Chapter 9 #2
“What did the soil test say?” Tibb asked before he kneeled, scooped up a handful of dirt, and smelled it.
“What soil test?” I asked no one in particular.
“Every fall, we take soil samples from the field to be tested. This test gives us an overview of the soil’s health and what we can do to improve it,” Jackson answered, kneeling as well.
“And?” Tibb asked.
“It’s in rough shape. There’s little to no organic matter or trace minerals, and the pH is off.” Jackson scooped up his own handful of dirt, rubbing it between his fingers.
“Is that all?” Tibb asked with a gentle roll of his eyes.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. We move forward with preparing the soil to plant,” Jackson said.
“But I thought you said the soil wasn’t perfect.” I asked.
“It’s not,” Jackson said, dropping the dirt back to the ground and wiping his hands on his pants. “But flowers will bloom where they are planted. It’s just going to take some work. Like all things.” He held my eye for a second, then looked away.
“We’ll spread compost and fertilizer,” Tibb explained to me, “tilling that into the soil, lay the irrigation lines and landscape fabric, and grass clippings, mulch, and straw for the beds that don’t need landscape fabric.”
Luke kicked at the dirt. “It’s going to be like feeding and watering an elephant.”
“A hundred elephants,” Tibb said.
Jackson stood. “We got a lot of work to do.”
Luke wrapped one arm over my shoulders and one over Tibb’s. “That means us.”
The next morning, I dressed quickly and spooned the last of my remaining oatmeal into my mouth.
I had barely enough for a full bowl, having had some for dinner the night before.
I hadn’t had much luck fishing at night with the cooler temperatures and had been mostly existing off the sandwiches Luke made us for lunch.
I arrived at the morning meeting, just before Jackson was about to speak, a little tired and very hungry.
“We had our first frost, and you know what that means,” Jackson said as a chorus of grunts rippled through the group. I glanced around, catching the sight of Luke’s face twisting.
“Dahlias,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “Happy Frostmas.”
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
“Frostmas is what we call the first killing frost of the season. It killed the dahlias. Now we have to dig up the tubers.”
“And I’ll be working with Luke and Leigh on the dahlias,” Jackson said. “That’s it. Let’s get to it.”
The crowd broke up and scattered, and I followed Luke. “Why’s Jackson working with us?”
“There’s a lot to be done with cutting back and digging up the tubers. Plus, we’re going to use some of these tubers in the expansion. We can’t afford to lose any.”
We reached the dahlia section in the field just as Jackson joined us, carrying a bag. He approached me and extended the bag in my direction. “I’m guessing a size nine, right?”
I reached for the bag and pulled out a box. My breath caught in my lungs. Inside the box was a brand-new pair of boots. “I’ve been wearing Heather’s boots.”
“Those are not insulated, and it’s starting to get cold.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words failed to come. I didn’t deserve his kindness, especially after the way I’d treated him. Guilt crawled through me.
“I know,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “Sit.”
I didn’t argue with him, just removed my old shoes and slipped on the new boots. They fit perfectly, the leather gripping snugly to my feet. I stared at them as I realized I had never owned a pair of boots before.
“Do you like them?” Jackson asked, kneeling before me.
“Yeah…” I said, staring into his eyes. I didn’t know what to say but hoped my eyes conveyed the depth of my appreciation.
Jackson’s eyes held mine a moment longer; then he extended his palms in consent.
I nodded, and his fingers brushed the curve of my calf as they came around the back of the boot.
The warmth and tenderness of his touch surprised me.
He tightened the laces, his gaze alternating between the boots and me.
It wasn’t the sensation of his touch that stirred me, but the care it carried.
“There,” he said, giving both boots a final, approving tap. “You’re all set.”
He offered his hand, which I took, feeling the reassuring strength of his grip as I rose to stand beside him. It didn’t make sense, this tenderness. But I didn’t question it; I knew better not to.
“Ready to learn about dahlias?” he asked.
