More Than This: Contemporary Christian Romance Novel (41 page)

She had no right to make him feel like a jerk. It wasn’t his fault his family didn’t come to visit. There was nothing to do here anyway. Situated a million miles from nowhere, Rayland was the most boring, backward place on the whole earth, and the second he got the estate in order, he was gone.

It took next to nothing for Ami to hear the car roar out of the driveway, and she wondered with easy loathing which one he was. It’d been more than ten years, but she still remembered the last time Mr. Snyder’s family had come to visit. They’d all sat around complaining because it was hot and whining about how boring everything was.

She could still hear them mimicking the townspeople and joking about how backward their grandfather was. Most of all she could hear them saying how they couldn’t wait to get back to Chicago and “reality.”

It was true she’d hated them then, but she hated them even more now. Mr. Snyder had never been anything but kind to her and her family. When her grandfather had died, it was Mr. Snyder who tended the trees and kept them alive. It was Mr. Snyder who had encouraged her to take what her grandfather had given her and chase her dream. It was Mr. Snyder who showed up every day for the first month she was here just to check on her.

She was sure his visits would have continued, but then the heart attack had almost taken him out two months before. There was no way to count the hours she’d spent at the hospital sitting by his bedside, reading to him, and assuring him that his family would be there soon. But her assurances had made little difference to him. He said more than once that she was the only real family he had left and that the others were just waiting for him to die so they could split up the inheritance.

Even thinking about it now made her head pound and her heart ache. It was the same way her grandfather had felt, and regardless of how accurate it was, it still made her furious. The two most incredible men in her life, and everyone else thought they were trash.

The anger in her reached a boiling point, and she yanked the hedge trimmer from the wall. In this state she knew she would make the pickup problem worse, but she couldn’t do too much damage to the hedges. After all they could always grow back.

Who does she think she is to talk to me like that?
No one. Not one person had ever treated him like that in his entire life. They wouldn’t dare. With a single flick of his little finger, he could squash any person he wanted to. He was Jaxton Anderson, and no one treated Jaxton Anderson like that and got away with it— least of all some greasy, conceited, little farm girl a single rung up from trailer trash.

As he turned into the driveway of the next farmhouse, he couldn’t help but notice with a hint of pride that this one looked much better than hers. It was still old, and it couldn’t compare to the houses he was used to, but at least it didn’t look like it was about to fall down.

He parked the car and crawled out as his nerves shifted from the monologue detailing each of her faults to screaming that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. With each step he took, they told him to just get back in the car and go home. However, he had come this far— even braving the wild she-beast, and he wasn’t going to back down now. Pulling his pride back up to him, he stepped onto the front porch, lifted his hand, and knocked.

One moment became two, and then he looked around and listened for any sign of life. When he heard none, he reached up and knocked again just as a sickening feeling hit him. What if his grandfather had already died?  What if he was lying inside somewhere waiting for someone to find him? What if…?

The squeak of the door brought him back to reality, and he turned and found himself staring into the eyes of a grandfather he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

“Hi, Grandpa.” He fought to smile warmly, but it never quite made it that far. “How are you?”

“Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered.” The old man shook his head as he pushed the screen door open. “Jaxton? Is that you, Son?”

“Umm, yes, Sir, it is,” he said, fighting the hesitation and having no idea what to do next. Why couldn’t his eyes hold on the old man’s? He’d never had this eye contact problem before, now he couldn’t seem to get it together.

“Well, I thought they were pulling my leg when they said you wanted to come see me, but here you are.”

“Here I am.” Jaxton attempted another smile, wondering which brilliant person had lied to the old man.

“Come on in. I was just making out next week’s work schedule,” his grandfather said, waving a hand over the papers scattered across the coffee table. “Here, have a seat. You want something to drink— water? Tea? I might even have a Coke left if you want one.”

“Oh. No, thanks. I’m... I’m fine,” Jaxton said uncomfortably as he felt the old man’s eyes appraise him like a piece of junk at a garage sale. He swallowed hard and attempted another smile, which got no farther than its predecessors.

Shifting his weight to the other foot, Jaxton stole a glance at the old couch waiting for him, and he cringed as a decade’s worth of dust jeered up at him. So this was what his life had degenerated to. He took a deep breath and folded himself carefully onto the plaid nylon hoping he wouldn’t have to breathe again before he got up.

With supreme patience he waited for his grandfather to resume his seat in the cracked brown recliner chair before he plunged ahead purposely keeping his mind off the dingy surroundings. “So, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. ‘Course I’ll be better once I get this wheat harvest out of the way,” his grandfather said, looking back at the papers lining the table. “You’d think it’d get easier after all these years, but it ain’t getting no easier. Just harder and harder to find anybody who’ll do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”

Jaxton nodded as if he saw the gravity of the situation. “I can imagine.”

Then like magic, his grandfather’s face brightened. “But Ed says we should make 80 bushels this year. That’s about the best I’ve ever seen. ‘Course, it’s still a month out, so anything’s possible.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Jaxton said, hoping he didn’t sound short but knowing he did. He could feel the dust from the couch creeping up onto his suit, and it was doing very bad things to his patience and his nerves.

“So, how’s your mom? Staying busy?” his grandfather asked, and his voice regained the heaviness.

“She is.” Jaxton forced his mind away from the dust and attempted another smile. “She says, ‘Hello.’”

Silence filled the room then as Jaxton fought to keep his body still. He didn’t want to disturb the dirt any more than was absolutely necessary.

“I guess your dad’s business’s good,” his grandfather finally said.

