The Farmer's Son

Chapter 38 Time of the Seasons

With that in his mind, Alan sighed and closed his eyes. Elbow on the window, fingers lightly gripping the roof of the truck, he leaned his head towards the cooling breeze as the truck hurtled along the empty road, bouncing and rattling all the way.

*

The mayor's residence was an Antebellum style house, nestled in lush greenery and flanked by great oaks with a moat of colorful flowers, even in winter. It had been built and upkept at great cost, but to the man who lived there, who styled himself a great leader akin to the country's founders, it was worth the trouble. People wanted their leaders to live well, and a smoothly running house was the hallmark of a good leader; if he could not keep his house in order, how was he to run a town? And that was the reason he'd called on Ray to come around and take a look at the generator.

At the back of the house, Ray examined the machinery in the cool shade of a willow tree as the mayor stood on the back porch. Dressed in a black suit and bolo tie, he was without his usual hat, and a fringe of thinning grey hair lay brushed straight back from a short forehead. His small, round eyes radiating wrinkles gazed down at Ray as his large white moustache twitched with every puff of his cigar.

After some time, Ray finally pushed himself to his feet. "It'll hold for now," he said, brushing his knees. "But it'll need replacing soon. Maybe within the next couple months."

"I was afraid of that," the mayor said, his voice slow and smooth. "Been acting up since last summer."

"I can come back and hook it up when you do," Ray said, checking his watch as he rolled down the sleeves of his denim jacket.

"I may take you up on that," the man said. "I trust you more than that Robertson. Kept telling me I just needed an oil change."

With a good-natured chuckle, Ray packed up his toolbox—box from Noah, tools from Sal—and prepared to leave.

"Hang on there," the man called. "For your trouble."

Turning back, Ray saw a white envelope held out to him. He opened his mouth to decline, but the mayor cut him off.

"Go on," the man said. "'Fore Noah has both our hides."

Which was putting it mildly. Soon after Alan had left, and Ray began taking more and more jobs outside the house, Noah had stopped him before he left the house one day with a laundry list of odd jobs.

"You getting paid for all this service you providing?" Noah had asked.

"I don't mind," Ray had replied with a shrug.

"I do. There's a difference between helping and being taken advantage of, and they starting to cross that line. You go on," he'd added. "Finish what you promised. But you tell whoever, that the next time they want something doing, you don't come free."

With a light sigh, Ray returned to the porch and took the envelope with a smile and nod.

"Noah says you staying long term," the man said, puffing on his cigar, squinting eyes aimed out towards the tree line.

"As long as he'll have me," Ray said with a smile, checking his watch again as he tucked the envelope away.

"Then we'll bury you there," the man said. "Noah don't like letting go, of people or things. Even when it's best he do."

Ray looked up at the man, half squinting in the dappled sunlight. "You mean the Dalton farm?"

"Ain't no Dalton's anymore," the man said. "And hardly a farm. Noah needs to see reason."

"I don't know that reason has anything to do with it," Ray said with a tilted smile.

The man grunted in affirmation. "Probably not. He was able to stay afloat last season, but soon enough, it'll be an anchor on a sinking ship."