Date: Fri, 16 Feb 2024 09:30:41 +0000
From: Griz <UMGriz@proton.me>
Subject: Harvard Comes To Montana - Chapter Twenty-One

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty-One

By Griz

Umgriz@protonmail.com


Hi, Bale-Buckers;

Jozef and the folks are finally on Monday, and it is not a boring lazy day
for any of them.  As usual, it starts while the sky is still dark and
quiet. The Team returns for Day Three of the harvest. Just lots going on.
You'll see.

Another longer chapter, but there's no logical way to break it up into
smaller chapters.  You know better than I at the speed you read for
comfortable comprehension.  You can break this up as it pleases you, or
makes sense to you.  I'm fine with all of it.  My only priority: writing a
story you want to read.

Thanks to all of you who've written with something to say; to guide me,
complement me, constructively criticize me, to even (in one case) give me
your phone number with instructions to call sometime.  That's nice.  Maybe
we'll talk.

For now, I present to you "Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty-One

With all my respect and appreciation;

Griz



*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction.  If you are under the
age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where
you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives
opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out
how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***


***********************************************************


Before I could respond, before I could even think of how to respond, Marc's
eyelids fluttered and he was asleep.  His hand relaxed from the side of my
face to my neck, and I made no effort to move it.  `Hold me in the palm of
your hand.  Let me rest there; safe, warm and loved.'  Tears welled in my
eyes, and suddenly, I knew to respond to my sleeping man.

I love you, too, Marc.  I laid still on my side, seeing Marc just barely in
the reflection of the yard light from the ceiling of my room.  My fingers
lay nestled in his still-damp hair, where I could feel his heart beat slow
and steadily through the rise and fall of Marc's chest.  I needed sleep,
and I wanted it; but more, I wanted to lie there gazing at the man who said
he loved me.  I've had vivid dreams.  This might be one of them.  If I stay
awake, if I never sleep, this dream can't end.

Famous last words, or last thoughts, before being buzzed by my watch's
alarm.  Marc's face wasn't there.  Oh.  It was a dream, after all.  And
what a good one.  Waking was better, though.....the back of Marc's head was
at my chin, and his shoulders pressed against my chest.  I had my arms
wrapped around him, holding him close.  My hand was still on his chest,
warm and soft and.....mine.  Marc told me he was mine.  I'll just assume he
was including his chest in that declaration.


The vibration of my watch stirred Marc, who clasped my hand tighter against
his chest.

"Mornin', Babe."

"Hi, Boyfriend.  Sleep okay?"

"Never better.  I think I mean that."

"Nice, Marc.  This bed is a little small and a little old, though."

"Awww, don't dis your bed!  It has charm, and we made it work all right."

"We did.  I think we could make a bale of straw work, like OC does.  Just
hope we don't have to find out, though."

"Speaking of OC The Guard Cat.....I think I'll get up and go check on them.
What time is it, Jozef?"

"4:30 or so.  I guess I'll get washed up and go see what's for breakfast.
No cold spaghetti leftovers, dangit.  It's my second favorite, behind cold
pizza."

"Too bad there are no lights on the county road; we could go for a quick
run before breakfast."

"You and your runs!  I know for a fact the distance from the kitchen door
to the far end of the barn is 200 feet.  Just run back and forth between
the two a hundred times.  I'll have a scramble waiting for you."

"You don't want to come?"

"Heck, no."

"What if I start running and get lost again?"

"You can stay lost until the Sun comes up.  Just make sure you're faster
than the coyotes.  Or Barn Owl."

"Hrmph.  What's going in that scramble?"

"The egg shells, if you don't get out of bed."

"I'll wait for Marie to make breakfast.  She likes me.  I bet she'll bring
it to me up here, too."

"OH, yeah, she will.  She'll bring it up here, open the window and throw
the breakfast right out, and then you right behind it."

"Well, no one ever brought me breakfast in bed before work at Harvard,
either.  Nothing ever changes except the ZIP codes.  Fine.  Bernesers
before breakfast."

Just as we were making up the bed, there was a gentle knock on the door.  I
frowned a little, having not heard a knock on my door since I was a kid.  I
mean a little kid.  I walked over and opened it, and there was Smiling Mom,
holding two big mugs of coffee and two little plates balanced on top,
carrying a half of a cinnamon roll each.

"Morning, Boys.  Thought you could use this.  I need to go hunt up some
eggs before I can get breakfast started.  Here's the first course!"

Marc gave me a sarcastic `what the fuck were you just saying?' look and
walked over to give Mom a kiss on the cheek and take his pre-dawn treat.  I
did the same and gave Marc a sarcastic `you won THIS round, Fucker' look.
Speak volumes, say nothing; even before the chores were done.

Bed made and cinnamon semi-roll inhaled, we walked down with the coffee and
discussed the day.  Aleksy and Eva were down a moment later.  She was
dressed and ready to start the day at `Common Grounds'.  She smiled `Good
Mornings' all around, and those two kissed at the kitchen door.  He held
her hand while she began walking outside, but his own bare feet never
leaving the kitchen floor.

"You want me to come in with you?"

"Aww, thanks; no, though.  I'll be all right.  I bet Dan and ten truckers
are right there, waiting for their first thermoses full of French Roast
drip.  No fancy drinks for awhile.  Are you coming in later?"

"Not sure.  Kiddo here....."

"NO!  NO `KIDDO'!"

"As I was saying, `Punk-Assed Kiddo' here has some stuff to do in town.
I'll be here.  But if you have an emergency, just call, and I'm right
there."

"Thanks, Aleksy."

Eva stepped back into the kitchen and gave my big brother another kiss
before stepping outside.  He followed her anyway, since who knows what
monsters lurk in a well-illuminated barnyard in Fergus County.  I shouldn't
joke, really.....monsters are everywhere.  We saw that Saturday evening.
And oh, that reminded me.....Junior's arraignment was Monday morning, and
that was Monday morning.

"Mom, I have something else I need to do in town.  All three of you: call
or text if you need anything while I'm there.  For now, I'm taking care of
the horsies and Sebastian."

Mom frowned for real.

"Jozef, listen.  About Sebastian.....you do what you think is right.  I
back you entirely.  You, your dad and Ross Sweeney shook hands.  What does
a handshake mean to you?"

"It binds a verbal contract, or at least that's one of the things it means
to me."

Aleksy was looking between Mom and me, and his eyebrows bunched up
together.

"What's this about?  You having second thoughts about selling Sebastian to
the Yogo?"

"Of course I am, but I can't go back on my word."

"Well, then what're you talking about, Mom?"

"I'm done talking.  I have eggs to hunt, or I know four hungry humans who
won't get breakfast."

Mom walked out the door with the basket that has hung by the kitchen door
for over one hundred years.  My brother turned to me once she was out.

"What is she talking about, or what is she done talking about?"

"I have no clue!  She's talking like Grandpa Gimbal; two questions for me
for every question I asked him.  Anyway, I'll find out soon enough.  I'm
meeting him at the Yogo for breakfast.  Swedish Pancakes!  And
Lingonberries!"

"Ah, then you won't need breakfast here.  I get your eggs in my omelette!"

"The heck you do!  That's my first breakfast.  Second one, and the lesser
of the two, will be in town.  I just agreed to his offer for the pancakes
because I'm polite that way.  You could use lessons in politeness, Big
Brother."

"I could use your name on adoption papers right about now."

Marc was laughing hard at us, but he come over and hugged me from behind.

"Don't worry, Kiddo....."

"NOOOOO!!!  NO MORE KIDDO!  NEVER, EVER, EVER AGAIN!!!"

".....I'll adopt you!"

Aleksy was laughing now, too.

"Good luck!  he's barely housebroken!  You might have to keep him in the
new dog run!  At least that'll give OC a rest!"

"HAHAHAHA!!!!!  Well, aren't you two a couple of funny fuckers, and it's
not even five in the morning.  I'm going where my mere presence and
brilliance are appreciated----out with Sebastian.  And Bolt and Stan."

Marc was still holding onto me and kissed my ear.

"Oh, come on, then; I'll do the thirteen little horses and you do the three
big dogs.  We should get you outside before your massive ego takes up the
entire kitchen!"

Aleksy roared at that.  Even I couldn't help but laugh.

`Massive Ego', indeed.  No such thing on THIS land.


Marc and I walked to the barn together.  We brushed our teeth in the barn
bathroom and finally shared a kiss.  That cinnamon roll was good; I wonder
if Colgate makes a toothpaste flavored like that.

