Chapter Thirty-Two
George
I was the only one in the bedroom when my grandfather died.
It happened a few days after our celebration.
His breathing turned shallow, and his skin appeared pale and mottled.
One by one, everyone kissed his forehead or said a prayer by his bedside before they left the bedroom.
Betty Lou, Miss Jenny, Nurse Gale, and even Madison left me alone to give me privacy so I could say my final goodbyes.
I remember a sure calmness washing over me. I wasn’t panicked or afraid. There was a powerful presence of pure love in the room.
I remember the hush and the stillness in the air as my mind played back happy memories. I told him I was blessed for spending the last thirty-five years with him, grateful he was and always would be my grandfather.
I held his hand and calmly whispered into the quietness near his ear.
“Grandma Rosie is waiting for you, Pop. Remember how she always scoped things out for you? Like when Garcia’s first opened, she did a taste test on the tacos to make sure you'd like them. Or when she got that fancy cell phone with all the bells and whistles and learned how to look up weather forecasts and gardening tips on the Farmers’ Almanac app so she could teach you?
She even showed me how to plan ahead for the best days to plant and fish. ”
His eyes remained closed, but I knew somehow, someway, he could hear me. He was only breathing periodically now, with an intake of breath followed by no breath for several seconds. His hand was warm in mine, and I squeezed, knowing I didn’t have much time.
“Well, she’s been scoping out heaven for several years now. She’s going to have so much to show you. And I know it will knock your boots off.” I blinked back the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I want you to go to her, Pop. You don’t need to stay here and worry about me anymore. I’ve got Madison and the whole town to back me up. I want you to know you did good. Real good.” I swiped my sleeve under my nose as I tried to keep it together.
“I’m a better man because of you, Pop. I promise I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna keep the farm going for years to come. I’ll make you proud. You’ll see.”
I started to sob, my vision of him lying there on the bed watery and muted. “Please give Grandma Rosie a big hug from me, and tell her I love her.”
My voice cracked as I pressed on, determined to say what I needed to say. “I love you too, Pop. I’ll always, always love you. And when the southern winds blow the scent of lavender across the fields, I’ll know that’s your sign you’re looking out for me. That’ll be our little secret. Okay?”
I pressed my lips to his hand. “Now, stop dilly-dallying and go to Grandma Rosie. It’s time.”
A few minutes later, I watched his chest rise and then witnessed his final exhale of breath. Long and slow.
And then… silence.
The moment was profound even though I expected it.
This man, my grandfather and the only father figure I’ve ever known, who raised me as his own and loved me unconditionally, was finally at peace and in the arms of his beloved.
It gave me great comfort knowing those two were together again.
They were finally whole, as Madison explained to me. Two halves back together.
Complete.
I know the intensity of my grief will ease over time, but I will never get over the loss of my grandfather.
For now, I’ll focus on the good things and their impact on my life.
After Grandma Rosie died, he used to remind me that death was a natural part of life.
And even though it’s painful, it’s part of the human experience.
My experience.
I have a lot more living to do. More to explore in my life. More adventures and milestones with Madison by my side.
Sweet, gorgeous, loyal, Madison.
I felt terrible when we had to postpone our wedding. But in hindsight, it was the right thing to do. We turned our special day into a glorious celebration of life for my grandfather, and I’ll always be indebted to Madison for her sacrifice.
We’ve chosen to live together in the big house, our wedding on hold for now. If I had it my way, we’d get married at the Heartsboro Courthouse—quick and easy without a bunch of fuss. But she deserves the wedding of her dreams, not some quickie, boring ceremony in front of a judge.
Madison mentioned a Christmas-themed wedding in December, and I must admit, the idea has grown on me. I love Christmas. And I love Madison.
It’s a win-win combination.
***
As I walk along the pathways in the dormant lavender fields, there’s a slight nip in the air as the morning fog surrounds me.
As usual, I’m up at sunrise, traipsing across the property with purpose and vision.
The farm is all mine now. I didn’t cave and sell part of it to Kip Johnson.
