Chapter 24
So, New York. . . . What actually brought you to Cedar Falls?” Jake led the way to the chicken house, grabbing an empty basket and a bag of feed from a shed on their way, his broad shoulders and narrow waist grabbing Mary’s attention.
“It’s kind of a long story.” Mary went on to explain as best she could.
“So you left your job and your family to come here to help the Democrats win an election. Do I have that right?”
“Yeah. Well, Dot came to work on the election, and Harper and I help her whenever she needs it. She convinced us to come along for the ride. You know, one last big adventure before we all settle down and can’t do wild and crazy things anymore,” Mary said, watching where she walked.
“I still work for my law firm, just from my bedroom. But it’s only until the election, then we go home. Back to the city.”
“So it’s like a gap year—but one you do after college?” he asked.
“That’s a good way to put it,” she replied, nodding her head.
They stepped into the fenced-in chicken area. Several chickens squawked around their feet and pecked at their boots. Mary squealed and kicked up her heels in fear.
“They won’t hurt you. I promise.”
“They’re kind of scary with those red-rimmed eyes.”
“Any worse than the pigeons in Manhattan?”
“Fair point. There’s a woman who feeds them near my apartment. I get so mad at her, but she seems to love them. Like they’re her best friends. So I just stay out of her way.”
“Around here, these birds we actually have to feed. Here, you can help. Just take this bag and scatter handfuls of this food into these trays, and I’ll get them something to drink.”
Mary stuck a gloved hand into the bag of tiny pellets of corn, barley, and oats and did as he instructed.
Jake refilled the chickens’ water tray from a pump. “Here’s something. You know this chicken coop is haunted?”
“It is?”
“Yes. We have a poultry-geist.”
“You’re an idiot.” But she giggled.
Then Jake ducked into a henhouse that smelled sharp and unpleasant. He came out with several eggs in a basket.
“Here’s breakfast,” he said. She winced. The eggs were dirty.
“Oh, come on. Where did you think eggs came from?”
“Trader Joe’s.”
“Who’s that?”
“A guy I see a lot back home. He’s got a killer frozen food section.”
Mary pointed to a stump with a large red stain. The blade of an axe stuck out of the top. “What’s that?”
“That, New York, is where your dinner came from.”
Mary paled and swallowed.
“Come on, now. Do you think your grandma got chicken from a lab?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Well, now you can tell everybody back home that you saw where real food comes from.”
“They’d never believe this.” She looked around at the scenery and took a deep breath of the fresh air.
“I think you look great in my mom’s boots and that barn coat.”
She threw her arms out wide and looked down at her outfit.
“Think I’m pulling this off?”
“Wow. You move fast. We just met and you’re talking about pulling your clothes off?”
“You can dream. But I’m keeping all my clothes on.”
Jake laughed, taking off his gloves and stuffing them in the back pocket of his jeans. Then he stepped closer to her and tipped back her chin with his free hand, which she didn’t mind at all.
“Oh, New York. I have a feeling you can pull anything off.”
She met his eyes and for once was without words. He held her gaze for a few beats.
“Come on. Let’s go eat.” Then he reached for her hand, and she followed him back to the house.
MEANWHILE, TOMMY TOOK Harper into the dairy barn. The animal smells were pungent and caught Harper by surprise.
“Oh my,” she said and put her hand over her nose.
“You get used to it,” he said, but she had her doubts.
Tommy grabbed a bucket and some gloves for the one remaining cow waiting to be milked. She noticed how he wore his hair long and how he favored his left leg a little bit. That must have been from the hockey injury Grace had mentioned.
“Ever milked a cow before?” he asked.
“Definitely not.”
“Want to try?”
“Definitely not sure.”
“Come, I’ll show you.” He pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and grabbed a stool. He set it next to a large cow that stomped her back legs in anticipation of being milked. Harper jumped.
“She won’t hurt you. Just stand to the side, though.” He put his hand on the cow’s haunches. “Easy there, Bessie.”
“Her name is Bessie?”