Lola was woofing and waking up the whole barn.  Time to go out.  She's a
great dog.  She has all that straw on the floor of her stall, expressly for
that purpose (well, and to help her and the pups have some padding beneath
the towels), but she holds it all until someone shows up to give her some
Me Time.  Out she ran, and OC, too, got up and stretched.  He was now
staying right down with the others.  Old Cat, Honorary Berneser.  Come get
your duck heart, Bud.

My little guy---and all the others---were sleeping peacefully, despite the
commotion from the adults in the stall with them.  I knelt down to make
sure each was breathing.  They were.  My gosh, did they grow more
overnight?  They were now five days old.  Twelve for twelve, still with us.
Good Job, Mama Dog and Uncle Cat.  And Uncle LeVar.  He actually kept them
at Thirteen for thirteen with the emergency hysterectomy he performed on
Lola Cola.  His first, and her first and last litter before it.  Tom said
everyone was very lucky, and hoped he'd get some time in with LeVar.


You know, LeVar's history is an interesting one.  He was born one of six
boys to a father from St Thomas and a mother from Puerto Rico.  LeVar
was---and remains---the youngest of them.  Their father joined the US Army
right out of high school, where he met his future wife.  Both were south of
Seattle, at Fort Lewis.  Ten years later, LeVar was born, and like my boy
Tom, loved animals from the moment he could call them by their species'
names.


One day in his third grade class, a veterinarian came to LeVar's school's
'Career Day'.  He had brought with him a chicken and chicks and some eggs,
a little lamb, a baby calf and a three-month-old colt.  That was all it
took.  LeVar created a slight emergency when the class returned to the
classroom after the veterinarian had finished letting all the school's kids
meet and pet the little animals (Well, except the hen.  She was no fool.
Kids carry diseases, after all.....).

The only empty seat in LeVar's classroom was his.  The teacher sent the
teacher's aide back outside to look for him.  She also sent three boys to
each of the three boys' restrooms to see if he was there.  Nope.  No LeVar.
Well, that would be a problem for the school folks to resolve; the
veterinarian had to go to the next school in the district.  When he got to
his truck and had all the animals loaded in the big trailer, he got behind
the wheel.  There was little LeVar in the passenger seat, ready to go with
the vet to live the life the eight-year-old already knew he was born to
live.

With reluctance, LeVar let Dr Fanucci walk him back into his classroom,
where the principal was now trying to calm the other kids down while the
teacher was on her cell phone with LeVar's parents.  Crisis averted.  Dr
Fanucci explained where he'd found LeVar.  He then pulled his wallet out
and handed two business cards to the future veterinarian, explaining that
he wanted to get emails from LeVar with any questions he had about animals
or the profession of caring for them.

Eight years became eighteen, and LeVar graduated high school in Tacoma,
Washington (Mount Tahoma High, REPRESENT!) having taken all three biology
courses taught there, and awarded two scholarships to Washington State
University in Pullman.  In each Summer between years and after graduation,
LeVar interned with Dr Fanucci.  It was time to go on to get his DVM
(Doctor of Veterinary Medicine).  For that, he chose Colorado State, so he
could get fresh perspectives from an entirely different faculty.

Dr Fanucci got hands shaking between LeVar and Sally, a young vet he had
met at a regional convention in Missoula, Montana.  From there, LeVar was
interning with Sally in Fergus County.  He would graduate in one more year,
so until at least then, Farm W would have the best care possible.

Well, until my boy Tommy could join the practice.  Sally, LeVar and Tom,
from small animals to large, domestic to exotic, mammals to reptiles and
anything in between.  You can see now why it made sense for me as a farmer
to focus on flora only, and leave the fauna in the best and most capable
hands.  We would probably always run a small herd, but that, Aleksy and I
could handle.  Or could we?  I think my big brother might just've been
starting to wake up and realize we now had an opportunity---if not a
responsibility---to get a human herd started, too.


Why do I think that?  Because when I went upstairs to shower after doing
the chores, Aleksy was standing in the empty bedroom next to his, leaning
on the door jamb.

"What're you doing, watching some spider spin a web in a corner?"

"No, but at least a spider would get some use out of this room."

"Yeah, in that sense, it's another reason it's good you're here.  Until you
got back, I was mighty lonely up here.  Farm W's own `Siberia'.  One
bedroom out of four being used, and one bathroom out of two.  Can you
imagine this place when there were ten kids of all ages running around up
here?"

Aleksy smiled at me.

"No, and I can't imagine ten running around up here now.  But something
tells me you can."

I smiled back.

"Danged skippy, Skippy.  Git busy!  You two are still young enough!"

"Oh, no, you don't!  You're not putting all the work on me and Eva!"

"Um, exactly how do you plan on Marc and me planning?"

"You graduated a year early!  You're so smart, you'll figure out something.
Tell you what: I'll agree to a one-to-one match, up to five from our end of
the hallway."

"Don't tease yer little brother....."

"I'm not teasing.  Look, don't tell Mom ANY of this, but before everything
turned south at the fair Saturday evening, I caught Eva looking at every
baby stroller and toddler that happened to be there.  I know what she's
thinking.  I know what YOU'RE thinking.  So, if she and I can get some
counseling going to make sure we're good for each other right now-----more
me for her than her for me-----then one thing just might lead to another,
and maybe someday, there'll be a little Janusz annoying his big,
equally-annoying Wuj (`Uncle' in Polish) Jozef for piggyback rides all day
long."

"NO FUCKING WAY!  Oh, my god!"

I grabbed Aleksy and pulled him into a hug and rocked him back and forth
and up and down, with a cherry on top in the form of a kiss on his neck.
This was.....music from heaven above.  This was a prayer being answered,
first that Aleksy and Eva would reunite, and then create a family.  This
was Dad's doing.

"Oh, damn, Big Brother!  The best news yet.  My gosh!  But I wanted my
first boy to be named Janusz!"

Aleksy looked at me seriously, but with a hint of a smile still on his
face.

"No, Jozef.  I made a promise almost eleven years ago."

"Oh.  I made one a lot sooner than that.  I guess you win."

"We both win.  What if my first boy is Janusz Gus, and your first is Gus
Janusz?"

"First cousins with the same name, kinda-sorta.  My big brother creates
another win-win for Farm W.  That's just how it'll be."

Aleksy offered his hand, and I shook it with me own.  We hugged again.  We
kissed again.  Holding onto each other by the shoulders, we looked at the
room that was transforming suddenly, if only in our minds for now, into a
nursery.  Mom was going to lose her mind.  And then, as if she needed to
remind us she was in the house, she called up to us from the great room
below.

"Boys?  You two in the middle of something right now?  I need your help."

"We'll be right down, Mom!"

"No, I'm coming up."

I laughed at my brother and called back to Mom.

"You're up in Man Land twice in one day, when you hadn't been up here since
prior to the previous two presidential administrations?  What gives?"

"Well, I can't very well get to the attic from the ground floor except by
going through `Man Land', as you seem to now call it.  And by the way----I
won't tell Eva you call it that----as long as you help me with my project."

We smiled at each other, and laughed at her logic.  Mom got up the stairs,
and then opened the door to the attic.  We followed her up the steep steps
that led to another 2,000 square feet of unused space.  Right now, all that
was up here was unused furniture, holiday decorations, and two ancient, big
braided rugs that were taken off the ground floor when wall-to-wall carpet
was installed.  Aleksy asked Mom what was up (besides the three of us in
the attic).

"Welllll.....I thought we brought it up here.....I hope we didn't give it
away....."

My curiosity was piqued.

"Give what away?"

"That!"

Mom smiled and pointed to four smaller panels which, when joined together,
created a double baby crib, capable of accommodating----you guessed
it----two babies.  Aleksy and I looked at each other, and maybe because it
was still early, neither of our brains were firing on all eight cylinders
yet.  Mom just looked at us like we were defective.

"Well?  One of you carry two panels, and the other of you carry two panels,
down to the room adjoining Aleksy's and Eva's.  Or are we remodeling this
entire attic into a nursery for ten kids?  Because that would be fine,
too."

Fuck.  She heard everything.  Oh, my god.  My brother and me talking might
as well been divine dictation, and Mom was getting every sacred, prophetic
word down to take literally and seriously.  Aleksy wanted to leave it in
the attic for now, until he and Eva were ready to get through some
counseling first.  Mom wanted the big crib taken down to Man Land to the
adjoining room so they'd see it every day and be reminded of their
commitment to get through counseling.