Everyone close to me convinced me I could do this, that I could run the farm with the help of some of the loyal workers, and with Madison by my side.
And now that I’ve had time to face this without my grandfather’s help, I believe I can.
I’m unsure if I would’ve made this decision if it hadn’t been for their belief in me. But I did make this decision on my own. And it’s a good one too. My lips curl into a smile, knowing Pop would be proud of me.
Madison’s condo is on the market, and she’s officially unemployed.
Well, unemployed in the corporate world.
She wrapped things up with her company, helping them transition her contracts to another teammate.
I’m proud of her for not burning any bridges, her professionalism and work ethic impressive.
She’s already taken over the accounting books for the farm, and we’ve turned my cottage into a guest house where Beverly stays during her frequent visits.
I know Jamison Farm is in good hands with Madison at the helm of the financial wheel.
The big news is that I fired Kip and hired Billy Hood shortly after Pop died.
Billy is a longtime worker who knows the farm like the back of his hand.
He was ecstatic when I offered him the job.
He was also glad he wouldn’t have to work with Kip any longer.
That’s what surprised me the most through all of this: Kip.
I never realized how much his bullying grated on others because I assumed I was the only one who ever experienced his wrath.
Boy, was I wrong. The other workers shared countless stories about what a jerk he was to them over the years, even to some of our clients.
Thank goodness that chapter has finally come to an end.
I watch the rusty windmill in the open fields teeter and tilt in the breeze. It’s wild to think I’m responsible for the windmill. And the surrounding fields, fenceposts, houses, underground spring, and barns. I’m in charge of everything on the farm.
Me.
George Jamison.
With my hands planted on my hips, I turn my focus toward the historic red barn in the distance, the one my grandfather’s ancestors built with their bare hands. My brow furrows when I notice a peculiar dark purple fog rising from the rooftop. Or maybe it’s smoke.
Smoke?
My adrenaline kicks in, and I race across the fields toward the structure.
I gallop up the small embankment and see the onset of apparent flames between the cracks of the barn wood, sending thick plumes of purple smoke into the already hazy sky.
I struggle with the latch on the barn door, my muscles straining as I slide it open, a thick cloud of smoke and several chickens exiting in a rush of feathers and high-pitched squawks to safety.
I look up into the rafters, my heart sinking at the sight of the upside-down lavender fully engulfed, the tongues of fire licking at the walls and consuming the rafters. The destructive scene is almost too much to bear.
I rush to the master switch outside the barn to cut off the power, and I remember the hose hooked up by the water trough. As I round the corner with my boots sliding on the hard-packed earth, I spot Kip in the distance, running through the fields, away from the devastation.
“What the…”
I drop the hose and run after him at full speed, the ancient structure behind me crackling and groaning under the intense heat. But the barn, filled with an entire profitable year of burning lavender is the least of my worries right now.
This is what Kip meant when he told Madison there would be payback.
I watch him try to scale a fence until his boot gets stuck in the barbed wire. I’m gaining on him and can see the terror in his expression as he struggles and flails to get away.
By this time, several of the day laborers have arrived, and grown men are jumping out of trucks and using the hose to douse the dry grass around the terrifying blaze so it won’t spread to the main house. Hopefully, someone has called the authorities.
My mind flitters for a millisecond.
Madison.
I left her sound asleep in our bed with Frankie and Earl curled up at the footboard.
I hesitate and look over my shoulder. I’m instantly relieved when I see her running across the field toward me, thankful she’s not inside.
The hem of her white nightgown beneath her pink robe billows in the breeze, and she’s wearing her cowboy boots. She looks like a country angel.
But the brevity of that moment ends, and my protectiveness toward her and the farm I love kicks in. I vigorously grab Kip by the boot and force him off the fence. He lands with a thud on the ground, his other boot still twisted in the steel barbs like a prisoner.
My chest is heaving as I stand over him, my entire body a large shadow threatening to swallow him whole. My muscles are tense, my shoulders clenched, and my hands fisted, ready for action. I want to kill Kip Johnson for what he’s done, his retaliation unfathomable.
“George!”