Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
May and June are just about the busiest times of the year on a homestead, and so for several weeks, I don’t have a chance to tell Josh what I learned about Bethany and Ben.
I’m immersed in the garden—planting, weeding, nurturing my tender shoots like they’re children, planting out what I’ve started in the greenhouse, and harvesting our early-season spinach, lettuce, and peas.
With twice the garden we had last year, it’s a lot of work, and there is all the other stuff of life as well.
Plus, I don’t really want to tell Josh about Bethany and Ben, in case he freaks out, or in case he doesn’t freak out.
Either response would probably alarm me.
In any case, I want to get how I feel about a potential proposal straight in my own mind before I tell my husband.
And I suppose Ben will broach the subject with him at some point.
Some point that is potentially imminent.
But with everything else going on, I don’t have a lot of headspace for such a what-if.
The meat chickens arrive, and everyone has to pitch in checking them out and getting them settled in the chicken tractor. We’ve gone for fifty this year, which is a lot of chickens.
Rose has been given the green light to sell her eggs at Buckholt’s farmer’s market after our well was approved, and she now has her own official cottage industry, Rose’s Hens, which means we’re traveling to Buckholt twice a week to sell not just her eggs, but a few things I’ve made, too—bread, pies, and some of our maple syrup.
One day, I dream of selling our milk and cheese, but that requires a level of certification—and professional-level cleanliness—we don’t quite have yet.
Still, it’s fun if time-consuming, and I’m surprised at how quickly everything is bought.
The money, while not a huge amount, helps, too.
In the middle of the month, Josh buys the promised goose, which Josh promptly names Satan.
She does have a pretty evil personality, although I gather plenty of geese do.
She waddles around the whole property, coming up onto the porch and once even trying to get into the house, and she flies at anyone who tries to stop her, beak at the ready. More than one of us has gotten pecked.
She’s clearly the queen of her domain, and truth be told, I think all our other animals are a little afraid of her.
Max certainly gives her a wide berth. She does help with weeds, though, but overall, I’m not sure Satan is a net win for our homestead.
I don’t say as much to Josh, though, because he loves seeing her wandering around like something out of a nursery rhyme.
The glamping site is coming along, too. The yurts are furnished with double beds and kilim rugs, fire pits and Adirondack chairs in front of each one.
When I fretted about the start-up expense of all this, Josh assured me he was only using money made off our investments, so our bank balance wasn’t dipping any lower than it already has.
That made me feel marginally better, but it still feels like a risk.
Do people really want to glamp in the wilds of West Virginia?
We’re not near that many attractions, what with Buckholt a whole hour away.
Josh assures me they will, and William seems to think so, as well.
He’s been working on our website—Wildflower Valley Glamping, your Home Away from Home.
Bethany, an amateur photographer, took the photos for the site, and Rose acted as her model—sitting curled up in a chair by the fire, kneeling on a paddleboard, and grinning as she collected eggs. I have to say, she was a natural.
So, with all of that going on, there’s barely been time to take a break, never mind have a serious conversation. I do find the time to drive down to Hooch’s old place—it’s still hard to think of it any other way—and have a drink with my new neighbor.
I haven’t seen Diana since I met her, but when I pull into the drive, I see she’s made some improvements on the house already.
The plastic sheet over one window has been replaced with glass, and the tarpaper roof has been shingled.
She greets me at the door, apologizing that she only has water or wine, and I tell her I’m fine with water.
I've been drinking a lot of seltzer since I found out I was pregnant.
“You look like you’re settling in pretty well,” I remark as I come into the living room, which is looking way cozier than it did when Hooch lived here.
There’s a squashy sofa in dusty rose piled with throw pillows, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table, and a lot of art on the walls—funky, modern stuff I’m sure is very deep but whose appeal I don’t always understand.
One picture is just a bunch of crisscrossed lines in different colors. I wonder how much she paid for it.
She catches me looking and gives a semi-apologetic grimace. “I’m a collector by default. My dad was an art dealer, and he gave me his leftover stock when he retired.” She glances ruefully at the cluttered walls. “They’re all as-yet-undiscovered masterpieces.”
I laugh at her choice of words. “Aren’t we all?”
“I live in hope,” she replies, and goes to get my seltzer.
“So, I think Hooch, who you bought this place from, said you’re from Chicago?
” I ask once we’re settled on opposite sides of the sofa with our drinks.
Diana’s legs are tucked up neatly under her, and I’m sprawled out like a beached whale.
At nearly seven months pregnant, I’m really starting to feel it.
Actually, I’ve been feeling it all along. Pregnancy at forty-four is no joke.
“Yes, my husband, I should say ex-husband, and I lived there for twenty years.” She grimaces. “I’m sorry, I’m probably going to be one of those really boring people who always mention their horrible ex.”
I give a grimace of sympathy back. “How long have you been divorced?”