In the end, we took it to the `nursery' next to Aleksy's and Eva's room,
and connected all the pieces.  Really, it needed to be refinished, but I
think we had time for that before the crib would be needed.  I heard Marc
come up the stairs, announcing he had attended to the horses and Sebastian,
and then freshened all their homes.  Marc really blended in well with us.
And he was fun, too.  He really enjoyed working on a farm, and of course, I
loved him being there.

He just furthered the ethic of the community: Whether you know what you're
doing or you don't, you keep your hands busy in help to someone who needs
it.  Their hands will be right in there helping you when you need it.  It
takes a village to raise a barn, a jury for a trial, and, of course, a
child.  Ten children?  That'll be one busy village, and we'll have one busy
house.  `Can't grow an acre of grain without planting the first seed', and
Dziadzius (`Dziadzius' means `Grandpa') wasn't wrong.  Tick-Tock, Aleksy.


Marc walked over to the room where Mom, my brother and I were standing,
surrounding the re-assembled crib.

"Wow.....storks in Montana don't waste any time, do they?!"

My brother laughed at Marc.

"Well, Mom and Jozef don't waste any time, that's for certain.  They are
the Farm W In-House Fertility Clinic."

"Are they giving you any say in the matter?"

Both Mom and I looked at Aleksy and Marc and just silently shook our heads.
We all laughed, but Mom came clean.

"It's all in good fun, Marc.  I heard the boys talking, and decided to get
The Last Word of their conversation."

My brother smiled and with both hands on the headboard of the ancient crib,
made sure no one present had the last word.

"You're gonna have to take your campaign to Eva, eventually!  For fuck's
sake, though!  Let her grow her `Common Grounds' empire first and make
Starbucks investors nervous!"

That comment was meant in jest, but it made me think: if Eva wants to be an
entrepreneur now and a mom later, who are we to force anything?  Or even
suggest it?  She and Aleksy know what they're doing as adults and as a
couple.  This has all been fun and games, and yeah, you know I wanted kids
running around the farm (and eventually running equipment around the farm),
but they have to be part of good timing.  Just like their parents.  I CAN
enlist the assistance of my own dad and personal saint, though.....I've
been known over the past few days to do just that, you know.....

It also made me think about how I can contribute to a houseful of kids.
College first, Jozef.  That has been your goal longer than being a dad has
been.  Learn the best way to take Farm W to the next and next and next
levels of productivity and profitability.  Surrogates and adoption agencies
aren't going to cease to exist before you get your education.

The house phone rang, and Mom raced down the stairs to answer it.  Although
there were phone jacks in each of the bedrooms upstairs, as well as a
little cubby hole built into the wall for a phone in the hall, there were
no actual telephones above the ground level.  Unless a Wojtowicz farm boy
had one in his pocket, and we weren't being called.  Mom was.

We three joined her below.  Mom was getting the newly-laid eggs cracked and
into a bowl at the same time she talked on the phone.

"No, I'm not part of this, Ross.  You and Ned shook on that, and you also
shook Jozef's hand.  Jeff.  I wasn't in on it, and Ned no longer is.
Remember: it was all your idea in the first place to buy the steer, and
that was before he was even entered in the fair.  I'll let him know you'll
be late.  I hope so, Ross.  And you have Jozef's phone number.  If you need
to talk further about this before you meet, call him on his phone.
Goodbye."

Now I was getting impatient about this mystery.  Before I could ask
questions (for which I wanted honest and candid answers), the phone rang
again the moment Mom hung it up.  The look on her face indicated she was
expecting Ross Sweeney to be back on the phone, but he wasn't.  He couldn't
have redialed it that fast.  This call was from the food broker.  Mom moved
the bowl in front of Aleksy and pointed at him and me.  We were to carry on
with preparing breakfast.

Marc set the table and made more coffee.  My brother separated the eggs.
Ah, nice; a soufflé omelette today.  I found a block of Swiss in the
fridge and grated that, and washed and halved some grape tomatoes.  I told
Marc where the spinach in the kitchen garden could be found, and also where
the flashlights were.  We were still nowhere near the Sun being up enough
to see where Popeye's Lettuce was in the garden.

I sliced some sourdough bread for toast, too.  In no time, we had
everything ready to begin cooking, as soon as Mom was back out of the
little pantry office.  She came out to see three men looking back at her.

"Prices are up, Boys.  We're not going to have record profits this year,
but very close.  That might change by the time The Team take in everything.
Oh----about The Team.  I have nothing for them for lunch today."

"Mom, we don't have to feed them every day."

"Aleksy, yeah, this year, we do.  You were at Mass yesterday.  The Team
created a memory that will last for the rest of the lives of everyone
there, and be spoken about with regret by the people who weren't.
Now.....sandwiches and pizza, we've done.....thinking caps, Boys; what do
we do today?"

That was a good question, and honestly, that was good logic on Mom's part.
No, we didn't `need' to feed anyone; they were being paid for their labor,
and fairly.  I saw one of the three CrockPots on the kitchen counter, not
yet returned to its garage in the cabinets beneath.  A-ha.  Grandma's
favorite.

"`Gulasz Wolowy'.  There are easily ten pounds or more of Black Angus chuck
in the freezer, already cut into cubes for stew this Autumn.  It's coming
up on its one-year point in the freezer.  We fill two crockpots with it,
and boil a fuck-ton of egg noodles.  We have plenty of bowls.  I'd bet
Miguel and the guys have never had real Polish Goulash before."

Mom smiled and thought that was a fine idea, and it had very little
preparation necessary.  She didn't have mushrooms or sour cream, though.  I
told her I'd buy plenty of both on my way back from town after meeting with
Ross Sweeney-----for whatever that was going to be about.  I was getting
anxious, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment.  Aleksy
continued making breakfast, and Mom went back to the pantry office to make
some notes about the food broker phone call.

Marc and I went out together to find some fresh peas, sleeping in their
pods.  That'd be a good side for the gulasz.  There were plenty, and ripe
for the picking.  I loved fresh peas.  They are the reason butter was
invented.  Just like small cucumbers are the reason vinegar was invented.
And I was the reason Marc was invented.  Peas, pickles and Polish farm boys
named Jozef.  We're in the kitchen garden, ripe for the picking.  Well, I
wasn't.  Not any longer.  It's all yours, peas and pickles.  Yum!

Breakfast was perfect.  I hadn't had a soufflé omelette in a long
time, and it was the best use of fresh eggs, ever.  Aleksy knows his way
around a kitchen.  He had told me that living alone in Bozeman, Montana
----- one of Montana's larger towns, and one not known for better food
----- he learned to cook for himself and appreciate the efforts and
results.  I know I sure appreciated them.  No one in this house would ever
be bored with what came out of the kitchen.

The Team made their way down the hill to check in with us.  Aleksy showed
on the map which Rye to start with.  They talked about the day ahead, and
were invited to join for lunch at Noon again.  Miguel said he'd never even
heard of gulasz, but it sounded good to him, and he was sure The Team would
like it, too.  Miguel reiterated what Aleksy had said; they weren't
expecting to be fed every day, but they certainly appreciated it.  And of
course, Mom reiterated what she had said: they sang yesterday for their
supper today.

After they rode out to the county road with Aleksy riding along on his
four-wheeler to intercept Helen and her boys, Mom and Marc and I were
cleaning up after breakfast.

"Marie, this farm sets a very high bar for all others that follow; IF any
of them feed The Team, it won't be gulasz!"

"Thanks, Marc.  At this point, if my boys and I were in another emergency
like last Sunday, I think confidently we could leave a page of notes for
Miguel and Helen, and they'd get harvest in without us.  That's loyalty,
teamwork and partnership that can't be bought or taught.  My husband was
always good to the people who work with us.  That and all the other good
traditions on Farm W will continue."

I appreciated that Mom said that.  Not so much to Marc, but for me, too.  I
liked being reminded that nothing we had got there overnight.  We worked,
and never alone, to get 130 years (and counting) to the point that everyone
knew how to get the pieces out of the puzzle box and put together right.
Marc went upstairs to use the bathroom, and I got some quiet time with Mom.

"Okay, what's going on with Ross Sweeney.  What message do you have to
relay to me from him."

"He's going to be late."

"Did he say how late?"

"Not exactly, but he thinks about two hours."

"Oh.  Well, okay.  He's not the only task in town I have.  I'll just switch
some things around.  Hey, who do we like at Ware's Furniture and
Appliance?"

"Johnny Mark Ware owns it now, although that's more a `tolerate' than
`like'.  If a customer can pull his head out of the tv screen and away from
non-stop talk about politics and sports, Ware's would actually make some
money.  That guy never aged past eighteen.  One state championship his
junior year, and his development arrested right there."

"Heh.....naughty mommy.....gossiping about the Townies....."

