the matted fur. Nicholas leaned toward
Sasha, but I kept his hand in mine. One swipe of Sasha's tail would knock Nicholas on his padded bottom. Usually, Nicholas
was in his wagon and Sasha's puzzling canine brain saw the plastic conveyance as a peril and walked wide, suspicious circles
around it.

My worries were groundless. Sasha sat quietly while Nicholas petted her head, her tail slowly making a half circle in the
dirt of the driveway. Anneke urged her brother on. “Pet the doggy, Nicholas. Nice doggy.”

“Doggy,” Nicholas said, his hand batting Sasha on the head. “Doggy.”

My mouth fell open. He was talking. Speaking. Articulating. My amazement was replaced with laughter. His first word was
doggy
? Not
Mommy
or
Daddy
?

“Mommy, Nicholas said
doggy
,” Anneke exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh, good Nicholas. Good boy,” she said, full of maternal pride.

“Hey, little boy,” I said, bending down to pet Sasha as well. “This is a doggy, isn't it?” I pointed to myself. “And I am
a mommy.”

Nicholas gave me a blank stare, turned back to Sasha. “Doggy,” he squealed, grabbing Sasha's ear and tugging it, knocking
over my pail.

I gathered up the cookies, then herded the kids toward the chicken barn. “Hey, kids, let's go. We have work to do.”

Sasha sniffed the ground where the cookies had spilled and snorfed up the crumbs I had missed.

I held Nicholas's hand to give him some stability as we slowly made our way toward the barn. A light spring breeze sifted
through the cottonwood trees, rustling the leaves that were now full green. A crow mocked us from the branches, then flew
away. Overhead an eagle circled lazily. I watched its progress, pointing it out to the kids.

In Seattle the sky often hung low—either cloudy or rainy or foggy. Often I was so focused on the car in front of me as I lurched
through rush-hour traffic, wipers slapping time, I didn't spend much time contemplating the bits and pieces of nature I could
see.

This was educational for my children, I thought, looking around the yard that had slowly morphed from dull brown to soft emerald.
I hoped they would remember this.

A few cows lined the fence behind the barn, studying our slow progress, their bovine features benign and dumb-looking. I couldn't
understand why cattle ranching seemed such a romantic pursuit. Cows were big, large, and, well, dumb. They took up a lot of
space and ate a lot of food. Dan was still feeding them while he waited for the pasture to grow up enough to put them out.

And if cows were lacking in the intelligence department, the chickens we were going to feed rated well below them.

I understood why cigarette companies didn't film commercials about chicken farmers. No pictures of manly men striding through
a chicken barn while rugged music played in the background. Chickens were flighty, smelly, and their stupidity had no romantic
overtones.

Once upon a time, in some flight of fancy I'd had, gathering eggs brought to mind a hazy picture of plump, contented brown
chickens pecking pastorally on the ground while my children and I frolicked amongst them, plucking eggs from soft, straw-lined
nests.

I tugged open the door to the chicken coop. Squawks and the muffled thud of flapping wings as the startled chickens took flight
shattered that daydream. I sneezed, batting away fluttering feathers, trying to find the chicken feeder in the half light
of the chicken coop.

“No frolicking today, kids,” I warned as I dropped the cookies on the straw-covered ground. The chickens at least liked my
baking. They usually gobbled up my hapless attempts at the culinary arts, magically transforming them into eggs that I would
use for my next attempt. Which would probably end up back here, thus completing the cycle of life.

I shook some pelleted chicken feed into the feeder, then turned to deal with the most complex part of the operation.

Three chickens crouched in the boxes, wings spread over their bounty, glowering at me with beady eyes as they clucked out
a warning. Dan had shown the kids and me how to gently slip a hand under their bodies to pull the still warm eggs from under
them. He hadn't even flinched when a chicken jabbed the back of his hand with its beak. Not for me. Bravery wasn't my middle
name. Actually it was Annie, but I tried not to advertise that fact.

“The chickens are too noisy,” Anneke said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “And very, very stinky.”