“Nice boots, Leigh,” Luke said as he approached with several loppers, passing a pair to both me and Jackson.
We walked over to the dahlias, their once-vibrant beauty now reduced to a sad, blackened mush.
“I can’t believe they look like this today,” I said, looking over the field. “They were in full bloom yesterday. Now they’re dead.”
“Dahlias are very sensitive to frost,” Jackson said, kneeling beside the wilted flowers. “But they’re not dead. The flowers and the leaves are gone, but the tubers are not. We gotta dig them up and store them over the winter and replant them in the new field in the spring.”
Luke grunted in response.
Jackson rose to his feet. “Luke hates digging up tubers.”
Luke ignored him.
“Before we dig them up, we have to cut back the main stem and all this foliage,” Jackson said, methodically slicing through it. “We’ll leave a stem handle sticking up out of the ground.”
“Then we dig up the tubers?” I asked.
“Not yet. Once we cut them back, we have to wait.”
“For how long?”
“About a week or two,” Jackson said.
“Why can’t you cut them back and dig them up on the same day?”
“You can,” Jackson said. “It’s not ideal. We want to wait to be able to see the eye. Cutting them back signals the tubers to start sprouting, and this sprout is like the ‘eye.’ We want to see this eye because we’ll be dividing the tuber clumps.”
“And this way we know who’s who and which direction is up,” Luke said jokingly.
I absorbed this information as Jackson continued, “Cutting back also tells the tubers it’s time to cure and toughen up, which will help them store better over the winter.”
We began the laborious task. The field stretched endlessly before us, and Jackson estimated it would take us most of the day.
The autumn sun, unusually warm despite the evening frost, pressed down on us like a heavy blanket.
An hour into our work, a wave of nausea overcame me.
The world shimmered and swayed, a hazy mirage of light and shadow, as though reality itself were dissolving into the heat.
But I kept working anyway, determined to prove my worth.
Another hour later, Jackson approached after finishing his work on the opposite side of the field. Several times, I had caught him glancing in my direction. Now his navy shirt was drenched with sweat, and his face glistened with exertion.
“I noticed you haven’t taken a bathroom break,” Jackson said.
I looked up, surprised. “Huh?”
“You’re not drinking enough water. You haven’t been to the bathroom.”
“I’m sipping here and there.”
“Sipping isn’t enough,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I wiped the sweat from my brow with one long swipe. “You guys can just whip it out and go out here. I can’t. I don’t want to have to stop and walk all the way to the house just to use the bathroom.”
“You know, you’re allowed to take breaks, Leigh.”
“I’m fine.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “You’re barely eating, hardly drinking. You’re going to run yourself ragged.”
“I got it under control, boss,” I said, giving his arm a playful slap, surprising myself. “I promise.”
But as I turned, my steps wavered, and the air around me thickened to silk.
The ground suddenly rose up to meet me as black spots swarmed at the edges of my vision.
Everything melted into a haze of gold and red.
I fumbled for my water bottle, but the world tilted.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was Jackson’s face.
I blinked awake, my eyelids cracking, light seeping in, softly illuminating the room.
I was in my bed in my cabin. Jackson sat in the chair next to the bed, his eyes closed, head tilted back.
The door creaked open and Tibb entered, his presence quiet.
At the sound, Jackson stirred, blinking himself awake as Tibb leaned in and whispered something I could not quite make out.
I let out a fragile groan, and their faces turned toward me.
“Hey,” Jackson said, his voice a rumble as he leaned closer to the bed.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“You passed out,” Jackson said, his jaw tight. “You were dehydrated.”
I lifted my head in an effort to sit up, but the room spun around me. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you,” Jackson said.
“You scared the shit out of us,” Tibb said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah,” came a voice from below. Luke’s head and tousled hair appeared before my eyes as he sat up at the foot of the bed.
“Where are you?” I asked, straining to see him.
“Here,” he said.
“Why are you on the floor?”
Luke raked a hand through his messy hair. “Jack said I couldn’t get in the bed with you.”