"Your father didn't have many who trash-talked him, but he denied Johnny
Ware his moment of glory on the field.  Your dad caught the ball and ran
fifty yards----not Johnny Mark Ware, and somehow, that just incensed him.
Anyway.  Ancient history.  What's happening at Ware's?"

"I'm going to get a better mattress.  The one I've been sleeping on has
been handed down and never out, and um, to be honest....."

"Yes, I know; you're pregnant and need a more comfortable mattress."

"MOM!  Oh, my god!  I should never have said that!  HAHAHAHAHA!!!  You
forget nothing, do you?!"

"Not if I can help it.  And yes, I'm sure you're right about needing a
better sleep foundation.  And a larger one.  Neither you nor Marc are
little by yourselves.  Fitting two big Montana boys in a double bed just
doesn't make sense.  Is your room big enough for a king-size bed?"

"I know it's big enough for a queen-size bed, but I don't have a frame that
can hold a king mattress."

"Get one.  In fact, get a big dresser or chest of drawers or whatever
they're called now, and two night stands.  Whatever you want.  Deck the
room out, Jozef.  Really.  My early birthday present to you."

"Wow!  Really?  I can afford it, but thanks, Mom!  My gosh, that's so
generous.  And I appreciate it.  WE appreciate it."

"You're entirely welcome.  And that reminds me: when is Marc's birthday?"

"I.....don't know.  How can I not know that?"

"Don't rush to know it.  Don't rush to know everything.  Remember the whole
`Rye in the palm of your hand' wisdom?  I think that could apply here, too.
But once you find out: tell me, so I can keep it on a calendar!"

"I will.  And thanks, really, for the new bedroom."

"Want to paint it, too?"

"I'd love to paint it!  Purple!"

"Buy paint, too.  Even purple.  Get that at Gamble's, though.  Put it on
the farm account.  You can do the same with the furniture, but if anyone is
hesitant at Ware's, have them call me and I'll confirm or even read them
the farm card number over the phone.  I'd hope they won't give you any
shit.  If they do, fuck `em; we'll drive to Billings and get something.
Make a Costco Run, too."

"Um, you sure about Billings, Mom?"

"Of course.  I know what you're thinking, Jozef.  Your dad didn't die in
Billings.  In fact, St Vincent's was all ready to help him live when he got
there.  Just didn't go according to plan.  I am fine going to Billings,
Jozef; just not in an airplane."

I hugged Mom.  Marc joined us.

"Thanks for breakfast; I think I'm going to drive back into town with you,
Jozef.  I want to see if I can get into my suit.  If not, I have a bigger
issue at hand that needs resolution before Wednesday."

"Makes sense, Boyfriend.  Why'd you bring a suit with you on vacation to
Fergus County?"

"Oh, I never know when I'm gonna literally run into a farm boy and want to
interview for a job with a school district.  It's always good to plan for
such things, you know."

Mom tilted her head a moment, thinking about something.

"Marc, when you try on your suit, if it's snug or loose, I can make minor
adjustments, myself.  Don't worry about it.  If it's really too tight,
though; that's some serious construction.  Let me know if I can help."

"Thanks, Marie.  I will.  I don't wear a suit in my classroom; just short
of that.  I haven't worn this one since last year when the new dean was
installed.  Does Emil ever wear a suit?"

"All the time!  He's old-fashioned that way.  Probably the only man who
still stands when a woman walks into a room or up to a table."

My phone buzzed.  The calendar app opened up, and oh, shit.  Today is the
deadline to apply for Sebastian to show in Great Falls.

"Damnit.  Forgot that."

Mom turned from the kitchen counter to look at me.

"What did you forget?  You never forget anything."

"Well, I forgot this.  Probably just me telling myself to not do it.  I
didn't mention this, but the 4H state director called me last week to
invite Sebby and me to show at the state fair."

Both Mom and Marc jumped at once.

"WHAT?!"

"And you didn't think you'd want to tell us about that??!?!"

"YOU SHOULD GO!"

"Yeah, you should!  You heard what your mom said; just leave notes, and the
harvest will come in without you!  You should go!"

"WHAT MARC SAID!"

Heh.....they were so cute, like they were cheerleaders.  It was nice, but
really, after talking with Dad, I wasn't feeling like there would be
benefit for either Sebby or me, other than just the honor of having been
invited to show.

"Nah, we won't go.  We got a purple ribbon right here, and I was just
hoping for a red one.  Heck, expectations were exceeded, and we got to show
alongside some other good entries.  Also, I'd need to ask Ross Sweeney
about it.  Today's the deadline.  I guess I still could talk with him,
though.  Just two hours later than as planned."

"That asshole.  Yes.  By all means, tell him about the offer to show.
Damn, I'd like to be a fly on the wall for THAT conversation."

"Mom, either stop saying cryptic shit, or tell me what has your hackles
up."

"Fine.  I'll stop saying `cryptic shit'.  In fact, you said you have other
things to do in town.  So there's Ross, then Ware's, and what else you have
happening, if I may ask?"

"Yeah, of course.  I'm going to stop at the high school and get another
copy of my transcript.  I want it just in case I decide on MSU, instead.
That's still a headache decision.  I can't go wrong with either, but I want
to go `right', right away."

"So you ARE going to college?"

"Yep, Ma; I am.  Right here at this very kitchen table."

"HONEY!  Oh, my gosh!  I am so happy!  Chodź tutaj, moje genialne
najmłodsze dziecko!"

"MOM!  English!  Marc isn't 'one of us' in THAT sense!  Not YET, anyway!"

"Oh!  Sorry, Marc!  I said, `come here, my brilliant youngest child'!"

"HA!  Jozef certainly is brilliant; no argument with you!  I am pleased to
hear the news, too.  How will you choose between Montana and Montana
State?"

"At this point, I'm leaning toward Montana.  Aleksy has two Agro degrees
from Montana State, but not a business degree.  I think we need that here,
and I really think the whole DVM future is being redirected to an Agro MBA.
Chatham College in Pennsylvania offers that degree, as do others.  By the
time I'm ready for that, I'd bet most of the work can be done remotely,
too.

And, Montana State has a graduate program in Agricultural Economics, but
that's on a macro scale; something that would benefit a person at a state
political level, or Archer Fuckin' Midland; more than for a medium-sized
farm in Fergus County.  Won't rule it out, but for now, it's really a coin
toss between Montana and MSU for my undergraduate.  Considering I'm going
to win the bet about harvest coming in four days or five, I'm about to have
a half-dollar coin for that toss!"

"Oh, Honey.....I'm so happy.  No vet school, though?"

"No.  Tommy is going that route, and he'll be ten times better for the
animals than I could ever dream of being."

"We need to talk about the Sangers.....this afternoon.  Or evening.  Marc,
are you coming home this evening?"

"I'll stay at the town house tonight.  I really need to get my head back on
track for the interview Wednesday.  I don't know why it's so nerve-wracking
for me, but it is.  Vitally important to me that I do well."

I smiled and hugged my boyfriend.

"It's vitally important to me, too, Marc.  You need alone time?  You get
it.  Whatever you need, Boyfriend."

"Thanks, Babe.  Thanks, Marie."

"Wait a moment!  What're you going to eat this evening?!  You can't make
much of a meal out of a box of baking soda."

"I'm going to take this opportunity to do what The Grandies insisted: I'm
going to go get some groceries and see if I know the difference between a
KitchenAid mixer and a frying pan.  NO SPOILERS!  I'll figure it out for
myself!"

We laughed, but Mom shook her head.

"Keep your phone in your hand, ready to dial 9-1-1 if you see sparks where
there shouldn't be any!"

"Mom, how will he know?!"

We all laughed, and Marc assured us he knew the difference between the two,
and that he was actually capable of using more appliances than a microwave
oven.  The house didn't even have one; not that I noticed the few times I
was there, anyway.

What I did not tell either of them: I was planning on being at Junior's
arraignment today.  I had sent Dan a text to ask when.  He texted back:
8:00AM.  So, four things: Arraignment, Ross Sweeney and whatever big
mystery surrounds him, Ware's Furniture and Appliance, and the high school
to get my transcript.  And I needed to be home by Noon.  Mom and Aleksy
aren't being stuck handling lunch on their own, since serving gulasz to
fifteen hungry people was my idea in the first place.

The house phone rang again.  Mom answered and smiled, hearing her sister's
voice on the other end of the line.  Marc and I walked back upstairs to get
his backpack.

"Boyfriend, you know you can change your mind about coming back here this
evening.....or this afternoon.....or not leaving at all.....I'm finest with
the last option, just so you know."

