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Caleb
Ephraim dried the dishes again, and this time, he did more talking.
“I take it your family didn’t leave you much,” he started in.
“What do you mean?” Cecilia asked, not looking at him.
“You were so shocked by Gary’s kids. I’ve met them all. They’re nice. Suzy is an office manager, Pete’s an engineer, and Lars owns a landscaping company. It’s not a crime that they didn’t want the farm.”
Cecilia heartily disagreed, but didn’t know how to say so politely. Instead, she scrubbed out the stainless steel skillet with more vigor than was likely necessary.
“Washing the coating off the pan won’t change Gary’s kids, you know,” Ephraim teased.
“I know,” she huffed.
“You’re a woman of few words,” Ephraim mused. “You can say what you think around here. Gary speaks his mind, and likes it when others do. I certainly won’t judge.”
That’s what he thought. He didn’t really know her at all. Two meals didn’t make them even friends.
“You don’t believe me,” he said after a minute.
Cecilia looked around. Gary was long gone, the floor needing little attention tonight.
“I get that you don’t know me,” Ephraim continued as if she might have commented something, or perhaps as if he hadn’t been waiting for her to speak. “But, see, my dad’s the mayor.” He paused to let that one soak in. “Yeah, kinda crazy. What’s the mayor’s son doing working on a farm? Oh, I tried the political route. Even spent three years at my dad’s alma mater, studying law like him. I can’t really explain it, except to say the land calls me. Ever since my mom brought me to one of the public strawberry-picking events here as a little kid, I have been obsessed with farming. The food cycle is amazing. Did you ever think about that?”
And Ephraim launched into a dizzying monologue on how seeds grow into plants, then drop more seeds, which grow into more plants, also covering dead plants nourishing the dirt. He threw in a lot of big words Cecilia hadn’t heard since high school biology, like ‘symbiotic’. She struggled to keep up at first, but he must have realized it and slowed the firehose. By the end of it, she was ready to jump on the Ephraim-farmer bandwagon.
“Do your parents support your choice?” she found herself asking, against her better judgment.
“To a point. My dad still thinks I’ll grow out of this ‘phase’,” he replied, wiggling his fingers in air quotes. “No matter how many times I explain that a phase lasting over 20 years is probably not a phase, he still thinks I’ll somehow magically become interested in law and politics again.” He paused to put away the squeaky-clean skillet. “My mom, though, she’s finally on the same page as I am. She’s been out to visit Gary with me a few times, and she sees how much I love working with him.”
“Do you want the responsibility of owning Gary’s farm someday?” Where were these questions coming from?!
“Yes and no. I’d rather Gary get to keep working a long time, you know? He loves this place. The land, the crops, the animals, the barn. Even the house, although he spends less time here since his wife died. But since Gary can’t live forever, I’m honored to be the one he’ll pass it down to. I hope someday I’ll fill it with my own children, and maybe one of them will want to be a farmer, too.”
“How does Gary make money?” Cecilia asked, needing the conversation to move away from such a personal topic as kids. Although on second thought, asking how someone made money was probably not the most polite thing in the world.
“Sells his crops,” Ephraim shrugged. “Some at the roadside stand, the rest to commercial outfits that pick up his corn and join it with other small farmers’ corn to supply feed to the large dairy farms, for example. Stuff like that.”
Cecilia nodded, and they washed in companionable silence for a few minutes – until Ephraim had to open his mouth again.
“You seem kind of skittish,” he observed. “I’m surprised that something like a job was enough to make you leave your safety net of familiar faces and places to start over with strangers.”
The silence hung between them like humidity in July. She didn’t want to talk about herself, but as she thought about her hesitation, it really didn’t have to do with Ephraim or Gary or the farm. They were all very nice, and she got the impression that both men were of the old-fashioned gentlemanly sort.
In short, they weren’t her mother.
“I needed a change,” she finally spoke quietly. She pulled the plug on the sink drain, watching the water swirl around. In some ways, it felt like a metaphor for her life. “My husband died.”
A shuffling noise behind her alerted her that Gary had re-entered the kitchen, and probably in enough time to hear her. She sighed and let her head drop, feeling certain they would both have a million questions.
“I’m sorry fer yer loss, girlie,” Gary spoke into the silence, his usual growl tempered by compassion. “I had mah Nancy with me for 48 years, an’ not a day goes by I don’t wish she were back.” A cough and a sniffle interrupted his gentle speech. “How long were ya murried fur?”
Tears clogged her throat as the image of Caleb’s sweet smile filled her mind’s eye.
“One year, 11 months, and 17 days.”
“Hmmf,” Gary grumbled. “Not long ‘nuf.”
“No,” she agreed.
“What was his name?” Ephraim asked.
She blinked away her tears and twisted the dishrag, turning to face Ephraim for the first time. She mustered up a little smile, thinking of her beloved.
“Caleb. Caleb James Chatsworth.”
It was so much easier to say his name than she had expected. For months, even thinking it had reduced her to tears. But now, she remembered him with a mixture of sorrow and joy.
Not thinking, just moving, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called up one of the last pictures they had taken together. They’d been house hunting, and had found a beautiful park in one of the neighborhoods.
She turned and showed the photo to Ephraim and Gary. Gary squinted down his nose, making her think he might need to visit the optometrist.
“Hmm,” Gary hummed his approval, the first hint of anything remotely related to a smile twisting up the edges of his mouth.