Chapter 35
morgan
As they ate a quick lunch of fried baloney sandwiches, Morgan knew he needed to think and to make some hard decisions. So, while Jack did the dishes, he got up from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”
“But it’s freezing,” Jack said.
“I just need some air,” Morgan said, unable to explain it any better than that.
“Everything okay?” Jack looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t. Giving Morgan space and time, the way he always did.
Morgan thumped his way down the stairs and pulled on his galoshes and his coat, and wrapped a scarf around his neck. He borrowed Jack’s mostly unworn tuque and pulled it onto his head. By the time he’d taken up his cane and opened the front door, he felt overly warm.
That feeling vanished the second he stepped outside, and to his horror he realized that the way he wanted to go meant he had to walk into the wind.
He faced west and went across the parking lot, along the long line of the feed and grain.
When he passed the corner of the building, the wind struck him hard.
To his right was the long, slender shine of a pair of railroad tracks, and beyond that the high prairie rose and fell beneath the pale snow, stretching out to the horizon.
The money didn’t matter. There would be thousands coming in and the same thousands going out. That money wasn’t really his, anyway.
He knew what he needed to do, which was, somehow, also what he wanted to do.
He would contact those long-standing customers so Hysham would continue, with the feed and grain as the cornerstone of the community, just like so many people here had told him. They would be delighted to hear that Morgan wouldn’t be selling in spring, after all.
And then there was Jack. He needed to let Jack know his plans, and to hear Jack agree to what he wanted to do, because without Jack in his life, none of this would be worth it.
Morgan sucked in a lungful of the cold, growing-colder air and blew it out, imagining frost sparkling around the edges of a circle made from his breath.
Then he went back inside and headed up the stairs, one thump at a time, and into the kitchen.
Where Jack was humming as he sipped his coffee and looked out the window.
Jack put the cup down and turned to Morgan. “Your phone’s been ringing.”
“Thank you.” Morgan picked up his cell phone and leaned against the counter so he could be close to Jack while he talked.
The number was Bradley’s, and the history showed no message left. Morgan hit the callback button, and his stomach sank a little when it connected.
“This is Bradley,” came the voice he knew, sounding guarded, which was understandable, given the way things ended between them.
“This is Morgan,” Morgan said in kind. “You called? Is everything okay?”
“Hey,” Bradley said, more warm and casual. “Where are you?”
“Montana.”
“Still?” Bradley’s voice went up in surprise. “I thought you’d be long done with that place, the way you complained about going.”
“Well, I’ve had to take care of the feed and grain.”
“Oh?” Bradley asked, and if Morgan sensed a hint of I-don’t-care in Bradley’s voice, now was not the time to bring it up. Now or ever.
“It’s more complicated than I had anticipated.” Morgan looked at Jack, who was standing close, attentive, as though he knew Morgan needed him there. “And more important.”
He didn’t plan on telling Bradley any more than that. But complicated was a word Bradley surely understood, as that had been his excuse for leaving. Because Morgan, and what Morgan had needed help with, were too complicated for Bradley.
But maybe he needed to at least say something.
“Listen, Bradley,” he said. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. It wasn’t right to—”
“You needed help,” Bradley said. “But I couldn’t do it. Maybe we were already—I don’t know. Falling apart. Your accident felt like the last straw, sure, but I shouldn’t have just. Left. I’m sorry about that.”
Morgan heard Bradley draw a deep breath and thought about fighting his reaction to the apology as memories of their time together, good and bad, flooded through him. Except he didn’t need to hide who he was or how he felt, not with Jack standing right there. Close enough to touch for comfort.
Morgan did just that, reaching out to brush the back of Jack’s hand with his fingers, and when he did, Jack’s smile was bright and quick. And Morgan remembered what Jack had said about not minding being needed.
“Thank you for that, Bradley,” he said sincerely. It was nice to mean things just as they were said. “I’m sorry it ended the way it did. So roughly.”
“Me, too,” Bradley said with a sigh. “There’s some mail here for you. Do you have an address I can send it to?”
Morgan gave him the address, then said goodbye and stood there for a minute, in the warm kitchen as the sky outside the windows seemed to sparkle with bright frost.
If the wind picked up and sounded a little like a train whistle, that was to be expected. Hysham was all by its lonesome on the high prairie of southern Montana, and that ghostly wail swept along the tracks like a cry for help.
He was going to answer that call, oh yes, he was.
“Jack,” Morgan said. “I have something to tell you. To ask you.”
“Okay.”
“I want to stay and help these people,” he said. “I don’t want to sell in the spring. I know I said before that it was an option, but I don’t want it to be. Are you okay with staying here with me forever?”
The kiss Jack gave him was all the yes he needed. Then Jack brought him the ledger and a pencil and some paper. Morgan’s chin sank to his chest. He looked at the phone in his hand and the ledger open on the table in front of him.
Before he could think too much more about it, he pulled the folded sheets from the pocket at the back of the ledger and tapped in the number for Isaac McGinlay, Sun.
