Chapter 8 #2
I forced a tiny smile, my fingers digging into my palms as Luke and Tibb said good night and left. A shaky breath slowly escaped my lips. It was all too much: the discovery of the bus, my quick decision, Jackson’s kindness, Luke’s and Tibb’s friendliness—all too much to absorb at once.
Jackson and I followed a path around the side of the house to the back. In the dark, the cabin was barely visible from the house.
Tucked between two towering trees, the cabin was smaller than Walt’s, as Jackson had guessed, but bore the same marks of age.
Its weathered boards, a mosaic of deep browns and grays, were speckled with patches of moss, while the aluminum roof was splotched with rust. The porch creaked underfoot, but the two rocking chairs and flower boxes were inviting.
Jackson eased the wooden door open, revealing a snug one-room space lined in rough-hewn timber.
A small window admitted scant moonlight, and a black woodburning stove sat in one corner.
The centerpiece of the room was a sturdy handcrafted bed, its quilted coverlet a patchwork of blue squares.
A small nightstand with a chipped surface held a single lamp.
The walls, stripped bare of decoration, whispered of simple solitude.
“There’s no running water,” Jackson said, “and it gets hot in here in the summer and cold in the winter. You will need to learn how to make a fire.”
“There’s no bathroom?”
“There’s a bathroom in the main house you can use. There’s also an outdoor shower around back. Oh, and there’s a half bath in the bouquet hall.” He continued, “There is no cell service out here. Well, there is, but it’s spotty at best, so good luck using the internet.”
“I don’t need it.”
Jackson nodded. “Okay, it’s getting late. Is there anything else that you need tonight? We can figure out the rest tomorrow.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Jackson’s hand lingered on the frame as he glanced back at me. “We start early, at seven. Breakfast is at six.”
“Got it.”
Jackson paused, his gaze dropping to my feet. “Are those the only shoes that you have?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t wear those. And wear a hat.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
Jackson’s lips lifted into a warm, welcoming smile. “Welcome to the Flower Farm.”
I awoke to a thunderous knock. For a disorienting moment, I lay in the tangle of my sheets, my mind grappling with the fog of sleep, struggling to piece together my surroundings. Then I remembered everything—the bus, its fateful discovery, my new job on Jackson’s farm.
“Leigh.” Jackson’s deep voice boomed through the wooden door.
Another forceful knock, followed by Jackson calling my name again.
I stumbled out of bed, feet on the cool wooden floor as I fumbled for the chair I had propped against the door.
There, on the other side, stood Jackson, dressed in his usual attire, though this time his T-shirt was navy.
His eyes traveled the length of me, and then he quickly turned away.
The brisk morning air surged in, reminding me that I was wearing only a deep V-neck shirt that barely skimmed my upper thighs and that currently hung low off one shoulder, the top of my breast showing.
“You missed breakfast,” he said with his back to me.
“I’m not hungry,” I said dryly.
“You didn’t eat dinner last night, and now you’re skipping breakfast. You need to eat, or you’ll be no good in the field.”
“I told you, I’m not hungry,” I reiterated with a note of frustration.
“I’ll bring you a plate,” he said.
“I’ll get dressed and be out in a minute.” I closed the door with a decisive click, not waiting for his response.
I threw on overall shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes, pulled my hair in a tight bun, and in less than ten minutes, I was out the door.
The morning air greeted me with its crispness as I made my way to the front of the main house.
There, gathered in a loose semicircle, was Tibb, Luke, and a handful of others, their attention fixed on Jackson, who was standing on the front step, poised to address us.
Our eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting exchange, I caught a glimmer of something akin to disappointment.
It struck me like a sudden, sharp sting, a pang of regret mixed with a touch of self-reproach.
I wished for him to understand that my reluctance was not one of disinterest or disdain, but a necessity for my own boundaries.
I didn’t want to get too close to them. I’d decided that last night when the rashness of my decision faded, when I’d realized what I walked into.
The farm offered me a place to hide, a place to figure out my next move.
I would show up. I would do my job. But I would keep my distance from them. It was better this way.
“Today, most of us will be finishing up the Sutterfield land,” Jackson said, his voice firm and purposeful. “So, Tim, Mario, Dustin—you’re with me. Luke, you are on training and clearing.”
