Chapter 1
Angela
“Farmhand needed for dairy farm. Pay based on experience. FT, with free boarding & meals on-site for live-in employee. Contact newspaper for contact information if interested.”
I scanned over the classified listing I was about to submit to several local newspapers. It wouldn't surprise me if some would find it strange there wasn’t a phone number listed, but I had my reasons for wanting to keep my information private. I'd never wanted it to come to this, needing to hire people I didn’t know. Okay, fine. I knew, deep down, that it was almost a guarantee I'd have to eventually, but I'd always hoped otherwise. God knows I wasn’t sure I was ready for what I about to get myself into.
One of those reasons came running down the stairs and jumped on my lap. “Hi Mommy!”
“Hi, baby!” I replied as cheerfully as I could, pushing my anxieties back into the recesses of my mind before kissing my four-year-old son on the head. “Did you sleep well?”
“Uh-huh! I dreamt that I was outside playing fetch with Snowy, and he was really good at doing tricks, Mommy!”
“Well, if you keep on practicing with him, I’m sure he’ll become quite good. But remember, you just got him, and he’s still a puppy, so he’ll need a lot of training.”
Aaron nodded and then looked at the screen. “What-cha doin'?”
“I’m going to look for someone to help me on the farm.”
“But I can help!” he protested. He held up three fingers on one hand, and one on the other, saying proudly, “Cuz I’m four now.”
I ruffled his hair and let out a little laugh. “I know you are, Aaron. But you’re still little enough that you can’t help as much as I need with the cows or the horses. Besides, a lot of our cows will be having babies this year, so I’m going to need more help.”
“Can I have one, Mommy?”
“Have what, baby?”
“A baby cow.”
I was surprised he asked me that, since he’d never asked before, but maybe him having a puppy had gotten him interested in other baby animals. “A baby cow is called a calf,” I told him with a smile, tweaking his nose and causing him to giggle. “But we’ll see. You need to learn more about being responsible with your puppy first, I think. Babies are a lot of work.”
My son let out what I knew was a disappointed sigh and then shrugged. “Okay.” He jumped off my lap, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “I’m gonna take Snowy outside and give him some food.”
“Good idea. That’s a responsible thing to do. I’ll make you some breakfast when you’re done.”
He beamed at me. “Can we have biscuits and gravy?” he asked, his eyes pleading with me. God, those puppy eyes. It took everything in me to say no.
“Not today. But maybe soon. I have a lot of work to do today, and that takes more time to make. Eggs and bacon sound good?”
“Sure,” he replied slowly, before a grin slowly stretched across his face, “but I’ll remember you promised biscuits and gravy, Mommy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know you will. Now, run along and take care of Snowy.”
My son ran towards the mudroom and a minute later, I heard the screen door hit the frame as his all-white Husky puppy yapped in excitement while following him out. They were inseparable. My brothers thought I was crazy to get Aaron a puppy at his age and expect him to be the primary caregiver, but as the children of a dairy farmer, responsibility was something we’d been taught at a young age. I reminded my brothers we’d all gotten our first dogs when we weren’t much older than Aaron. Besides, as a single parent, I needed all the help I could get in wearing out my son a little. He had so much energy that it was all I could do to keep up with him and run the farm by myself.
While my son took care of Snowy, I reviewed the ad one more time before submitting it to the editors for each newspaper on my list. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered. “This is the only way I’ll be able to handle all those calves come early spring. But I need them, so…” My voice drifted off. I knew there wasn’t anyone around to hear me, but sometimes speaking aloud helped me process my thoughts, thoughts that weren’t able to be shared with anyone.
Having so many calves due in the spring was a calculated risk for me. My parents sold off much of our stock after a fire left many of our cows dead or without shelter, and then again when Dad’s subsequent health issues caused additional financial hardship. By the time he'd passed, our herd was around one hundred head of cattle, with only a few bulls available to sire healthy calves.
