January Thaw (Romance Short Story)

Part 2: Pine Bluff Farm

Carolyn was in high spirits after two weeks of solitude. Taking a month's vacation up near Houlton, along the Maine-New Brunswick border, was a wonderful idea. The property management company's brochure stated that they had rebuilt a family farm to resemble how it looked "in olden times." The only fly in the ointment was a couple of interview requests for the "woman who had decided to age herself to death" as the media put it. She had no idea how they'd learned her whereabouts. Then again, these reporter types made a living by ferreting out stories. So Carolyn had her vop send a rude reply. The calls stopped.

Each morning she cooked breakfast with her own hands, using an old-fashioned microwave oven. Today it was oatmeal and milk with plenty of fresh strawberries. The berries smelled sweet, with a hint of newly mowed grass. True, the ingredients were probably synthesized out west out of who-knows-what. Even so, she had eaten real food grown in the ground on special occasions as a little girl and these meals brought back happy memories. Too bad only rich people could afford the luxury of real food now. She was about to begin the pleasant ritual of doing up the dishes by hand when a low, metallic hum announced the arrival of a ground flier.

There was no way to communicate with whoever was outside save by opening the door or a window and talking. No computer built into the door, a mekapp butler, or anything along those lines. Carolyn walked out onto an enclosed porch and stared out the window at a man, who waved a gloved hand and smiled as he approached. His breath streamed out in clouds of vapor and his cheeks were burnt red by the cold.

"Yes?" She opened the door about half-way feeling wary and shy at the same time.

The visitor removed a florescent orange hat with flaps that came down past his ears. He was well over six feet. His red and gray checked winter jacket and baggy green wool trousers did not hide a lanky yet powerful frame. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short in defiance of the current fashion of braids or ponytails for men. Carolyn was surprised at a quick shiver that played along the back of her neck when he smiled again, and his brown eyes held a certain generosity yet at the same time there was an undercurrent of sadness. One hardly saw older people anymore.

"Good morning, ma'am, my name is Theo. I live just down the road about five kilometers and I thought I'd stop by and say g'morning."

He shifted back and forth from one foot to the other. Carolyn wasn't sure at first if he was nervous or cold. A blast of wind rattled the door, which she still held in both hands, and drained the warmth from her body.

"Come in."

"Thanks. I saw you out skiing yesterday when I was riding my fence checking for breaks and coyotes."  He went on, probably in response to the worried look on her face, "They don't bother people but  I keep some livestock. I said to myself, 'Theo, you got to meet that woman because she can ski like a house on fire!'"

 Carolyn laughed and made deprecatory noises as she offered him a chair at the round kitchen table, pushed up against one wall. An arrangement of plastic daisies in a heavy square vase of black crystal graced the center of the table and also served to prevent the thick paper tablecloth from sliding around too much. Carolyn was curious about the fact Theo could pass for a vigorous man in his mid-sixties but she was determined not to pry.  After all, he had been polite enough not to show any surprise at her apparent age.

"I usually stop in when I know someone is renting the old Chute Place. The owners, aren't they out of Bangor, call it Pine something?"

"Pine Bluff Farm. I have it until the end of the month." Carolyn poured coffee for each of them while they talked.  She sat down and wrapped her hands around the hot mug of steaming liquid. Its rich, bitter aroma filled the kitchen.