“Oh, yeah. Pretty good.” Jaxton rubbed his hands together, fighting to breathe and stay seated.

His grandfather surveyed him with curiosity. “You’re working with him now. Aren’t you?”

The old man’s gaze felt like a python wrapping around Jaxton’s chest. “Yeah. I’ve been there about six years now.”

Mr. Snyder sighed and shook his head. “Time sure gets by fast these days. Seems like just yesterday when you and Blake came down for the summer. How long ago’s that been anyway?”

Jaxton looked around the room, searching for some comfortable place to put his gaze. There wasn’t one.

“Fifteen years,” he heard his voice say. It sounded rotten, but it felt worse.

“Fifteen, huh?” his grandfather said slowly, and the room was once again engulfed in a long, uncomfortable silence. “Time sure gets away.”

Jaxton nodded, unsure of what else to do or say.  He chanced a hesitant glance at his host sitting in the shadows as the fading sunlight played through the folds of the curtains. From the looks of the old man, Jaxton didn’t have a moment to waste.

“Tell you what.” Mr. Snyder suddenly vaulted himself out of the chair. “Why don’t you bring your bags in, and I’ll go make us some supper?”

“Oh, I’m not that hungry.” Jaxton stumbled to his feet quickly. Unconsciously, his hand smoothed the front of his tie.

“Nonsense. You just flew all the way here from Chicago. Of course you’re hungry. But don’t worry.” His grandfather smiled. “I’ve got just the thing.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Uncertainty swathed the statement as the old man crossed past him to the kitchen.

“You can have the room at the top of the stairs.” His grandfather pointed up the narrow staircase. “Why don’t you go on up and get settled?  I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Ami wondered what was going on at the Snyder Farm as she started washing the dishes. By now she would’ve thrown that obnoxious jerk off the place. What right did he have to show up like this anyway? It was obvious he was only here to assess how long it would be before the farm changed hands. A shiver crawled up her spine at the very thought. Surely Mr. Snyder would see right through him and send him packing. Surely...

With his handkerchief, Jaxton wiped the layer of dust off the dresser top and carefully set his fax machine in front of the mirror he could see no reflection from. As soon as the requisite family time with his grandfather was over, he was going to get back up here and get some real work done.

Cord in hand, he sat on his heel to plug it in but stopped cold. Slowly he turned and surveyed the room, looking for a plug just as a sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach. There wasn’t a single phone jack to be seen anywhere. How was he going to get any work done with no phone jack?

“Supper!” his grandfather’s voice cut into the fury rising in him.

“Oh, you’re so going to pay for this one, Dad,” he mumbled to the empty room as he dropped the cord and crossed to the door. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now, but he vowed to find a way out of this forced imprisonment as soon as he returned.

His feet tromped their way down the stairs, and with each step the anger in his chest grew until he felt like he might explode when he stepped into the kitchen.

“Chicken rice casserole.” His grandfather glanced up as he set the steaming pan on the table. “Best food in Kansas.”

Jaxton took one whiff, and in spite of his anger, his mouth began to water. “It smells delicious.”

He sat down at the opposite side of the table as his grandfather handed him a plateful.

“It does more than smell delicious, my boy,” Mr. Snyder said, filling his own plate and sitting down across from Jaxton who already had a forkful headed for his mouth. “Shall we say grace?”

“Oh, umm, yeah.” Jaxton set his fork down with a reluctant clink. He bowed his head and listened as the older man said the prayers he hadn’t heard in years. It was truly incredible how backward his grandfather was.

“...Amen,” his grandfather said.

“Amen,” Jaxton echoed, and this time he waited for his grandfather to start eating first.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes. The thought crossed Jaxton’s mind that his grandfather was right, this was about the best food he’d ever eaten. It was so good in fact, that for a moment he forgot about all the complications in his life and just enjoyed eating.

Besides the meals he’d eaten alone in his apartment, this had to be the quietest meal he’d ever had. Even in his apartment, sirens were always going off somewhere below him, and the sounds of the traffic were always right outside his kitchen window.

As the thoughts of Chicago, home, and normalcy invaded the silence around him, he quickly decided that now was as good a time as any to start the process he’d come to finish.

“So, how’s the farm?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible between bites. “You said the harvest should be good this year?”

“Ed thinks The Old Camdon place will be ready in three weeks,” his grandfather said, brightening to the subject.

“Ed?” Jaxton asked as he took another bite.

“Fowler,” his grandfather supplied. “Been my right hand man for more years now than I care to count. Anyway he said the boys from upstate should be here ready to harvest on the 15
th
so long as we don’t get any rain the week before.”

Jaxton nodded for no reason other than to keep the old man talking. “And how many people did you say you’ve got working out here?”

“There’s just the four of us for now,” his grandfather said. “Me and Ed. And then Chris Delvin and Steve Porter. I’m hoping to hire some school kids during the summer, but you never know.”

“Oh,” Jaxton said. “And Chris and Steve?”

“They’re a couple of guys who used to work for Murphey Gray.”

“And he doesn’t need them?”

“Not any more— he lost the farm a few years back.”

“Lost it?”

“The bank took over-- sold the land right out from under them,” his grandfather said with a sympathetic shake of his head. “It’s not uncommon these days. Everything’s getting too big. The little guys just can’t compete.”

“So, what happened to Murphey?”

“He moved to Emporia and started selling fertilizer, but his workers were left with nothing. Chris and Steve had worked out there since they were little fellas, but by the time the place sold, they both had young families to think of and no real desire to move away from here. I hated to see them have to leave Rayland— especially with the little ones already established in the school. Besides with only 253 people, we need every person we can hang on to.”