“We call all of them Bessie. Makes it easier.” Tommy sat on the stool and showed her how it was done. “First, we clean her all up to get rid of any dirt. That helps get the milk flowing, too. Then you hold the udder between your thumb and finger, give a little squeeze, and then try again.”
Suddenly and smoothly, the milk started to stream into the bucket.
“Want to give it a try?” He offered her the seat and crouched beside her. She put on the gloves he handed to her and reached for the teat. On her first attempt, she missed the bucket and squirted milk right into Tommy’s face.
“I’m so sorry!” She was mortified, but he just laughed and wiped it off with the back of his gloved hand.
“Nice shot. Try again.” He put his hand over hers and showed her how to get it just right. “Try to breathe easily. If you’re nervous, she’ll sense it, and then we’ll be here all night.”
Harper willed herself to chill out. And then, slowly, she started to get the hang of it.
“I see. There’s a rhythm to follow,” Harper said.
“Exactly. See! You’re a natural.”
She was almost disappointed when it was over.
Tommy added some feed to Bessie’s trough and grabbed the bucket that was nearly half-full. He poured a bit into a large cast-iron skillet.
“For the barn cats.” Harper saw a couple of skinny cats and a few kittens come out of their hiding places.
“They’re so cute!”
“Good mousers, too. Everyone’s got a job around here.”
They walked to where a big machine was churning the milk. Joe had already dumped his bucket in and gone up to the house.
Tommy dipped a ladle in and said to Harper, “Here, have a taste.”
“Oh, I don’t drink milk. I think I might be lactose intolerant.”
“Ah. That’s just something TikTok has told people. I promise; we’ve drank milk all our lives. Trust me?” Tommy motioned her to try it. “I promise you’ve never tasted cream like this.”
“Is it safe? It hasn’t been cleaned or anything.”
“You literally can’t get milk fresher than this. It hasn’t had a chance to get messed with. That’s what they do at the factories before they ship it out to you folks in Brooklyn.”
“Manhattan. I grew up in Brooklyn but moved to Manhattan.”
“Is there a big difference?”
“How much time do you have?”
“Clearly not enough,” he said. “Here. Drink up!”
“Okay. But if I get sick, you’ll owe me . . . something.”
“I’m confident you won’t get sick.”
She decided a little couldn’t hurt and brought the ladle to her lips. A sweet cream that felt like velvet coated her tongue. She swallowed and was surprised by how good it tasted. “Okay, you were right. That’s so different from back home.” She bent her head down for one more taste.
“I’ve always loved it,” he said, removing his gloves and taking Harper’s to put in the bin. “In fact, I have a dream of starting a little ice cream store on one of the back roads of the farm. Like a special destination with an Instagrammable setting. But my family thinks I’m crazy.”
“I like the idea. It’s like that movie about the baseball field in Iowa.”
“Yes, you get it! Build it and they will come,” Tommy said. “I even have a name picked out.”
“Let’s hear it,” she said enthusiastically.
“Alotto Gelato.”
“Oh, that’s awful.” She laughed. “But I see the potential.”
They smiled at each other, and he instinctively reached up to tuck one of her loose curls behind her ear.
She let his hand linger, enjoying the moment.
As they walked back, she felt lighter in spirit than she had in months.
IN THE KITCHEN, Dot stirred the creamed spinach while Grace mashed the potatoes with a mixer. They chatted about life in Cedar Falls.
“How long has the farm been in the family?” Dot asked while she set the table using dishes and silverware from an antique sideboard.
“About a hundred and forty years, believe it or not,” Grace said. “Joe’s the sixth generation. It’s a tough way to make a living, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She looked out the kitchen window where Joe was feeding the dogs in the fading sunshine. A car with its headlights on pulled into the drive.
“Are we expecting one more?” Dot asked, counting the number of plates and people again.
“Oh, that’ll be Danny. Remember him from the bookstore? He comes every Sunday.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. Great.” Dot tried to sound casual about it despite the flutter in her heart. Straightening her back and smoothing her hair, she wondered if he’d remembered her.
Because, despite her pledge to focus on her career for the year before looking to date again, the sad-eyed boy from the bookstore had been on Dot’s mind.