To most, it might seem like I still managed a large herd. But for my family, which at one point in my lifetime had sixteen hundred milking cows and nearly sixty siring bulls, the current numbers were miniscule. As a child, I'd watched in awe as my father directed many farmhands, working just as hard as them, if not harder. Tankers came daily to collect milk for the dairies, and I'd known the name of each driver.
Then a lightning storm lit one of our barns on fire, spreading to other barns via the electrical wiring. We lost too many cows in that fire, and never fully recovered, even after our farmers insurance paid out for some of the loss. Dad always blamed himself for the loss, saying he'd woken too late to get them out of the barns. But I knew the truth: he'd done all he could, risking his safety alone to open gates in each of the barns and refusing any assistance from Mom and me. When the fire was finally out, smoke inhalation from the fire landed him in the hospital.
Dad never fully recovered, emotionally or financially, and eventually his lungs had nothing left to give. As he laid in his deathbed, I promised him I’d take care of the farm and make it like it had been before. I felt I owed it to him. Dad being who he was, he simply told me to do whatever made me happy. Since being on the farm made me happy, I stayed, even when mom passed not long after Dad. It was almost too much heartache for me to take, or that's what I thought at the time.
My first steps towards rebuilding consisted of maintaining as many of our business ties as I could, renegotiating contracts while I rebuilt the barns. It was going to take years before I could fill up a tanker with my current herd, let alone more than one per day, until we had more cows. And for that, well, we needed more calves.
The irony of wanting to rebuild the farm was that I was going to need employees again. I’d had such a great relationship with our farmhands when I was younger. But events after my mother’s death made me hate the idea of hiring people I didn't know. I had too much anxiety to trust anyone who wasn’t a woman, and as I'd realized years before, most interested in farming and dairy businesses were men.
Despite my reservations, there was another upside to being forced to start hiring employees again. It would take some of the burden off me so I could focus on giving my son more of my time and attention. With it being just the two of us and the trust fund I'd been able to access on my 21st birthday, we weren’t hurting financially anymore. But because I was waiting for my investments to pay for themselves, I couldn't rebuild everything all at once. And if Aaron decided he wanted to go to college in fourteen years, I wanted to make sure he could.
I'd cut expenses where I could, doing most of the veterinary work myself. My brothers thought I was crazy, telling me I should sell off some of our acreage so I could have an outside vet come in. I quickly dismissed that idea. This land had been in our family since the early 1830’s, when our half Norwegian, half-Danish ancestor had first moved into the area, and it didn't seem right to let my son’s heritage be lost.
Besides, if I was succeeded in my attempt to rebuild the herd enough to a point where I could sell cows when I wanted to instead of needed to, I'd have funds to channel towards rebuilding. But selling off the land? No way. I would need those acres, even if they weren't being grazed. Seven generations of my family had worked our land, and Aaron would be the eighth, if he wanted to. I hoped he would. If he decided he wanted to downsize someday and diversify after he was running the farm, that would be up to him once he took over. It didn't seem likely I'd be blessed with more children, and the only interested buyer was stalking me. I wasn’t about to let him win if I had a brief moment of weakness. No, it was better to keep the land in my hands.
I was in the kitchen still thinking about Aaron and the future of our farm when I heard the mudroom door slam behind him as he ran back inside. Snowy, of course, was hot on his heels. “Aaron?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“Is he tracking in mud again?”
Aaron's shoes squeaked on the tile floor as he turned around behind me and retraced his steps. “I don’t see any!” he called from the mudroom.
“Okay. Good. Go wash up. Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
He ran into the half-bath in the hallway, where I heart the tap turn on for a few seconds before shutting back off again. I rolled my eyes before yelling, “You’d better use soap, young man!” There was a moment of silence, what I thought was a sigh, and then the sound of running water resumed. This time, the tap was on longer for my son to properly lather his hands and rinse them off. The snort which escaped my mouth triggered a memory Mom saying something similar to me when I was near his age. The joys of parenthood ... what went around certainly had a way of coming around.
