Chapter 2 #2
She was being practical. He had to give her that.
Practicality was something he normally appreciated.
Ohio winters were unpredictable, although a little—or a lot—of snow wouldn’t keep him from getting to Dover.
He kept reading the letter, which like her other letters lately, was at least two pages long.
His letters to her had gotten longer too.
Sometimes they were filled with mundane happenings, but other times he bared his soul, like the time he’d admitted his fear.
When he revealed that to her and she responded with kindness and not judgment, he knew she was special.
Yet while he’d been able to tell her in general about the mistakes he’d made, he couldn’t bring himself to be specific.
There didn’t seem to be a right time to admit he was an alcoholic—albeit a functioning one, not that the distinction mattered.
Or to explain what drove him to drink in the first place.
Admitting the catalyst for his drinking was more terrifying than telling her he was an alcoholic.
He’d have to tell her, though, if things got any more serious between them. He’d put it off as long as possible, since there was an excellent chance that once she knew his darkest secrets, she would bolt. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. But he wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet.
Shoving that thought away, he kept reading.
She told him about her most recent drawings, which he hoped to also see someday.
While she liked to draw, she was downright passionate about food and cooking.
That was something he could appreciate. He hadn’t fallen for Phoebe because she enjoyed food and could cook, but in his mind that was a bonus.
She could also make him laugh, and in this letter she talked about the time she made no-bake chocolate cookies for her brothers and they refused to eat them because they looked like fresh cow patties. He chuckled. Then he reached the end of the letter.
I hope you’re not upset with me. I do want to meet. I really do. I care about you, Jalon. I care about you very much.
Phoebe
He folded the letter and stilled for a moment, letting the last line sink in.
So he hadn’t been wrong about her feelings for him.
He had no clue how he’d been able to read between the lines, but there it was.
He’d wait until she invited him to come see her.
Until then he’d be satisfied with letters.
Jalon put the letter back in his pocket.
He had started to get up when his gaze landed on the top drawer of the end table beside him.
The lightness in his chest disappeared as he pulled the drawer open and took out another letter, one that wasn’t from Phoebe.
Jalon gripped the paper. His father could have told him his plans in any number of ways.
A letter didn’t have to be one of them. A few days ago, when he first read it, he’d been so angry he could barely process the news. But he couldn’t sit on it any longer.
Dear Jalon,
Here are the mortgage papers to the house.
I know I said you and Leanna could stay there as long as you wanted, but things have changed.
Your mother and I need a place to stay here in Mespo.
Things aren’t working out staying with your aunt like we planned and we need our own home.
I don’t make enough money working with your uncle Jeremy to afford two houses.
I have to let the one in Birch Creek go.
I’m giving you the opportunity to take over the payments on the house and farm.
I’ll need to know in a week what your decision is.
I’d make the same offer to Leanna if you weren’t interested, but we both know she can’t afford it.
If you decide to not buy it, let me know within the week so I can put it on the market.
I can’t wait on this, Jalon. If you don’t want the farm, I’ll sell it to someone who does.
If you do decide to take over the payments, just know that I’m a couple of payments behind. You’ll have to make those payments too.
Dad
Angry all over again, Jalon left the letter on the table and went to the mudroom. He put on his coat and a wool cap and went outside. Winter had been brutal this year, and he needed to split and stack more firewood. He also needed to think. He had to give his father an answer by Monday.
He went to the shed and grabbed an ax, then started splitting the wood, his thoughts racing.
He didn’t like being cornered. A week wasn’t enough time to make this kind of decision.
Jalon split a log, then tossed the two pieces to the side.
He still didn’t know what to do, and he suspected Leanna had no idea about their father’s plans.
If she had, she would have said something to Jalon about it.
Now he was left with the task of saving the house and the farm, or letting them go.
Why would his daed leave the decision to him?
And if Jalon did decide to buy the place, what would he do with the farm?
He’d told Phoebe the truth when he said he wasn’t cut out for farming.
When he was a kid, he had liked it, and there were a couple of years when the farm had made his father a small profit.
But about the time Jalon turned fourteen, things changed.
His father struggled, and because of that he was hard to be around, specifically when they were working together.
He could never seem to get the land to produce more than what the family needed to eat.
There was nothing extra to sell other than pigs, which weren’t profitable, and they didn’t have the space or facilities to raise more than a few at a time, plus an extra cow or two.
Daed once called farming similar to a dog chasing its tail—pointless and fruitless. Eventually Jalon had felt the same way.
His father took his frustration out on Jalon mostly with harsh, cutting words, although there were a few times he had given him a smack or two for moving too slowly .
.. or simply because he was mad. As soon as Jalon was old enough, fifteen and finished with school, he started working construction.
It was something he was capable of. Better yet, he was able to add to the family bank account.
As he financially contributed more and his father contributed less, that led to sour feelings between the two, feelings that weren’t fully addressed before his father moved away.
Jalon stopped chopping and looked at the field, which had laid fallow this past spring.
The acreage was covered by a thin layer of snow, but Jalon imagined it in the summer, when the crops were growing, the timothy grass was almost knee-deep, and everything smelled rich and earthy and full of life.
His neighbor, Freemont Yoder, was also a farmer, and while he’d had some lean years, he’d been able to make his farm work. Why couldn’t Daed ?
Why can’t I?
It was more than a random question, or wondering about his father’s ability as a farmer.
Jalon needed a new start. He’d left drinking behind, but it was an everyday struggle.
While he made good money at his construction job, it felt as though he was just cashing a paycheck.
He wasn’t doing anything fulfilling, just drifting through the days like a hot air balloon without an anchor. Construction didn’t keep him grounded.
But farming might.
He shook his head, unable to believe he was even thinking this way.
His mind turned back to Phoebe. While his vocation lacked purpose, her letters gave him life.
During those moments when he was alone and the urge to drink was almost overwhelming, he reread them.
He also prayed, and the combination of leaning on God and knowing there was a special woman out there who possibly cared for him kept him from the bottle.
He looked at the land again. Sure, he could purchase the house and let the farmland go to waste.
But that didn’t sit right. If he was going to do this, he would be all in.
That plan would mean hard work and a steep learning curve, but he did know the basics.
And if he was stumped, he could always ask Freemont for advice.
The way of fools seems right to them, but the wise listen to advice.
He’d heard that proverb a dozen times from Emmanuel Troyer, Sol’s father, who had been their bishop for years until he left in disgrace.
The bishop had seemed to delight in talking about foolish men.
Jalon had always discounted most of his sermons, which usually felt more like guilt trips than actual preaching.
Now the words came back to him. Was he being foolish by sinking his savings into property that had been nothing but a bane to his father?
There was no guarantee he could recoup the investment.
In fact, there was a strong possibility he would lose the farm in foreclosure if he couldn’t make a profit. Then he’d have nothing.
Another proverb came to mind, one he’d heard less often in Bishop Troyer’s sermons.
Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.
He hadn’t really thought about what he wanted in life other than peace, something that had been out of his reach for years.
Maybe that was changing too. The more he thought about taking a stab at farming, the more he wanted to do it.
He would own his own house, taking another step toward a steady future.
And now that he knew Phoebe cared about him, maybe a wife and children were in his future too.
It seemed God was answering a plea Jalon hadn’t been aware he’d been making.