“Four months. It still feels very new.” She takes a gulp of wine. “He cheated on me. With a twenty-two-year-old.”
“Ouch.” I’m not sure what else to say.
“The funny thing is, that’s not the worst thing, in a way. I mean, yeah, it’s bad. Really bad. But what really disappointed and even hurt me was how he’d changed.” She gives me a quick, furtive glance. “Sorry, am I totally boring you?”
“Not at all.” Getting the down low on someone’s life story is pretty fascinating, actually.
“We were always big activists,” she explains.
“I did notice all the bumper stickers,” I admit.
She gives a rueful laugh. “Oh, yeah. Some of those are a little obnoxious as well as out of date, but, well… we believed, you know? We wanted to make a difference in this world. Do good. I learned it from my parents—genuine hippies, at least for a while. And Rob… that’s my ex-husband, he was always so passionate about so many causes.
It’s why I fell in love with him my senior year at the University of Chicago.
He organized the environmental march on Earth Day. ”
She sighs, lost in memories for a moment, before she resumes.
“But then, as the years went by, I started to… grow up, I guess. I didn’t want to just wave banners and feel good about myself for being seen as doing something. I wanted to actually do good. Something concrete that made a difference.”
“That’s understandable,” I murmur. “And admirable.”
“Well… it didn’t seem like much, but… it was hard to think of what I could do.
Rob didn’t want children—he said he didn’t want to contribute to the overpopulation crisis, but in retrospect, I think he was just selfish—so I suggested we adopt the kind of child who wouldn’t get adopted otherwise.
An older child, maybe, or one from a really troubled background.
Give them a good start in life, the kind they’d never get otherwise.
He said no. Said he wasn’t called to that kind of charitable work.
” She makes a face. “He didn’t even want to adopt a rescue dog.
Or pick up litter for our neighborhood park when I suggested we spend one Saturday doing just that.
Or volunteer in our local soup kitchen on Thanksgiving, even though we had nowhere we needed to be.
He just wanted to… yell about stuff, I guess, and look like he cared.
And I realized that was something I really didn’t want to do anymore.
”“I have to say, Rob is not coming out of this looking good,” I tell her.
She lets out a snort of laughter.
“Well, then, he found someone who also liked yelling. A very politically active know-it-all who was a senior in college. Rob was forty-two.”
I can’t help but make a face. “Gross.”
“I know.” Diana shakes her head. “He said they were soulmates. And maybe they are, because maturity-wise, they’re about the same level. They’re still together, anyway, and it’s been… what? All of six months? That’s a long time for a twenty-two-year-old.”
Despite her jokey tone, I can hear the hurt in her voice needling through. “I’m sorry,” I tell her quietly. “That all sounds really tough.”
“Well.” She sighs and discreetly wipes her eyes. “It was. But I’m doing my best to have my own fresh start… here.” She looks around ruefully. “All my friends back in Chicago think I’m crazy.”
“Well… I have to ask, why did you pick Wildflower Valley?” I ask curiously. “It’s off the beaten track, for sure.”
“Why did you?” she tosses back at me with a smile, and I can’t help but laugh.
“If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have. My husband convinced me… and my whole family, that homesteading was the way to go. It took me a whole year to get on board, but here we are. He found our place online, and I have to say, it’s been the best decision we’ve ever made. We all love it here.”
Diana looks at me with undisguised envy.
“I hope I’m saying that in a year. I don’t know anything about homesteading, but I like to garden, and I figured I could have as many rescue pets as I wanted out here and become the weird single cat lady that everyone loves to joke about.
Plus, I love the song Country Roads, and it says that West Virginia is practically heaven.
” She grins as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “So, why not?”
“Why not?” I agree. “You’ll have to come over to dinner and meet the family.” And maybe I’ll invite Mike. Although I have a suspicion they’re pretty different politically, they might have more in common than either of them realizes. They’re both, I think, desperately lonely.
I leave a little while later, promising to set a date for dinner—Diana doesn’t want to meet anyone until the blue hair dye has faded a little more.
As I head back home, I decide I really do like our new neighbor.
She’s funny and honest and maybe a little crazy, but aren’t we all?
I’ll have to introduce her to Emmy and the Peppers and maybe a few people from church, too.
And, of course, Mike Landry… that could either go really well or be a disaster.
The jury is definitely out on which one it might be.
As I come into the house, I see Josh sitting on the sofa, his back ramrod straight, his face as white as a sheet.
Rose is in bed, and Jack and William are still out bowling with the church youth group in Buckholt, a fairly recent development in their social lives.
My dad is either asleep or watching TV in his room.
Various animals are sprawled about on the sofa or the floor, and everything seems peaceful. So why does my husband look like he’s seen a ghost?
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I drop my keys on a side table.
He looks up at me, his eyes wide, his mouth opening in what feels like a silent scream. It takes a few seconds before he’s able to speak.
“You’ll never guess what Ben Wilson came over here to ask me tonight.”