Page 25 of Bucked Hard

Leroy is hopping along beside me, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. It takes more effort to get around on three legs than four and Lord knows how old he is by now. I figured him for near ten the day destiny threw us together. The hint of grey around his snout and some bad teeth gave me some clue as to his age.

“You coming too?” I say to him and he gives me the eye; he knows when and where lunch is served. It doesn’t matter if he’s been hiding under the porch all morning sleeping off his night activities, come noon he’s right by my side hoping I’ll usher him inside for some scraps. “You’re shameless, you know that?”

The smell of simmering corn, baked cornbread, and roasted garlic potatoes assail my nose as soon as I pull open the squeaky screen door that leads from the porch into the wide open kitchen. I scoop a glass from the Hoosier cabinet just inside the door humming “Ring of Fire”, then snap open the silver handle on the ancient Frigidaire and pour a huge glass of sweet tea from the pitcher inside.

I gulp it down, closing my eyes looking like a Lipton commercial.

The sweet, cool liquid renews me; I’ve got one glass down in thirty seconds and do a quick refill and close the ice box. Leroy sniffs the air, the decadent scents that fill the room making both of us drool. He hops forward and heads straight for his place under the wooden table that centers the room, nose in the air.

“Ready?” Jessie looks at me, then looks down at Leroy and shakes her head. “And what do you think you’re doing in here?” She spikes her fists to her hips, giving Leroy a playful stern stare. She pretends he’s a nuisance, but I know it’s an act.

He bats his sad, beagle eyes at her and she leans down to grudgingly pat his head.

She thinks I don’t see the grimace on her face when she stands back up, but I know she’s not getting any younger. Humming as she turns back to the stove doesn’t cover anything.

A moment later, a heaping plate of hot country food slides across the table and settles in front of me.

“Thanks, Aunt Jessie.”

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” Her face is tired, but she winks and I’m amazed at how positive she always is. “You sure you just want a gift card from the bookstore? It don’t feel like much of a gift.”

I grin, gazing down at the overflowing plate. She loves to feed me. Whenever I grouse about my size or never having a boyfriend, Jessie just waves her hand like she’s shooing away a fly.

“It’s the perfect gift Jessie. I don’t want anything else. I’ve read everything I have at least once. Next week maybe you and I can go together, have lunch maybe.”

She sees me at every turn. Even right now, she knows what I’m thinking and points her cane at me as she leans at the sink edge. “You need to love that body, Rachel. You are a gorgeous girl. The right man is gonna come along and scoop you up. You wait and see.”

I look down. “Thanks for the food.”

“Listen.” She tosses her head to the window above the cast iron sink. “I stopped by the feed store this mornin’ and wouldn’t you know, Enrique was in there getting ready to head our way. I met another set of hands there so he headin’ out as well this afternoon. They’ll get started on the equipment then get the harvest rolling. It’s that time again. They gonna stay out in the cabins as usual. Don’t go wandering around showing too much, ‘cause we gonna have men folk around next few months.”

Men folk. Like they’d ever bother me.

“You’re a woman now, Rachel, a fine young woman. And when you’re good and ready there’ll be a man for you. But, you know, some men won’t take no for an answer.”

I’d argue that I’m a bit old to have this talk, but after last night’s events I can hardly complain. “Sure, I know.”

“Good girl.”

I finish up my plate in silence, then go about my chores. Nobody needs to tell me what has to be done any more, I’ve been working here long enough.

By late afternoon, I’ve got the garden tended and I head over to gather the eggs from the chicken coop.

I enjoy being with the chickens to tell you the truth. They have the right idea. Eat grain, lay eggs, poop, go about their own business.

The sound of a vehicle coming down the road brings me outside though. I recognize Enrique’s unique taste in music even from this distance, and the loud engine that could do with a muffler. The old Toyota throws up dust as it speeds down the dirt road followed by another silver pickup, then I hear the crunch of gravel as they both pull in and slow down on the drive.

Jessie shouts a greeting coming down from the porch at Enrique with whomever else she’s got pulling in to help this year. There’s too much work here for just one man, so each year brings new faces.

I never pay much attention; they are usually older men, keeping to themselves, and just here for the few months of work. Soon enough they’ll want to get themselves back to where they come from where there’s usually a family waiting somewhere.

I step back inside and gather up the eggs and push the door open on the coop, breathe in deep once I’m outside. The air in there is never a treat.

From across the couple acres between the barns and the house, Jessie’s leaning on her cane, standing by Enrique’s blue Toyota. Two men are standing with her, their backs to me. But from this angle I immediately recognize Enrique.

He’s come here must be three years now. I’m 5’6”, give or take, and he’s a couple inches under me. He always wears the same black Cowboy hat and Wrangler jeans, and has a tattoo on his forearm of a heart with an E and a V inside it —Enrique and Vanessa— a symbol for his wife; I can even see the shape of it from where I am. He’s nice. Kind. Peaceful sort of. I like having familiar faces around.

The man standing next to him is tall as a carthorse, and he looks strong but lean, not too bulky. I don’t recognize him from the back, but I can tell he’s younger than most of the workers that come out here for the harvest. Beige cowboy hat, worn jeans, standard outfit for these parts.

---