"Thanks, Babe; I know.  And I'd rather have some leftover gulasz than
anything I'll end up making for myself.  But I need to get into my suit and
make sure it fits."

"What if, once you're in, you can't get out again?  I could help you with
that, you know."

"Oh, I know!  Somehow, though, I don't think we'd ever find out if it fits
me, because I might never try it on if you're there."

"I could help you right now, if you want, figure out if you can get out of
your underwear....."

"Don't tease your man!"

"Not teasing....."

"I want that, but I need to shower first.  I know I'm not offensive, but
quite honestly, I want to make love with you, and I want to be clean for
that.  REALLY clean....."

"So.....what time are you expecting me tonight?  Oh.  OH!  Geez!  I just
got that!"

"Surprise me."

"Marc.....I....."

"Yeah, Babe?"

"I love you.  And I'll surprise you.  Tell you what, though; let me treat
you to the best prime rib in the county.  I'm NOT saying you can't shop and
cook for yourself, but you have to try the prime rib at Snuffy's, on the
edge of town.  The other edge.  A little A-frame place.  Okay?"

"Can I deny you anything?"

"Deny me all the things that don't matter, Boyfriend; I won't ask for them
in the first place."

"I love you too, Jozef."

I didn't get him out of his underwear.  It would've been fast and furious.
He already told me what he wanted to do later, and that would be slow and
deliberate.  Oh, yeah.  I think that was going to be the perfect end of the
day.  We went back downstairs, and I kissed Mom goodbye.  She had that
worried look on her face.  Nothing I could do about that, at least not
right away.  Whatever was bothering her would be made apparent to me
shortly after 10:00AM.

Marc gave her a kiss, too.  That was nice and unexpected.  Well, unexpected
by me; Mom had told Marc and Eva they are home here with us.  A kiss was
the mortgage payment, interest only.  I myself would collect the principle
later, and pay the dividend.  We walked hand in hand toward the barn, and
checked on the critters again before going.  I could see Bolt's and Stan's
stalls were swept clean, fresh water poured, straw bedded on the floor, and
each had a pan of oats awaiting their return.  And oh, my gosh, Marc; you
charmer.  A cut-up apple AND a carrot sitting atop the oats, for both.
You're gonna spoil `em, Boyfriend; and I love you for it.

Lola Cola and Pups were fine.  We gave her one more run before we took off.
I was going to assemble that dog run myself this afternoon.  We would have
moderate temperatures on our first day in August.  All thirteen of them
should have some Sun today.  OC, too.  He'll go wherever the Sneezers
Bernezers go.  Or, maybe he'll go wherever duck hearts are served by farm
boy waiters.

Once everyone was reunited, Marc and I washed our hands and headed for our
trucks.  Before he could get in, I pulled him close for a long, intimate,
love-filled kiss.  My god, I loved this man.  He was part of me, part of my
family, part of this farm.

The kiss (reluctantly) ended, we pulled apart, smiling at each other.  I
told him to go first, since I didn't want to kick up any gravel that could
cause issues for the paint on his truck.  Sure, his could kick up gravel on
mine, but how would we ever know?  My truck HAD paint, at one time.  I
didn't love it for being the prettiest rig on the road.  That'd be some
short and shallow love!

The drive in to town was as slow as I could make it, without getting out
and pushing my truck myself with the motor turned off and the brakes set.
I rolled my window down to enjoy the rich aroma of the county, but there
was less now.  There was more wind, too.  We weren't the only farm
harvesting, so there was less grain in the air.  Less on the ground, too;
and all that waving wheat caught the wind and slowed it down some.  I
wanted to slow down.  To catch the last of Summer, the last of being
seventeen years old, the last harvest of crops my dad and I had planted
only months ago.

I tuned the old rig's radio to the NPR station and caught some of `Morning
Edition'.  For the record: if I ever have to hear the voice of god, I want
it to either sound like, or even better, be Bob Edwards.  I've replayed
`Fridays With Red' so many times, listening to him talk like old friends
with his old friend, Red Barber.  I always felt like they were in my truck
with me.  Some podcasts are truly divine and inspired.  That's the one for
me.

This morning, it was someone else talking with someone else, and I heard
it, but I wasn't listening.  I just wanted some music, really.  Something
both mellow and energizing.  That magical union of moods that only a Monday
morning can bring you.  The instant you realize you're still yawning
inside, but the caffeine is hitting you, too.  Should've found something on
Spotify before taking off.  As much as I liked Cokie Roberts and her
political insights, I wasn't really in the frame of mind for that.

Meet with Ross Sweeney.  Look at furniture.  Go to an arraignment for a
local even-less-than-a-knave named Junior.  Get my high school transcript.
And none of it in that order.  The clock on the radio announced 7:21AM.
Thirty nine minutes until the courthouse opens for the business of justice.
Funny to think of the Wheels of Justice being a business, but money greases
the gears of everything.  For this event today, I'd gladly pay admission.

Eva had a line, otherwise I'd have pulled up for a chat and a smile.  She
and Kim were smiling, though.  I could see through the window she had some
foot traffic, as well.  Three truckers, all of `em smiling, and every
single of them surely having heard of what happened Saturday.  I wonder if
any of us would ever know just how many guardian angel big little brother
sister truckers Eva had, keeping watch on `Common Grounds'.  I wished all
women in Fergus County were being kept as safe as possible by the people
around them.  Yet another instance of it taking a village to.....keep a
village.

I turned right and continued into town.  Might as well just head straight
to the courthouse.  If I was lucky, I could catch Dan in the Sheriff's
Office, or maybe see Dorothy at her dispatch desk.  Just wanted to say
`hi', and without blatantly telling them (because I know folks get
embarrassed) I and we appreciate them for all they do, when they're able to
do it.  First responders can't be everywhere at once, but when they are, at
least here, they achieve results.

I'd read in the newspaper there was some significant remodeling going on in
the courthouse basement, and the parking lot was filled with all sorts of
different vehicles.  For the first time since it was built, the courthouse
was getting a new furnace.  That building could be boiling in Summer and
freezing in Winter, and yes, I got that right.  My grandmother was
convinced there was a ghost down there, shoveling coal in the furnace on
the 4th of July, because when he was alive, someone failed to put enough
digits on his paycheck.  Nothing would surprise me, although the furnace
had been converted from coal to coal oil (kerosene) in the 1920s, and then
to natural gas in the 1950s.  Facts never got in the way of Grandma's
stories.

I found a spot, but across the street and in the alley behind the county
prosecutor's building, which used to be a boarding house for the guys who
were actually building the courthouse in 1907, as well as the Carnegie
Public Library.  Grandma also used to say, `If people spent more time in
the library on Main Street, they'd spend less in the courthouse.....and the
jail behind it.....on Broadway'.  She had her opinions (did she ever!), but
on that one, we were in complete agreement.

I walked in the back door of the huge, old building.  I could see on their
faces that Dan, Dorothy, the Sheriff and the deputies were not in a
greeting mood.  I nodded in their direction, and Dan held up his hand at me
while he finished a conversation with the sheriff.  I stopped around the
corner from his office, one of the few places in the building where there
was a modicum of privacy.  The look on his face told me we weren't going to
sing a rousing chorus of `The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round'.

Five or so seconds later, Dan found me.

"Jeff, are you here for the arraignment?"

"If it's still on this morning, yeah, Dan."

"Oh, it's on, all right.  I'll be in there, too.  How's Eva?"

"All right.  Aleksy has been the rock that stayed in place for her, after
Hurricane Marc barreled through on Saturday night."

"Aleksy.....oh!  Anders!  Geez, I haven't heard him called that since we
were in high school."

"Yeah, that's him.  It's kinda strange; ever since he moved back home, Mom
has been calling us by our birth names, and now we do it, too.  I'm still
`Jeff' to everyone else, though."

"What's your birth name?"

"Jozef."

"Nice.  So no more `Jeffrey' or `Kiddo'?"

"NO!  Oh, my god, Dan; did my brother set you up with that??!"

"Maybe.  I'm Highway Patrol and a State Cop.  I can't lie!  What kind of
example would that set for you.....I mean, the other kiddos of Fergus
County?"

We laughed, and Dan said he'd probably see me at the ranch later in the
week.  He hadn't really stopped in since my brother got back, and with
harvest going on, no one really has much time for any socializing on a
daily basis.  That's what the fair was really for; for farm and town folk
to get together for the first time in a year among bright lights, bronc
horses and carnival rides and say, `Oh!  You're still alive!  Me, too!'

