The Kingdom Land

The

Kingdom

Land

Bart Tuma

*

A

Double Edge Press, Scenery Hill, Pennsylvania

Selection

*

Double Edge Press

Ebook
ISBN
:
9781938002298

The Kingdom Land

Copyright © 2011 Bart Tuma

Cover Artwork: Original artwork design by Double Edge
Press.

Elements contained within the original design include
the following images in its composition:

Montana Farmland (background) photograph by Bart
Tuma. Used with permission.

Cornfield with Rainbow (foreground)
photograph by Martha Dougherty, website
http://marthadheritage.com
.
Used with permission.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review,
the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in
any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is
forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Double
Edge Press, 72 Ellview Road, Scenery Hill, PA 15360

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.

*

Acknowledgments

Novels aren’t created by a pen on paper, but by
capturing the sparks of life.

My life would not be complete without the love and
support of my beautiful wife Cindy, the joy of my three children
Courtney, Shannon and Erik, and the realization that the Lord holds
us in the palm of His grace.

I would also like to give special thanks to Double
Edge Press for opening a window so others could see this work.

And to my mother, in prayer that her life be full
today and forever.

*

The

Kingdom

Land

Bart Tuma

*

 

 

T
he
last
trace of black diesel hadn't cleared the stack before Erik jumped
from the John Deere tractor landing deep into the lifeless dirt.
His day was done. His only concern was if the old pickup he'd
brought to the fields that morning would start this afternoon. Each
stride became faster and longer the further he was from the tractor
and the closer he was to the pickup that had suddenly become his
best friend. “Chevy, you're a piece of junk, but you better start
‘cause I'm outta here.” His pace didn't slow as he struggled to
pull off his shirt, flapping it in the wind in a useless attempt to
leave the dust of the day behind.

His strides stopped at the driver's door of the ‘54
Chevy pickup. Years earlier he'd bought the old junk pickup to fix
it up and show it off, but it was never fixed and remained the
same. In Erik's eyes nothing on the farm would ever change.

Just to open the Chevy's door he had to lift it and
pull at the same time. Reaching inside he grabbed a second water
jug he'd forgotten that morning. The water was soured by the
prairie heat, but it worked well to sooth his parched lips and rid
himself of the taste of the day. When he spit the water to the
ground the dust swallowed it without leaving a trace.

The jug was thrown back into the cab hard enough to
bounce it off the opposite door. He slowly slid into the pickup to
avoid burning himself on the hot vinyl seat. He even let a smile
cross his face as the key coaxed the motor to the rattle of life.
The sounds of grinding gears and running motor meant freedom, at
least for a time.

The road back to the farm house snaked through the
fields that should be filled with the green of growth, but now were
only dust and wheat so shriveled it didn't even look like grain.
Erik didn't care. It was his day off. It wasn't his farm. His uncle
owned the farm and lived and died with the wheat. His uncle saw
these fields as his life. Erik didn't.

It was August, the hottest month in the northern
Montana plains, and the year was 1976, the third year in a row with
no clouds breaking free from the Rockies to bring rain to the
plains.

The dirt road turned to gravel and finally ended in
front of the farmhouse. Erik didn't even bother to let the pickup
stop before throwing open the door, but let it lurch a few feet
further as the gear bound motor died. He only hit every other step
going up the back door stairs which lead to a hallway with a double
sink. The smell of roast beef filled the room, and he vaguely heard
his Aunt's greeting. He was too hungry to care what Aunt Mary had
to say. What she said wasn't important and she'd say it again
anyway.

“
Erik, hurry up and get washed.
Dinner's going to get cold if you don't hustle,” Aunt Mary again
said, this time loud enough for Erik to hear. “Your uncle hasn't
got back from town. He's still having problems getting the baler
working. They better give him the right part this time. He's
already made two trips ‘cause the kid at the parts counter was too
lazy to check the manual. I haven't seen your uncle that frustrated
in ages.”

Erik was still in the entry
buttoning up his shirt he had just donned again after stripping it
off in the field. The entryway sink was as polished and organized
as any hospital room. His hard strokes loosened the dirt with the
pumice soap, but it also cut the flesh from his hand. The dirty
suds partly covered his arms but mostly splattered the suds to
remain on the floor and counter top. Erik made no effort to clean
it up.
Maybe someday she'll get the hint
and leave this sink alone
.
Not everything needs to be perfect. If she wants
me to scrub up before eating, she should know the sink's going to
get dirty in the process.