“Come on, Jack!” Luke yelled. “It was two weeks ago, and you know I didn’t have my morning potassium, so I cramped up…” He stopped abruptly as Tibb gave him a gentle but effective jab in the ribs, cutting him off with a soft laugh.
“Tibb, you are on deliveries and bouquets. Don’t forget to check the flower stand. It looked a little empty last night.” Jackson hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes before he continued.
He didn’t look at me or say my name, and his tone carried an edge that was unfamiliar.
I knew I was right when I noticed the glances between Luke and Tibb as they shuffled to their tasks, a silent communication that spoke volumes.
It was impossible to ignore the feeling that something had shifted, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was somehow at the heart of it.
As I made my way to join Luke, assuming I was part of his training task, Jackson’s voice sliced through the quiet once more.
“Is that what you are wearing?” His words were sharp, and his brow was furrowed in a deep frown.
I glanced down at my clothes and then back up at him. “What’s wrong with this?”
“You’re going to be in the dirt today. You need long sleeves.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Jackson was already pressing on. “I told you not to wear those shoes.”
“These are the only shoes I have.”
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Why?”
“Why can’t you just answer the question?”
“Why can’t you explain yourself before you start demanding things?” I shot back, aware of the balance I seemed to be precariously tipping.
Tiny crinkles formed around the corners of his eyes, and when they unfolded, his face was different. He was different from just last night.
“Because you need boots,” Jackson said, his voice resolute.
“What’s wrong with these?”
“They’re not boots. We all wear work boots.”
Without waiting for me to respond, Jackson turned and walked away just as Luke approached.
“He’s in a mood today,” I said. “Or is he always like that?”
“Nah…that’s Jack. He can be a little uptight at times. Doesn’t like it when people don’t follow the rules. I’ll probably never hold a chainsaw again.”
“What rules?”
Luke wasn’t looking at me, but at my shoes. “I think my sister left a pair of boots out here somewhere. We’ll see if they can fit you.” He started walking. “He’s also pissed off after last night’s town hall. It didn’t go the way he—we—expected.”
“Why?” I’d thought it went well. Jackson had presented his project and answered every question thrown at him. He had certainly convinced me.
“Because people are stupid and don’t like change. They like it even less when it involves them.”
“So what’s he going to do? Is it off?”
“Hell no! Jack doesn’t give up that easily. He’ll find a way.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m on training duty, so my first job is to give you a tour of the Flower Farm.”
I followed Luke as he led me to the entrance of the farm.
From this angle, it loomed larger and more expansive than what I saw, its sprawling landscape stretching out in a way I hadn’t seen from the road or the small patch I had worked on two days before with Luke.
With a single sweep of my head, I could see the entire farm—neat symmetrical rows that meandered across the terrain.
We visited the rosebushes first, followed by the tulips, peonies, and dahlias.
Every row was meticulously tended in an obvious sign of the care and dedication that went into cultivating the farm.
At the physical heart of the farm stood one small white greenhouse and, just beyond it, a chicken coop.
“Chicken coop?” I asked, puzzled by the unexpected addition. Just then, several chickens roamed over to where we stood, pecking at something on the ground. “Why is there a chicken coop on a flower farm?”
There was something about the sight, the idea, that tickled something within me. And before Luke could answer, I laughed. For the second time, a laugh roared out of me, uncontrolled and free. It still felt weird, to laugh, to find something funny. Especially this. I had seen chickens before.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just…surprisingly funny.”
“They’re free range, and they eat the bugs. We let them roam all day and put them up at night.” Luke picked one up and pointed it at me. “Plus, they give us fresh eggs. Dontcha, Nicky Sab-hen?”
“Her name is what?”
“Nicky Sab-hen. You know…named after the greatest coach in college football history, Nick Saban?”
I looked at Luke and blinked.
“Tell me you know who Nick Saban is!”
I shook my head.
“Oh, Leigh,” he said, putting Nicky Sab-hen back on the ground. “I have so much to teach you.”
Next, he guided me through what they called the bouquet hall, a stand-alone building about the size of my cabin and constructed of weathered timber. The hall held a treasure trove of supplies for floral arrangements: baskets, vases, ribbons, and snippers.