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Father
“Come outside wi’ me for a minute,” Gary requested – demanded? – as she finished unloading the grocery sacks. Cecilia squinted at the unusual request, but ultimately nodded. She tucked the milk where it belonged on the top shelf of the fridge, then followed him out the Dutch back door.
Gary pulled a piece of straw from one of the many pockets of his overalls and began to chew on it. He walked across the back yard, passed the veggie garden, and leaned on the pasture fence that stretched out like a lanky teenager from the back of the barn.
“Didn’t see ya in church yesterday,” he commented after a minute.
Cecilia bit back a sigh and resisted the urge to walk away. She liked Gary and did not want the imminent chastisement.
“No,” she finally agreed, not knowing what else he wanted.
“Were ya sick?”
“No.”
The silence grew until she fidgeted in discomfort. Her confession came haltingly, quietly, and most begrudgingly.
“I didn’t feel like going. It’s… hard for me, sometimes.”
Gary snorted – actually snorted! She’d never known an old man to do that.
“Girlie, I didn’t feel like milkin’ Edna this morning. These bones hurt so bad sometimes that I don’t wanna get out o’ bed. But it dun’t matter what I feel like. Edna needs milkin’, so I gotta milk ‘er. She’ll be hurtin’ if I don’t. Them’s facts, not feelin’s. Ferget yer feelin’s. What’s facts?”
What’s facts? Excellent question, and right now, she felt so turned upside down she didn’t know.
Wait a minute. Felt. She felt confused. What did she know, though?
“I… um…”
Gary just waited patiently through her stammering, chewing on his piece of straw and staring out over the fields. The sun beat down on her hair, and she wished she hadn’t forgotten her hat.
“It’s hot,” she finally blurted.
Gary’s laugh was like the bleat of a sheep, and prompted Cecilia to share her own laughter back.
“Yer not wrong, girlie,” he grinned. “Tho I was thinkin’ more ‘long the lines of facts ’bout the Almighty,” he chided gently.
“I know,” she sighed. “It’s just been so long since I heard the basics.”
Again, Gary snorted. The man spent too much time with his animals, snorting like a bull and laughing like a sheep.
“Wrong,” he challenged bluntly. “Sunday mornin’, whadya hear?”
Cecilia wrinkled her nose and thought through the church service. She was too embarrassed to confess that she spent most of Sunday mornings terrified of what others were thinking of her and not enough time actually hearing what was said.
“I- I can’t remember,” she stammered.
Gary peered down at her. “Ya can’t remember the Lord’s Prayer?” he asked incredulously.
Well, okay, sure, she could come up with that one. Right?
“Our Father… in heaven, hallowed-” She stopped suddenly. “What in the world does ‘hallowed’ mean?”
“Means ‘holy’,” Gary grunted. “But back up. Firs’ two words.”
“Our Father,” Cecilia dutifully recited.
“What’s facts?” Gary prompted.
She stared out over the field, dropping her arms onto the old fence railing. “I don’t know. I don’t have a father,” she whispered.
“Well. Now ya do. An’ he’s a perfect one,” Gary nodded, as if that explained everything. As far as Cecilia was concerned, it explained nothing.
She wondered what Gary had been like as a father. Was he strict? Affectionate? Did he help with homework? Give them snacks? Or was he cold and distant? She doubted he could have been so, with how he treated her. She’d never describe him as sweet or happy, per se, but he was content, with himself and the world around him. His demeanor spoke of one who had seen much and kept his head through the ups and downs. He didn’t seem bitter about his children not wanting the farm, or his wife’s death.
What made a father good, let alone perfect? She’d have to pay attention at church to how the fathers interacted with the children. Even then, how would she know if they were doing their jobs well?
But being a father wasn’t a job. It just… was.
“Your father is in church on Sunday mornin’,” Gary interrupted her musings. “If ya want to know ’bout Him, ya gotta be there.”
Well. That told her. Feeling utterly wretched, she stared down at the long grass and let her tears blur her vision. Was that what a good father did, too? She knew she was supposed to be there. She hated how emotional of an experience it was, and not in a good way.
“Can I sit with you? Always?” she blurted. Maybe church would be less scary if she knew she had a set place.
“Course ya kin,” Gary snorted again.
“Thanks,” she whispered, swiping at her tears.
“Time’s a-wastin’.” Gary slapped his hands against the fence rail and stepped back. “That new tractor’s been actin’ up, and young Ephraim don’t know a spark plug from a’ oil filter.” He shook his head in apparent disgust, but Cecilia caught a little smile tilting up his lips. Gary liked Ephraim, even though he complained about the young man’s ineptitude. Gary liked teaching, liked passing on his knowledge.
Was that something a good father did? She wished she knew how to ask.
“I’ll start supper,” she said instead, heading back towards the house. She heard Gary sigh before she got two steps.
“Ask yer question, girlie, or it’ll rot yer brains,” he demanded, but in a placating tone.
She whirled around and stared at him open-mouthed for a second before she could order her thoughts enough to ask.
“Um… Were you… a good… I mean, are you…” Okay, maybe she hadn’t ordered her thoughts very well. She heaved a big breath. “I don’t know what good fathers do. You seem to like teaching Ephraim. Is that because you’re a good father?”
Gary scratched his stubbled chin. “I like passin’ down what my father passed ter me. Sure, that’s somethin’ a father does. A good one does it with patience. Tha’s where I stumble sometimes.” Gary winked, then turned his loping gait towards the barn.
A good father teaches with patience.
Her childhood had been full of impatient adults. She had eventually learned that they didn’t want a child around for their leisure pursuits. Her time with Caleb had been too short to teach her anything about fatherhood, especially since his family lived four states away. She had first met his father on her wedding day, and only saw him twice more before Caleb’s funeral.
More thoughts on good fathers would have to wait. She had pork chops to fry.