I smiled weakly. “There’s plenty of room. You didn’t have to lie on the floor.”
“See, Jack? I told you,” Luke said. “I told him you wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re all here?” I asked, my gaze shifting between them.
“You hit your head pretty hard,” Jackson said.
I attempted to sit up again, but my head felt as though it was filled with lead.
Tibb rose from the bed, and Jackson replaced him. “Don’t try to get up,” he said, his eyes reflecting a tenderness that calmed the disquiet in my chest. “You need to rest.”
“How long have I been out?” I asked, looking around. The room lay shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the glow of two lamps.
“Most of the day,” Jackson said.
“And you’ve all been here with me?” My voice faltered on the final word, choked with unexpected emotion. There was so much work to be done, and they had chosen to stay by my side. A swell of gratitude rose heavy in my chest, almost too much to bear.
Jackson and Tibb exchanged a silent look. Without speaking, Tibb moved toward the door and nudged Luke with a gentle kick. “Let’s go.”
Luke groaned. “I just got comfortable down here.”
Tibb looked back to me. “Jack will talk with you about scheduling; we’ve got some work to do.”
I had no idea what that was all about, but for once, I just nodded.
Luke pushed himself up from the floor, his movements slow as he headed for the door.
Before he exited, he turned back. “And I—” His sentence was cut short by Tibb’s firm hand on his back, guiding him out with a push.
The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Jackson.
I couldn’t look at him just yet, though I could sense his irritation.
Or maybe that was my own irritation at myself.
He had extended his hospitality to me with such generosity, not merely offering me a job but a home, a wide-open door to a new life.
Yet I had repaid his kindness with nothing but trouble.
Now propped up against the headboard, I suddenly realized I wasn’t wearing my clothes. I looked under the covers to find myself dressed in a large T-shirt. The fabric, soft and freshly washed, enveloped me in a comforting embrace of lavender and wood.
“Who changed me?”
“I did,” Jackson said, his tone steady and matter-of-fact. “You were wet and dirty.”
I raised my eyebrows.
Jackson swallowed hard. “I didn’t look. I know how to take off clothes in the dark.”
My face flushed with heat, and I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the shirt.”
“I couldn’t find your pajamas.”
“I don’t have any.”
“I asked Luke’s sister to buy a few things for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, straightening the comforter of the bed so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
“I wanted to.”
I looked up. “Why?”
Jackson leaned back in the chair, releasing a deep sigh.
“It’s a simple answer, but let me offer a little context first.” He crossed his arms. “I met Tibb when I was eight years old. My mother had died, and I was sent to foster care. Tibb was one of the other kids in the foster house.” He paused and ran his hands down his pants. His lips were set in a grim line.
“You don’t have to tell me this,” I said, recognizing the strain in his words.
“I do,” he said, leaning forward then and staring into my eyes with an intensity that burned.
He wanted me not just to hear his words but to feel them in the marrow of my being.
“We have to say the hard things. Out loud. I’ve learned that our past insists on coming back, whether we want it to or not.
But that doesn’t mean it has to dictate who we are now. ”
His eyes continued to bore into mine, vulnerability etched in every line of his face.
“The Andersons were one of those couples who took in foster kids for the money. They didn’t care about us, just that monthly check.
I shared a room with six other boys, including Tibb.
We were the youngest, so we were bullied a lot.
We stuck together. He taught me Creole so we could speak to each other without anyone else understanding.
” A smile flickered across his face, a brief, wistful glimpse of a cherished memory.
“He’s not my blood brother, but he’s my family.
Luke too. The point is, we take care of our own.
You can choose to be part of that or not.
You’re welcome. You can make this place your home if you want.
We’re not bad people. The choice is yours. ”
“Jackson…why are you so nice to me? You don’t know me. I was a stranger a few weeks ago.”
“We’re all strangers until we’re not.”
Jackson stood, heading toward the door with a purposeful stride. “I’ll bring you some food. Eat it.” He smiled, warm but commanding. “And I’m not asking.”