Cleaning himself was an exaggeration. The process
Erik undertook was shifting the dirt to where people couldn't see
it. He rolled down his long sleeves to hide any spots he might have
missed, and left the remaining dirt on a white hand towel that Mary
would immediately clean after dinner. He would get to the serious
washing later on.

“
Anything worth eating tonight, Aunt
Mary?” Erik saw his aunt cock her head wondering if Erik was
serious or joking.

“
What are you talking about? We're
having roast beef, and you'd better just eat it without any
comments.”

His aunt wasn't eating, but she joined Erik as he
pulled the platters of food closer. She bowed her head to pray.
Erik knew what she was doing but kept filling his plate. He wasn't
part of that God stuff and he wanted to eat and get out of there.
He loved his aunt, and it was nice to have some company, but he
knew that her company would also bring her questions so he started
eating when he had the chance.

“
Pass the potatoes?” Erik asked even
before Mary raised her head.

“
You could say ‘please',” Mary said
as she passed the large bowl. Erik had heard her corrections for
years, but heeded few. “I see you got all the strips west of the
house done.”

“
Yeah, it doesn't take much when
there aren't weeds to kill anyway. It's mostly just turning dust.
It seems like a waste of good diesel to me. I should be done by
next week sometime. Before I forget, I had a visitor today,” Erik
added with his mouth half full of chewy beef.

“
A visitor? Why would you have a
visitor?” Mary's surprise echoed his own earlier in the
day.

“
It was that McCormack guy, the
county agent. I was surprised a county employee would work on
Saturday, but there he was in that bright yellow Glacier County
truck. He came by just after noon. I don't know why you pay taxes
to hire someone like him. He's an idiot.” Erik's focus remained on
his food.

“
Why did he go to the fields rather
than coming to the house?”

“
I don't know why he does anything
except collect a paycheck. He said he was looking for Henry,” Erik
sneered as he balanced a fork full of peas and corn. “But I think
he was lying, or he would have looked for him here at the shop. I
imagine he's afraid to come to the house after all his lies. He's
been telling people for three years that it's going to rain and it
never does. The thing that amazes me is that people
still—”

Mary interrupted Erik before he could finish. He was
used to it.

“
He gets his reports from the
weather man, so blame the weather man if you need to blame someone.
He's just doing his job.”

She always talked. You'd think she
could listen to me once in a while.
“Aunt
Mary, anyone who believes that guy or the weather man is crazy.
Just look at the fields. They're pathetic. It's August and the
grain doesn't even come up to my knees. It's not even going to be
worth pulling a combine into the fields. The diesel will cost more
than what Uncle Henry will get for the crop. It's even useless for
me to run the tractor. The weeds aren't even growing. All I'm doing
is raising more dust.'' Erik's voice grew harsher the longer he
talked.

“
Erik, you know it's not useless.
We've got to keep the ground loose so when the rains come, the
ground can take it in. We're been through droughts before. They
come and go. We just have to wait them out, and have faith that
next year will be better. When the rains come no one will remember
the drought.”

“
When
the
rains come. That's a big ‘when'. I'd bet against it if I were a
gambler. Sure the rain will come back some day, but how many
farmers will go broke before that?”

“
Just be quiet. It's hard enough
without talk like that. You sound like an old man that doesn't have
anything better to do than complain. What did the agent say,
anyway?”

“
I didn't pay much attention. If he
wanted to do something worthwhile he should have brought something
cold to drink. All he did was babble. He said something about the
county has been declared a disaster area, as if that wasn't obvious
enough. I'm supposed to tell Uncle Henry that the state will help
him out until next year. He says he knows it's going to rain next
year. I say he's crazy. All that's going to happen is the two of
you are going to go further in debt; the government never gives out
anything for free. You'll go further in debt and all you'll get for
it is being disappointed again.”

“
I said to be quiet about what you
don't know,” Mary again interrupted. “Your Uncle knows when it's
best to run the plow and when to harvest. Not you.” Mary's glare
made it obvious to Erik that he had crossed the line. “You aren't
helping with your comments. All you're doing is bringing your
bitterness to the kitchen table. Leave it at the door with your
work boots and gloves. And I better not hear you talk that way to
your uncle. You know how important this farm is to him. He's put
his whole life into the farm, and if you want this farm you better
do the same.”