When a male voice answered at the other end, Morgan put on his friendliest tone and said, “Hello, Mr. McGinlay? I’m Morgan Malone, Oralee Malone’s nephew.”
“Morgan Malone?” the man asked with a trace of suspicion, sounding like he might hang the hell up because he was afraid that Morgan was going to call in the loan that Oralee had made him.
“Yes, Morgan Malone,” Morgan repeated. “I inherited the feed and grain when Oralee passed. I’ve got her ledger, and Mabel Milbourne told me I needed to call to ask about—”
He stopped. This was the final crossroads. It was one thing to think of doing it. Another to actually do it.
Either he asked how Mr. McGinlay was going to pay for the off-the-books loan, or he asked how much sunflower seed the man needed to plant in the spring.
So his little farm could keep going and he could take care of his loved ones.
So folks would keep coming into Hysham for groceries and fancy coffee.
So the people who lived around here would have not just a reason to spend money and a place to spend money, but money to spend.
Morgan’s eyes felt hot, and the hand gripping his phone was cold. He took a deep breath and listened to the wind and to Jack banging around at the sink. And thought about how Mister Rocket had barked earlier, and how he’d fetched himself up to Jack to be petted and adored.
About the bustle in the coffee shop and the fact that there’d still always been room for him and Jack.
How Young Tommy and Plowy McPlowface had waited at the bottom of exit 67 in the freezing cold and blowing snow just to make sure he and Jack arrived home safely.
And how Mabel had hung up on him because of the careless way he’d treated Jack—
He put the phone down and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Then he swallowed hard and picked the phone back up. He would need to make notes in the ledger in a second. But maybe that could wait.
“Mr. McGinlay—can I call you Isaac? I’m calling to find out how much seed you’ll need in the spring.”
There was a soft, surprised sound at the other end. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Morgan cleared his throat. “I’ve got the ledger here, but Toby, you see, used strange, short codes for everything. Like pot and pho and so on. Bags means bags, I’m guessing?”
“Those are paper sacks, you know, the kind with the string on top to open them,” Isaac said, sounding more relaxed, as though settling into farm talk soothed him. “Pot is potash, and pho is phosphorus; those are fertilizers for confections.”
“Confections?” Morgan asked, completely lost.
“That’s the type of sunflower I grow. The kind people like to eat, and I sell both shelled and unshelled. Uh, is there a note about a manual hopper to shell the seeds? If not, I was going to order one.”
“A hopper?” Morgan glanced at Isaac’s page in the ledger, where it not-so-clearly read Hop. All of this was strange to him. Back in Denver, sunflower seeds arrived in clear little packets ready to eat. “Yes, I see that note. How much is one of those?”
“A good one that’ll last a while is about four hundred.”
Morgan scanned Isaac McGinlay, Sun’s page again. At a glance, the seed itself seemed the least expensive part of the project, and the more he looked, the more expensive the whole thing got.
According to the records for the prior year, sunflower seed for planting went for $100 for fifty pounds of seed. After that, the sunflower farm would need around $5,000 for fertilizer, herbicide, and a good hopper to be able to keep going.
“If you’d like to come to the feed and grain,” Morgan said, holding himself steady to his plan, “we can place your order for the spring.”
“I think Oralee and I did $5,000 last year,” Isaac said, his voice rising in a question.
“That’s what it looks like to me as well.” Morgan paused. “This is my first time doing this, so as I understand it, you’ll bring in around that amount, and I’ll use it to order seed and fertilizer and the new hopper?”
“That’s right.” The relief in Isaac’s voice came into Morgan’s ear so strongly it was almost like Isaac was in the room, wanting to shake his hand. Or maybe hug him. “I could come in tomorrow, if the weather holds.”
“Looks like it will.” Morgan glanced at Jack, who was listening, eyebrows raised. “What time suits you?”
“How ’bout around ten?” Isaac asked. “Oralee used to have coffee and donuts going, though I expect that’s in the past.”
“Oh, no.” Morgan sat up and shook his head as though Isaac could see him.
“We’ve got the new coffee machine set up, and the three old—that is, Ambrose and the boys have given it their stamp of approval.
I’ll be fetching fresh donuts in the morning.
That is, Jack will. My friend Jack. My good friend Jack. ”
“Sounds good,” Isaac said. “Me and the missus and the baby will be in around ten. See you then.”
Isaac hung up, and Morgan was left with the silent and utterly heavy cell phone.
He had more calls to make. At ten minutes or so a call, it would take him almost four hours to get through everyone in the ledger.
Maybe he should do a few more and do the rest tomorrow morning and afternoon, even though staggering the calls would mean people would be coming in for days to pay him for their orders for spring.
That was fine. All he had to do was keep his pencil sharpened so he could make notes in the ledger, learn the damn abbreviations, and make sure the coffee pot was always full and the donuts fresh.
Then, when that part was over and done with, he and Jack would be left in peace once more.