“I agree, honey.” I eyed the still-nesting chickens. If I made a mad dash I might be able to pull off a daring egg retrieval
and save myself from being called a wuss. I know Dan would laugh if I told him, he would tell his family and they would laugh,
and I would, once again, look like the silly city girl I was.

Let's see. Pride, wuss, pride, wuss.

Nah.
Wuss
was fine with me.

We beat a quick retreat from the chicken coop, closed the door behind us, our onerous task for the day partially completed.
Sasha, who had been sitting guard, bounded to her feet, her tail telegraphing her pleasure.

Anneke scampered ahead of me, Sasha loping alongside her. Taffy, Dan's horse, whinnied hopefully at us.

I didn't have anything for her, but she appreciated our attention nonetheless. Nicholas petted her head, then saw the cows
grazing in the pasture and pointed one pudgy hand. “Cow. Cow.”

I laughed and gave him a quick hug. “You little stinker. You'll say
doggy
and
cow
but not
Mom
.”

He looked up at me and blinked, his hand still pointing away. “Cow. Cow.”

“Mommy. Try it,” I encouraged. “Mommy.”

“Cow.”

Well, maybe in his mind they were one and the same thing.

We wandered along the fence line as Anneke plucked some dandelions. I let the peace of the scene wash over me, thankful that
the open spaces no longer intimidated me. Maybe, by the time I left, I would love this as much as Dan did. Maybe we would
come back more often. If he didn't determine that Seattle wasn't good enough and decide to move across the country again. We
really needed to get that Dream Home so we could put down some roots.

By the time we got back to the house, Nicholas was rubbing his eyes and ears. If Anneke could be kept occupied for a while,
I might have a chance to send my sister another e-mail, maybe even read another chapter in a book I had gotten from Judy.

As I hung up the kids' coats, the jangling of the phone pierced the quiet. I glanced at the clock as I ran to answer it.

“Leslie, just thought I'd call.” Gloria. Her precise words, spoken with such scrupulous caring, shriveled the faint hope that
it might be someone interesting or fun. One of my friends from Seattle apologizing for not answering my e-mails, my sister
maybe, or even a telemarketer asking for donations.

“I heard you started working. And that Kathy Greidanus is taking care of your children.”

Nothing like coming out swinging. “I met her in the store one day and she offered.” I tucked the phone under my chin as I
lifted Nicholas into his high chair.
Thank goodness for cordless phones,
I thought as I started buttering bread.

“Do you think that's wise?”

“I'm sorry…” Peanut butter for Nicholas. Just jam for Her Majesty. No clue what she was talking about for Gloria.

Gloria's silence beat on my ears, but I wasn't going to break it. The veiled anger in her voice got my back up. I just wished
I knew what had gotten her knickers in such a twist.

“I realize that you feel the need to work, but I'm just a bit worried about Dan,” she said. “He's going to be starting field
work in a few days. What is he going to do about supper?”

Supper? The man didn't have two hands to feed himself?

“He made his own lunches before.”

“Do you think that's fair?”

“Sorry. You lost me.” I deftly cut up the kids' bread. Nine pieces for Anneke, cut off the crusts for Nicholas.

“Out here in the country we farm wives bring supper out to our husbands when they are working in the fields. They put in long
days and can't come home for a warm meal. I don't mean to sound nosy…”

But you are.

“… but how are you going to do that if you're working? And, I would like to come back to my original point, why is Kathy
Greidanus taking care of Nicholas and Anneke? Didn't you think of asking us? Mom and I talked about it. We could easily do
it, as well.”

I dropped into the nearest chair and rubbed my forehead. How to work through this? Sure, Gloria was Dan's sister and the children's
aunt. But the kids didn't know her any better than they knew Kathy. And I liked Kathy. And she was supportive of my working.
And the kids liked it at her place.

When I picked them up after work yesterday, Kathy had Nicholas on her hip and gave him a kiss before she handed him over.
Knowing that he was loved and cared for made his protest at me taking him away worth the moments of self-doubt I'd had about
working.