HOUSTON, WE GOT A PROBLEM—LUKE COMB
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September 17th, 2015
High Valley Farm
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It was the next morning. The sun hadn't yet risen over the plain but still Big Red's early crow reached Morgan's window.
Groaning, she checked in with her clock and tossed back around, smashing her pillow over her face. As she fought to fall back to sleep, the rooster's call only seemed to intensify— echoing off her thin, plastered walls.
Just as Morgan was about to lose her last bit of patience, the reality of last night came crashing down on her and what it meant. She was getting married.
The ring of steel on her finger was the beginning of her and Rhett's paved future and she squealed with eternal giddiness.
Feeling elated, she no longer cared about Big Red or her bleary eyes. She felt like she was flying above the clouds, arms stretched out, and embracing the wind. Embracing her and Rhett's soon-to-be future.
With a buoyancy in her step, she went about her morning as usual. She made coffee for herself and rummaged around the fridge for something to cook.
After frying up some bacon and sausage, she went out onto the porch to eat. As she watched the sunrise from their swing, she couldn't help but smile anytime a glint from the ring caught her eye. It was unusual for her to see it there, and yet, it felt natural.
Just as she finished her breakfast, she heard a creak from the boards and looked over to see her father leaving.
"Pa," she called him over.
Morgan couldn't wait to tell him the good news if he didn't know already.
"I'm sorry, kitten. I've got to make a run," he said, shrugging on his quilted jacket.
She frowned as she watched him rush to his apache pick-up and peel off down the road, leaving without so much as a wave goodbye. Disappointed, she sighed and left the swing. She hoped at least she would be able to tell someone the good news.
"Good God all mighty!" her mother exclaimed, raising her hands up in praise. "He done answered ma' prayers."
After showing the ring to her mother, she gave Morgan a congratulatory hug and wiped the tears of joy from her cheeks. Grabbing her hand once more, her mother inspected the diamond before a bright smile crept onto her face.
"I'm even closer to gettin' me some grandbabies."
"Ma!" Morgan blurted. "I'd like to focus on gettin' married first before we go talkin' 'bout children."
She scoffed and swatted the air but said no more on the subject. She touched Morgan's face as her smile turned sad.
"I know mamaw and papaw would've been so proud of ya."
Morgan couldn't help but tear up. She hoped that she would have been able to share this special moment with her grandparents, but time, like many, had not been on their side.
"Thanks, ma."
They hugged one last time before taking a seat on the living room couch.
"Did pa tell ya where he was goin' this mornin'?"
"I suwanne! That man could be anywhere. He be leavin' the house like a tornado's a'comin'," she sighed, shaking her head. "I ain't know why."
"Do ya feel that he's been actin' off lately?" Morgan asked with a bit of concern.
"Sure do. I tried talkin' to the man, but he just says everythin' is fine. You know how yer pa is."
"Yeah . . . I just really wanted to tell him the news, ya know." Morgan glanced over at the home phone and contemplated. "Maybe I should call him and check-in. Make sure everythin's alright."
Just as she reached over to grab the phone, the doorbell and a set of knocks drew both of their eyes to the door. They didn't get many visitors or solicitors in the rural district.
While her mother headed to see who it was, Morgan peeked through their curtain. A paunchy and fully balding middle-aged man stood on the other side, clutching onto his briefcase. He stood out like a sore thumb against the countryside.
"Hello ma'am, I'm Dale Lawson. I'm looking for a Mr. Gannon Blaire."
Morgan rested her knees on the couch's cushion as she watched and listened in on their conversation.
"He ain't here," her mother said with apprehension. "What's this all 'bout?"
"That's confidential, ma'am," he answered.
Morgan could tell her mother didn't like the response and could see her mood turn sour.
"Well, I'm his old lady and I need to know what's goin' on and why yer on ma' damn porch."
Her mother always had a hot temper when it came to not having her way and she was thankful to have more of her father's amiable nature.
He looked startled and gulped. "Uh-uhm, yes and I do apologize for showing up unannounced. Because I am bound to a confidentiality agreement by the state, I am unable to disclose any information to anybody other than Mr. Blaire."
Her mother didn't say anything but Morgan was sure she was giving him the evil eye and the southern hands-on-hip attitude.
"Could you, uhm, kindly have him get in touch with me as soon as possible?"
Morgan quickly let go of the curtain as the man's eyes scoured around their front porch and to the window. She wasn't sure if he saw her or not and fought the urge to check to see. The way he seemed to survey around their house gave her a tingle in her spine. And not the good kind.
He handed over his card and with a nod, made haste to the running car idled out front.
After her mother shut the door, she shuffled over to Morgan with a look of dismay.
"What is it, ma?" she asked.
"It ain't nothin' good, I'll tell ya that," her mother said, handing off the card to Morgan. "What's it say?"
"Middle District, Northern Division Trustee." She looked up at her mother bemused. "What the heck does that mean?"
She shook her head as her brow snapped upward. "I don't know, but yer pa sure got a bunch of explainin' to do."
• • •
Her father didn't come home until later in the evening and when he walked through the door, her mother was on him, prodding him for answers.
Morgan began dinner and tried to avoid the precarious situation as much as possible.