Aaron ran to the table after he'd finished, scrambling up and into his booster seat. “Mommy?”
“Yes, Aaron?”
“Do you have eyes in the back of your head, or are you like Superman?”
I laughed, turning around briefly to look at him and shake my head. “I’m your mother, and I know you. That’s all.” I dished up the scrambled eggs and bacon I’d made him, adding a piece of toast as it popped out of the toaster. As I placed the plate in front of him, I murmured, "Don't forget to pray before you eat."
My son bowed his head, whispered a short prayer, and then dug in barely before his hand was down after signing the cross. I wasn’t as religious as I'd been when I was younger, but we still went to church when work permitted. My parents would've been upset if I didn’t take him, especially my mother. She'd been raised Russian Orthodox by her Syrian mother and Russian father and felt church was important.
My father had been a “straight-up” Catholic, and when Mom converted to Catholicism right before they got married, my maternal grandparents weren’t exactly thrilled. But Mom always used to joke about how they’d come around in the end, having seen that Dad really loved her. After what happened in my own marriage though, well, I was beginning to wonder if that kind of love and commitment was even real anymore. Maybe it had become a thing of the past when my parents died.
“So,” Aaron asked, bringing me back to reality, “what are we gonna do today?”
“I need to work in some of the fields today.”
His eyes lit up. “Do I get to ride in the tractor with you?”
“Yes, so you’ll want to take your workbooks with you.”
A little pout formed the moment I mentioned his workbooks. “I have to study?” he asked, whining a little. “But I wanna play!”
I laughed softly. “I know you do, but I can’t leave you at home by yourself, and your babysitter isn’t available the next few weeks, remember? She just left to visit her family. Which means you are stuck with me. And I want you to do a little bit of a schoolwork.” A retired widow from our church often watched him for me while I was out in the fields, but with her visiting some of her grandchildren in another state, my only option was to take Aaron with me. I loved having him keep me company, but he often got antsy and usually required some form of entertainment to occupy himself. When he still pouted, I acquiesced just a smidgen. “How about this? I'll let you drive at some point while you sit on my lap,” I said, “BUT you need to read a couple of your books first, and then work on your math, alright?”
“You mean it?”
“Yes. Do we have a deal?”
My son shrieked with excitement before shouting his assent. Snowy chimed in, barking as he did whenever Aaron got excited - which usually happened when we were going for a drive. I swear he loved going for a ride as much as my son did. “I promise I’ll do all the homework you want me too, Mommy!”
“I’m holding you to that,” I replied with a smile. Getting up from the table, I leaned over, planting a kiss on my son’s head. “Get changed into your overalls and put on your boots when you’re done eating. And don’t forget to put your plate and stuff into the sink, okay?”
“Okay!” He went back to shoveling down his food, only slowing his pace when I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I know, I know. Don’t eat too fast or I’ll choke.”
After smiling at him, I went into the mud room to pull my boots on. It was nice to see Aaron had told the truth about Snowy not tracking in any mud. Aaron didn't usually lie, and obviously a mudroom is called that because mud can be tracked in there to prevent it getting elsewhere, but I'd learned quickly after Aaron started walking that when a mudroom was available, mud splatter wasn't always contained to it alone. Today, at least, the less cleaning up I had to do, the better.
I was fueling up the tractor less than ten minutes later when shifting gravel and moving tires alerted me to the arrive of an all too familiar pickup. There was only one asshole in the area who owned a '91 GMC Syclone with a cracked windshield and a shitty muffler. It was a wonder the thing still ran. I'm not sure where he found parts for it, assuming he could afford them. His truck meant two things to me: dread and his foul odor were about to step foot once again on my property. “Damnit,” I muttered under my breath. “Can’t I ever catch a break?”