"Jozef---as you're now known---I am not pressing charges against Marc
Taylor.  That is between you and me, Bud.  The prosecutor can demand them,
but he won't.  Junior can demand them, too; but I don't respond to
defendants' demands for anything but a ride in the back of my Explorer.  He
can bring a civil suit against Marc, though.  I have nothing to do with
that, other than perhaps be called as a witness.  Please, Junior; call me
as a witness!"

"Dan, if I may ask you: how much did you see Saturday at the fair?"

"I did not see the attack on Eva.  I heard her scream, and from where I
was, I took off running.  Just didn't get there fast enough.  I saw Marc
Taylor giving Junior Connor the beat-down of the thug's life.  Suddenly I
didn't feel like running; in fact, I slowed to a stop and looked around to
see if some kid might have popcorn to share.  First thing I'm gonna do as
Sheriff: I'm gonna deputize that guy, whether he knows it or not."

The moment Dan said that, Paco took sudden interest.  Marc Taylor in a
uniform?

`Oh, my.....', to quote Lu Barney last Sunday.

It wasn't just my man in a uniform, swimming around in the fetid cesspool
of my imagination; it was the handcuffs swinging from the uniform's belt
that made my heart race just a little (or a lot) faster.

"Wait.....what?  You're gonna do that when you're the sheriff??  Are you
running?"

"I am.  Filed for candidacy this morning."

I didn't care if he was covered in black leather, guns and some serious
martial arts training.  I threw my arms around him and `yippeed', though
quietly.  Dan laughed and I contained my enthusiasm-----but just barely.
What great news this was.

"Our land corners at the highway and the county road.  We'll have your
campaign signs all over the place.  People stopping at `Common Grounds'
will see it.  You're our man, Dan."

"Thanks, Little Brother From Other Parents.  It was the whole tragedy at
the fair that turned this over in my mind.  I can be out on the highway
twelve hours a day, but I want to represent the law on foot, too; and be
around people who are not just in cars.  Eva wasn't the first, and she
won't be the last to suffer because some idiot thinks knocking women around
is his birthright.  Marc can't be everywhere, either.  Nor your brother.
We need a better network right here these days."

I wondered if I was the first in the family to hear this news.  If I was,
Team W were going to flip right the fuck out, and I could not be happier
for all 15,875 citizens of Fergus County.  That doesn't even begin to cover
the visitors who get here by way of the eleven roads coming in and out of
Fergus.  Damn.  Dan as the sheriff.  Oh, yeah.

I shook his hand, and someone behind him called his name.  He smiled and
turned to go, walking back to the sheriff's office, just as the county
prosecutor entered from outside.  He didn't look like he was in a good
mood.  I saw why: Junior's parents were right behind him.  They
looked.....defeated.  That look you get when all the bad emotions overwhelm
you, and jockey for dominance on your face.  They didn't see me, or if they
did, I wasn't their focus at the moment.  There was no Sun in the Connor
sky that day.

Rather than take the elevator upstairs, I climbed the wide marble
staircase.  The 111-year-old stone from Italy was soft, and footstep
indentations were by then pronounced.  By the time I was an old man, I
would maybe walk on old, worn-out or brand-new steps up to the courthouse
on the third floor.  Maybe I could avoid those steps entirely by spending
more time in the library on Main Street.

The big foyer between the two courtrooms was full of people.  Wait----I
thought the remodeling was going on in the basement, not up there.  Must've
been at least one hundred women and men there.  Also present were reporters
from the News-Argus (our local paper), the Billings Gazette, the Great
Falls Tribune, and the Associated Press, Montana Desk out of Helena.  They
were all talking with locals, whether farmers or Townies.  I barely got my
feet on the floor from the steps, so I couldn't see everyone.

But I saw people I knew.  Let me name them off for you:

Tom Sanger.  And Kristi.  And then I heard a voice behind me, coming up the
stairs.

"Oh, shit....."

Mom.  Then Aleksy and Marc.

`Oh, shit', indeed.

I stood by the side of the stairs so others could get up onto the third
floor of a building that was now of questionable structural integrity to
hold all of us, coming to watch the side show that stuck around after the
fair left town.

Mom and I raised our eyebrows at each other, and the four of us stood just
waiting to see who was going to speak first.  My boy Tommy did, when he and
Kristi came over to us.

"Hey, Farm W; represent!  I didn't know you'd all be here."

Mom responded to Tommy without looking at him.

"I don't think any of us knew we'd all be here."

I couldn't disagree with that.  I know I didn't announce it.  Seems like
each of us had our own agenda for the day, but one thing in common.  All
that was missing was Eva, but she had a business to run.

"Aleksy!  Jozef!  Marc and Marie!  Oh, hi, Tom; and Kristi, too!"

Well, holy fuck; who is running the coffee stand and the farm?!  If The
Team wandered up the stairs at that moment, I would not have been
surprised.  My brother got a shocked look on his face.

"EVA!  What're you doing here?"

"Oh, wait.....isn't this `The Beauty Spot'?  I was coming in for a
manicure.  `Jungle Red' is THE color!  Kate wore it to her and William's
honeymoon....."

"Try again, Eva."

"Welllll.....hell's bells.  I'm here for the same reason the rest of you
are, I guess."

Aleksy pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

"Kim running things there?"

"She is.  I am going back right after this, though."

I turned to Mom.

"Is Kim running things THERE, too?"

"No, Smart-ass Jozef.  I called your mom, Tommy.  She's keeping an eye on
the farm, in case The Team need anything."

I looked at Marc, and pulled him over to stand beside Aleksy and me.

"THIS oughtta be good....."

"My excuse is equally as feeble as Eva's.  I'd read about the basement
being remodeled, but I guess I took the wrong stairs to get there."

I rolled my eyes.  I was just glad no one asked me what I was doing there.
The best excuses were already taken.  Dan walked through one of the big
double doors to the courtroom.  He saw me, and then the rest of us.  He
walked over and shook his head, but wasn't joking with this many people
around.  Dan was as close to a US Marshall as Fergus County was going to
get, and we respected him.  We didn't elect him to be a State Trooper, but
we paid his salary, and he had our full faith and confidence.  To hear he
was going to run for Sheriff of Fergus County just made everything even
better in my last Summer as a kid there.

We gathered toward Dan, and he spoke to us in a quieter tone.

"I don't know who people are going to look at more here; Junior or you all.
I don't need to remind you that this is all about that guy today.  This is
where his charges will be read, and he'll plead guilty or not guilty.  Say
nothing unless the judge or the bailiff address you directly, okay?"

We all nodded.  Then Dan pointed his head in a specific direction, and we
followed him down a hall at the back of the building.  We saw another door,
which he said was an emergency exit toward the back of the courtroom.

"I'm going back inside.  I have to be there in case either of the attorneys
or the judge need me, and not just for this, but for anything.  Also if the
sheriff needs something.  I'm not his deputy, but I am the law in a
different capacity.  When I open this door again, come in and sit in the
seats at the right.  At the end of this, though, leave through the big
doors with everyone else, okay?"

We all agreed.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.....keep our eyes open, our mouths shut,
sit still, leave in an orderly manner.  I've heard that since my first day
in kindergarten.  Some would argue I never learned the lesson, but today,
I'd prove that I did.  The big thing in my mind: Dan Gremaux for Sheriff of
Fergus County.  I was going to make sure I did all I could to get him in
office so women, children and men could sleep just that much more soundly,
knowing Dan was wearing the tin star on his vest.

Dan slipped through the door and closed it behind him.  Eva was in Aleksy's
arms, and he was rubbing hers.  She was obviously nervous, but she was here
on her own, among the rest of us who came on our own, to stand by one of
our own as her attacker is made to answer for his crime.  The fact that Eva
and Kristi were there at all spoke volumes of their bravery.  Maybe I'm
leaving Mom out of all this, but I'm not; not really.  Mom is scary brave.
If SHE'D been there?  The Coroner would still be pulling bits and pieces of
Junior out of the plum trees in the orchard behind the fairgrounds
exhibition barn.

`Oh, look; there's an ear!  Can you reach it?'

`Wow; look at the size of that kidney!  Get it on ice!  We can fly it to
Denver!'

`Wait.....is that his.....little toe or his....?'

*shudder*


We stayed silent in the hallway.  Marc was right against me, which I loved.
The gravity of the situation weighed on him.  I could tell in all our
moments together after Saturday night.  This was not what he wanted to be
known for, so new to town.  He still didn't know exactly who Junior was,
nor his history with Eva and Aleksy (and everyone else), nor probably what
he really had prevented from further happening at the fair.  All he knew
was taking care of one of his own, damn the consequences.  I suppose then
he was wondering what the consequences would be.  I had been wondering
that, already; which I'd told you about, already.