Trudging into the kitchen, he took an exhausted plop on the chair and removed his cap. He ran a hand over his bald-pated head and sighed as her mother followed in behind him.
"Gannon," she demanded.
"I'll explain everythin' to y'all after suppa."
She stood there, staring down the back of his head as a slow scowl took over. With no other option but to wait, her mother stamped her foot in frustration and made busy by setting the table.
Morgan glanced over her shoulder as Huck and Grady came bursting through the dog door, it's flap swinging with loud smacks.
Her father chuckled as they bombarded him with slobbery kisses everywhere and almost tackled him to the floor. They seemed to be the only thing that could put a smile on his face lately.
"Gannon, put them dogs back outside before they go knockin' thang's over," her mother ordered. "Ya know I don't like 'em in the house."
She knew her mother's annoyance had less to do with the dogs and more to do with being left out in the dark.
Morgan kept her back to them as she stirred the greens, but could hear her father grunt before the pattering of paws and whines grew faint.
With their silent dinner underway, Morgan peeked over at her father who nudged his food around, taking only small nibbles. It was very unlike him. Her father loved to eat, especially her food.
Like any doting daughter, she worried about him and his health. It was easy to tell that he was stressing over something, his face extra worn today.
Not wasting any time after eating, her mother sat impatiently at the table, tapping her foot erratically.
"Hurry up with 'em dishes, Morgan," she said.
She tossed her eyes. It looked like neither of them were safe from her mother's bad attitude today.
After rushing the dishes, Morgan settled into the chair opposite her father and waited for him to begin.
"Alright. 'Bout a year ago, I had made the decision to get into a pact with Boone." He paused as he heaved a large sigh. "Because he had a low-productivity rate the year before, he wanted ma' help with their croppin' system. I would help him manage the three-field crop rotation and in exchange, Westwood Acres would expand and buy High Valley—"
"Hold yer horses. Why in tarnation would ya go on and do a thang like that?" her mother interjected, the vein on her temple throbbing with tension.
"We were in a lotta debt, Gladys," he finally revealed. "If I hadn't did what I done, we would've lost the farm a long time ago."
Morgan's heart broke as she heard the helplessness in her fathers' tone. She had known that they had some little financial problems here and there, but never did she think that they were drowning so far in debt.
"With the price crash goin' on now, I found out some days ago that Westwood Acres had to file bankruptcy."
Morgan didn't like where this was going and the look on her mother's face mirrored much of her own.
Morgan quietly asked, "The man that done came today?"
"Was a trustee," he answered and seemed to struggle to continue. "They're gonna sell the farm."
Her mother suddenly shot up from out of her chair, her face burning out of anger. "Dammit, Gannon!"
"Is there any way to fix it, pa?" Morgan asked, speaking over her mother's hysterical mumbling.
He shook his head with sad, tired eyes. "Only if we're to outbuy the sellin' price before Boone's case is said and done."
Her mother flung her hands up in the air and snatched the refurbished Remington perched in the corner. Nothing was scarier than a southern woman angry.
"I'mma give him down the country," she snarled. "It's been a coon's age, but I ain't afraid to pop one in Boone's bee-hind."
Knowing her threat was real, Morgan went to calm her down and take the firearm from her tense grip. This didn't stop her rage.
"Oh, that egg-suckin' dawg!" she bellowed, trembling in her slippers. "Got me madder than a wet settin' hen."
"I'mma figure it out," her father assured.
"How Gannon! We ain't got nuntin' to our names," she barked back.
Morgan stood and watched in silence, feeling sick to her stomach at the thought of losing the farm.
High Valley had always been her safe haven. It was all that she could ever remember. The history, the memories, they were all rooted deep in the foundation of the home. The farm was all they had, and now it was slipping right through their very fingers.
"I'mma need to sleep on it," he spoke up, casting them a reassuring look.
Her mother gave a hard scoff, "Ya gonna sleep on the dang on couch, that's watcha gonna do."
She left it at that as she stomped her way down the hall and slammed the bedroom door in a temper.
"I'm sorry, kitten. Yer pa really mucked up."
Morgan placed her hand over her father's and gave a small smile. That was the best she could offer him.
"Come on. Ya look tired."
Morgan helped her father fix up the sofa-bed and gave one last fluff to his pillow. She glanced over at his rumpled features and tried her best to hide her worry.
"Alright. Night, pa."
As she turned to get herself ready for bed, he grabbed her hand. With a soft smile, he embraced her.
"Congrats, kitten. I'm happy for ya and Rhett."
It was bittersweet. What should have been a happy moment between father and daughter was instead a gloomy one.
She pulled him closer, hugging him tightly. For a second, Morgan was taken back to her seven-year-old self. A scared little girl, clinging onto her father—wanting and waiting for him to say everything was going to be okay.
"Don't let this situation worry ya. I'mma handle it. Promise," he comforted, stroking her head of hair.
She thought she would have felt better in hearing those soothing words. She usually did, but things felt different. There was a faltering in his voice. A waver. A man at his wit's end. And that's when Morgan knew. She knew she had to be the one to step up and save the farm.
Copyright ⓒ 2019, Desarae A Dotson. All rights reserved