The driver's door opened with a loud creak and then a sudden elevation in height, revealing the bane of my existence. "Angela, darling!” he called, smiling creepily at me. “There you are! I’ve been looking forward to seeing something beautiful today. And here you are, in overalls. I'd hope to find you in something more to my liking.”
Ignoring his comments on my attire, I wiped my hands off on my overalls before placing them on my hips. “It's Ms. Benson to you, Mr. Finley. So, what is it you need today?”
“Well, I hadn’t heard back from you, you know, regarding my offer. And call me George, would you please? It’s not like we’re strangers, sweetheart.”
I nearly gagged. There was no way in hell I was going to call him by his first name. And calling me “sweetheart”? Ick. The man weirded me out in more ways than one. “I’m not selling, Mr. Finley.”
“Now, now," he replied, walking towards me. “Come on now. You have more than you can handle here. One woman taking care of a hundred plus head of cows, not to mention some goats, horses and chickens? That’s too much for one person.”
“I’m not selling,” I replied firmly, “and it’s not like a hundred head is excessive. I’ve told you before that I won’t sell, and I’m going to continue to tell you that. So, get this into your thick skull. The farm is not for sale, the cows are not for sale, and the house is not for sale.” I took a firm step towards him and scowled at him before continuing. “It hasn’t been for sale for almost 200 years, and it sure as hell isn’t going to happen on my watch. So, go back to your farm and leave me the hell alone.”
“Woah, young lady,” he replied, putting his hands up in a defensive manner. “Look, I know you’re doing your best, but...”
I held up my hands before speaking slowly and pointing towards the road once I had his attention. “I said I'm not selling ... Now, get off my property before I call the sheriff and make him remove you. You’re trespassing. You’re not welcome here. I’ve been lenient with you before, but I’m done. If you won’t show me any respect by leaving me alone, don’t expect to get any respect or cooperation when you come here to harass me.”
He was starting to respond when Aaron ran past him and clung to my side. “Mommy? Are you okay? I heard yelling.”
I glared at Finley, who, after staring at my son for a moment, scowled and headed back to his truck. But of course, he had to try to get the last word in. “This isn’t over!” he yelled back. “You’ll sell eventually! One way or another this place will be mine. I’ll make sure of it!”
“No, I won’t!” I yelled back. I turned my son’s head away, only then flipping the bird at Finley, so only he could see what I thought about his threat. That was the point, really. I wasn’t going to let another man ruin my life by stealing everything out from under me. One had done that already, and I was in no hurry to relive that experience.
He scowled again at me as he climbed into his truck, but I didn’t care as I turned my back and lifted my son into the tractor cab. Once I'd made sure Finley was gone, and I’d climbed up after him to strap him into his seat, Aaron frowned in concern. “Mommy? Are we losing the farm?”
“No, baby. We’re not.”
“But why does he wanna buy it then?”
“Because Mommy has something he wants,” I replied. “We have a deal with him, but he wants more, and I’m not willing to give it to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I did, it’d cost us money and our future. Mr. Finley is just greedy.”
“Why?”
“Because he just is, that’s all,” I said. “Now, do you have everything you need in your backpack?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good.” I ruffled his hair, sitting in my seat one I made sure he was securely buckled in. “Let’s forget about him and get to work, okay?” Aaron nodded and then grinned as the tractor's engine roared to life, and we pulled out of the garage. It was hard not to stew over Finley’s visit as I drove to the fields, but eventually I relaxed. Once I did, the rest of our morning went by quickly. The best part for both of us was when Aaron sat on my lap and drove the length of one field. I knew he wouldn't stop talking about it the rest of the day, and if it meant I forgot about the unwelcome visitor we'd had that morning, so be it.
Moments like this with my son showed me that despite how stressed I was, I was doing right by him. His excitement was the only confirmation I needed. If putting him in a tractor cab was all it would take to make him happy, I didn’t mind the stress. I hoped I'd be able to put a smile on his face like that every day. He was worth it.