The same door opened, and Dan grimly nodded us to enter.  We sat where he
pointed, and then the main doors opened for the rest of the crowd.  Not
only was every seat filled on the lower level, but it was standing room
only in back and in the gallery loft above.  Must've been 300 people in
there, quite easily.  And all of us deathly silent.  All attention, all
focus, was on the bailiff's door as it opened and Lyle Connor Junior was
brought into the courtroom, head to toe in orange, and both cuffed and
shackled.  He didn't see everyone at first; his head was down and he was
scowling at how slowly he was moving, due to the shackles and heavy chains
at his ankles.  When he finally looked up, we all saw the look of fear and
shock on his face.  We heard him, too; bare whisper that it was:

"Oh, fuck....."

Yeah, well, that's one response, I guess.  I'd seen enough television to
know: the less a defendant said in court, the better off they were.  If
Junior had one cell in his brain, I hoped for his sake it would be
operational and in Silent Mode.  For everyone else's sake, though?  Oh,
just shout to the heavens, Junior; spill ALL your tea.

The court was called to order.  When the judge entered, our justice of the
peace, the bailiff told us all to rise.  Little, ancient,
tough-as-a-pound-of-nails Miss Nancy Todd walked in, swallowed whole in a
black robe and her gray hair piled high on her head, like she was still in
her 30s in the 60s.  Nancy Todd had been a school teacher, then retired;
then the meter maid; then retired; then worked as the clerk of court, then
retired; and now was the Fergus County Justice of the Peace.

She was Fergus County's own Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  On steroids.  No one
fucked with Justice Nancy Todd.  If she'd ever been a lawyer and then made
a judge, she'd be the most feared woman in a five thousand mile radius.  As
it was, even at an arraignment where no jury, no trial and no sentence
would be heard that day, no one existed but her and Junior.  She sat in the
creaky judge's seat, perhaps the only thing within her reach older than
herself.

"Bailiff, why are we here today?"

"Your Honor, this is the arraignment of Lyle Connor, Junior, on charges of
aggravated assault and severe battery of Ms Eva Grimes, Saturday, 30 July;
and resisting arrest by State Police Dan Gremaux on Saturday, 30 July."

"And is Mr Lyle Connor, Junior, with us today?"

The county prosecutor stood.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I believe that's for the defendant or my bailiff to indicate, but the
court appreciates that you're present and awake, Mr Braden."

The people in the courtroom snickered, but no one laughed out loud.  No one
felt comfortable laughing in front of Justice Nancy Todd, even if she's the
one cracking the funnies.  Prosecutor Ken Braden sat down, but with a smile
on his face.

The bailiff indicated that Junior was present and standing beside her.

"Ah.  Mr Connor.  Mr Connor JUNIOR, just so we're all clear.  I think we're
all clear on that part of this.  You are NOT Lyle Connor, Senior.  We'll
get to the rest of it in time.  For now: do you have counsel, Mr Connor
Junior?"

"No."

"Do you plan on obtaining counsel, or would you like this court to appoint
counsel for you?"

"Do I gotta have a lawyer?"

"No, you don't `gotta' have a lawyer, Mr Connor, Junior; but I highly
recommend that you get one.  Despite your previous appearances before this
and other benches, you do not have a comprehensive knowledge of how the law
works.  If you did, you might not be here so much.  So.  Do yourself a
favor and at least let this court appoint you a nice, new public defender,
fresh out of law school and simply aching to earn money to pay at least the
interest on their student loans.  Again: I highly recommend you have legal
counsel.  I also want you to consider carefully, and as wisely as is
humanly possible for you, what the ramifications are of you pleading guilty
or not guilty.  That means the difference between this arraignment
resulting in a very public trial, or not."

"Fine.  No.  I don't have a goddamned lawyer."

"Mr Connor, Junior, that may, indeed, be an adjective for those practicing
law, or at least some of them, but we're not here to decide that today.  We
are here to read your charges, and for you to respond with `guilty' or `not
guilty'.  You will, please and thank you, keep your own opinions to
yourself of the branch of our government that can just possibly save your
hide.  I'll have no more of your unwelcome language in this courtroom.
Let's practice, you and I.  repeat after me: `Guilty'."

"Oh, for f....'guilty'."

"Good!  Now let's try `not guilty'."

"`Not guilty'."

"Splendid.  Now, as to the charges of aggravated assault and severe battery
of Ms Eva Grimes on Saturday, 30 July, how do you plead?"

"HER NAME AIN'T GRIMES!  IT'S CONNOR!  MRS EVA CONNOR!  NONE OF THIS `WOKE'
`MIZ' BULLSHIT, EITHER!"

Justice Nancy took off her glasses and sighed.

"No, Mr Connor, Junior, it is not.  Ms Eva Connor became Ms Eva Grimes as a
result of her petition to the court to change her name after her divorce to
her previous, unmarried-status name.  And your answer is not one of those
we'd just practiced moments ago.  So, I'll read again: As to the charges of
aggravated assault and severe battery of Ms Eva Grimes on Saturday, 30
July, how to you plead?  Hint: it's `guilty' or `not guilty'."

"INNOCENT!"

"TRY AGAIN, MR CONNOR, JUNIOR; or the court will be obligated to enter a
plea for you!  TRY AGAIN!"

"`NOT GUILTY'!  HAPPY NOW??"

"Good.  Thank you.  As to your question: No, Mr Connor, Junior; I am not
`happy now'.  I'd be happy watching a `Godzilla' movie.  Or a re-run of `I
Love Lucy'.  Even better: `Godzilla vs Lucy & Ethel'.  Anyway; you plead
`not guilty'.  Got it.  Everyone got that?'

I looked around the room to see people nodding.  One even said, `Oh,
yeah.....I got it.'  The voice sounded to me like the same drunk guy at the
fairgrounds who was reacting to Marc asking Junior politely if he
understood what Marc was saying about hitting women.  I wanted to chuckle,
but thought better of it.  Justice Nancy banged her gavel.

"Thank you, but that was a rhetorical question.  Anyway....."

I saw Eva hold onto Aleksy with a death grip, which was nothing compared to
the one he held her with.  Junior's response all but guaranteed Eva would
be back in court and reliving the attack Junior wielded on her, only two
days ago.  The nightmare would not be over for her anytime soon, and yet,
Justice Nancy had all but handed that opportunity to Junior on a silver
platter.

"Let the record show Mr Lyle Connor, Junior, has pleaded --- finally ---
`not guilty' to the charge of aggravated assault and severe battery against
Ms Eva Grimes on Saturday, 30 July.  As for the second charge of resisting
arrest by State Police Officer Dan Gremaux on Saturday, 30 July, how do you
plead, Mr Connor, Junior?"

"NOT GUILTY!"

"Let the record show Mr Lyle Connnor, Junior, has pleaded `not guilty' to
the charge of resisting arrest of State Police Officer Dan Gremaux on
Saturday, 30 July.  What other business before this court has Mr Lyle
Connor, Junior?"

The bailiff answered.

"None, Your Honor."

"Well, then.  Trial is scheduled for.....let me see.....how does Monday, 9
December, work for everyone?  Mr Braden?"

"Fine for me, Your Honor."

"Good.  And Mr Connor, Junior?"

"Why does this have to take so goddamned long?!  I have a life!"

"That's a great question, and here's your answer.  There are other issues
before the court, and before that date.  Also, your public defender is
going to need a lot of time to get to know you.  There's also the issue of
depositions, I'd imagine.  The Wheels of Justice don't turn quickly, Mr
Connor, Junior; nor should they."

"Whatever.  When do I get out of here now?"

"Oh----THAT part, yes.  Due to the threat this court believes you present
to the well-being of Fergus County and her citizens, your bail is set at
$500,000.00."

"Again---whatever.  My folks can afford that"

"Mr Connor, Junior; these are trying times for parents, and for all of us,
just in attempting to determine what we can afford-----in every sense of
the word.  Money, time, emotions, the dignity and integrity of our names;
each has to be afforded, one way or another.  If your parents will be
carrying the burden of your bail, then they can address that with the
bailiff or the clerk of court in just a few minutes.

Otherwise, please have your own funds available.  Apple Pay, VISA and
MasterCard are accepted, but cash is preferred.  Saves the taxpayers some
interest charges and fees.  You know banks; always have to get their piece
of the taxpayer.  At the very least, barring any of those being viable
options for you until the trial actually happens, you'll be the remanded
vacation guest of Fergus County, in a room with something of an alley view.
Sorry, but the ocean view suites with private verandahs are all taken.  I
think that's all, unless you have further questions."

"You old bitch.  Fuck you and the broom you rode in on.  Fuck MRS Eva
CONNOR.  FUCK EVERYONE!  You're all gonna regret fucking with an innocent
man!  I'm innocent!"

Justice Nancy sat back in her chair and rested her chin on her right fist,
and with her other, she reached up and started pulling pins out of her
hair.  Long, long locks of gray and black began cascading down to and below
her shoulders.

"Well, well, well.  You've provided this court, or at least me, with
something brand new.  You are the first person in all my 85 years to get me
to let my hair down, other than Treva Weiner at `The Beauty Spot'.  Mr
Connor, Junior; bail has been revoked.  You are going to jail.  Directly to
jail.  Take a good look at the faces you see in this room, on all sides of
you.  You will see none of them until your trial date, and that is IF the
presiding judge, whomever she or he may be, isn't given---by you---some
reason to continue moving the trial date so far back, you'll be on some
future lifetime before you're in here again.  I warn you, Mr Connor,
Junior; make no threats to this court, to Ms Grimes, to anyone.  Not from
your hotel room, not between here and there, and not IF you're ever
released.  We don't take threats lightly.  Am I understood?"

Junior just glared at her.  He was silent, but was festering with hate on
his reddening face.

"Bailiff, will you and Mr Connor, Junior, approach the bench, please?"

Charla Tinzel, Bailiff, dragged Junior forward.  Even she looked scared to
be that close to Justice Nancy.  The diminutive woman stood up, rested her
hands on the forward edge of the high, broad oak desk and glared down at
Junior.  "I asked you, Mr Lyle Connor, Junior, if I'm understood.  Now that
you're closer, I'm sure I'll be able to hear your answer this time."

"Fuck you is all I have to say to you.  Fuck YOU, fuck your JAIL, and fuck
EVERYONE!  I'm INNOCENT!  This whole thing is a fuckin' WITCH HUNT!  He
said if it could happen to him, it could happen to us!  To ME!  And that's
just what is happening here!  A GODDAMNED, FUCKIN' WITCH HUNT!  INNOCENT!"

Junior raised his face and spit right in Justice Nancy's.  The entire
courtroom gasped.  Justice Nancy pulled a handkerchief from up her left
wrist, another anachronism likely never to be seen again, and cleaned
herself up.  Right in front were Junior's parents.  Lyle Senior stood up.

"You are no son of mine.  My wife and I have nothing more to do with you.
Your room will be cleaned out, and your things and your vehicles destroyed.
All money in any account with your and my name on it will be donated to the
first abused women's shelter I can find.  To you, Your Honor, and to
everyone here: this is the last time I will apologize for Lyle Connor,
Junior.  I am sorry.  Come on, Alta.  Let's go home."

"Wait, Mr Lyle Connor, Senior; just one moment, please.  Decorum, Sir.  You
have it in spades.  Now allow me mine."

Justice Nancy raised her hand as high above her head as she could and
smacked her gavel on the desk with a crack that was unmistakable: all
business before the court regarding Lyle Connor, Junior, had concluded for
the day.

I looked at Dan.  He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were all but dancing.
Called by defense or not, Dan (perhaps `Sheriff Gremaux' by the time of the
now-guaranteed trial) would be a witness for the prosecution, and while Ken
Braden wouldn't be this case's Charles Laughton, fireworks were still
(shall we say) on the docket.

I then turned to look at Marc.  Oh.  Even with only seven or eight days
with a man in all sorts of full light, shade and dark, I still learned what
was happening behind his own eyes.  Nothing good.  He was now guaranteed to
spend some time on the witness' stand, too.  Damn, Boyfriend.  I'm sorry.
You went from quiet, studious career professor to loud, studly
woman-defending newcomer; and in almost no time at all.

Note to self: Love up on this man, extra-hard, extra-long and
extra-sincerely.  Even knights in shining armor need it, from time to time.

"All rise!"

We rose.  Justice Nancy, small in stature but a giant with a mane of hair
none of us had ever seen before (and would likely never again) held her
head high, stepped down from behind the bench, and walked out the door to
the judge's chambers.  Bailiff Charla stood on one side of Junior and the
sheriff himself on the other side, both holding on tightly to him.  Two
deputies stepped in front, and two other deputies behind.  They quite
literally (in the only sense of that word) marched Junior out of the
courtroom----surrounded for his own protection.

The folks in the gallery came down and stepped from the courtroom first.
Then the rest of us.  Because we were close to the back, we stayed in a
corner, huddled with our backs turned partly to the others.  It was only
because we didn't want any attention for Eva and Marc.  They would be on
full display in only a matter of three or so months, right back in that
same courtroom.  Once everyone was gone but us, Dan joined us.  We were all
a somber group.  Dan put his hand on Aleksy's shoulder.

"As Porky Pig used to say, `That's All, Folks'.

"I wish that was all, Dan.  That's all, just for now."

"Maybe.  You saw his temper.  I don't know who Junior's roommates will be
in the Fergus County Fairmont, but there's always a chance he'll lip off
again, but this time to someone who's even dumber and meaner."

I looked at my watch.  I had an hour before I was supposed to meet Ross
Sweeney for whatever second act show that would end up being.  Mom saw me
looking at the time.

"I'm ready to get out of here.  Jozef and I have an appointment to look at
plastic woodgrain-veneered particle board furniture at Ware's.  Eva, I know
you have a business to run.  Aleksy, so do you.  Tommy and Kristi: I love
you kids for being here today.  You are definitely Farm W. I'll call your
mom, Tommy.  Marc, again: let me know what happens with your suit."

We all said our goodbyes, and walked down the two flights of stairs to the
ground floor.  Once outside again, it was into a parking lot empty of all
vehicles, except Marc's, Aleksy's, Mom's, Eva's, Tommy's and mine.
Oh----and Dan's cruiser.  All those other rigs I saw?  They weren't for any
tradesmen in the courthouse basement; they were all the folks going to
Junior's arraignment.  Would that furnace ever get installed?

Hoo-boy, I just then realized alllll the scoop those reporters (and the guy
from the News-Argus, a local `National Enquirer', which doesn't really
employ real journalists, I'm sorry to say) got.  Too bad video cameras
aren't allowed in Fergus County courtrooms.....that'd make for some huge
news station ratings sweeps.  Edward Murrow would be green with envy.

Mom walked to her rig and I, to mine.  I told her I'd meet her in the alley
parking lot behind Ware's.  She nodded and took off.  When we were both a
whoppin' four blocks from the courthouse---the distance between the
two---we went inside.  Every television was turned to ESPN or Fox News.
The nattering noise-makers were talking over the top of each other.  And
there with one eye on each screen was Johnny Mark Ware, the last man in
America to wear Levi's Dockers.

"Hi, how's it going?"

"Hello, Johnny Mark.  It's going well."

"Oh-----you're Marie, right?  Ned's little lady?"

"You're.....batting a thousand, Johnny Mark."

"Ha!  Of course that's you!  Didn't recognize you right away.  I guess
we're all getting older.  REAL older.  But football's my game; not
baseball."

I was feeling my fingers curl against the palms of my hands.  Mom must've
sensed that, because she looked at me and continued talking.

"Well, let's hope you don't strike out.  Or fumble.  Whatever.  There are
fouls in both, though, aren't there?"

"Sure are!"

"Oh, dear.  Well, let's have none of those.  Heh.  Well, anyway.  Where's
the bedroom furniture?"

"Right down in the basement level.  Got lots of things on sale right now.
Holler up if you see something you like!  I can talk with the boss about
cutting you a deal, if you don't try to Jew me down too much!"

"`Jew you down'.....my gosh, it's like Time itself has stood still within
these walls.  And aren't you `the boss', so to speak, Johnny Mark?"

"Sure am!  Never have to go far for THOSE wheelin'-dealin' conversations!
They're all riiiiiight up here!"

Lewistown's own `Glory Days Gladiator' pointed to his thick skull.  Mom was
holding onto my forearm.  Was she trying to prevent herself from decking
the moron, or to prevent me from having the honor?  I knew Dad would've
been searching for the `humor in the moment', so I was channeling him like
my life depended on it.  We'd just left one jack-ass son to be walked away
in chains and wearing orange.  I didn't want to be the second one that day.
Mom laughed lightly at Johnny Mark.

"Oh, to listen in on those conversations.....  But all right, we'll go see
what there is to see......down there.  Um, it doesn't look like the lights
are on, Johnny Mark.....do you have two flashlights we can borrow, or
should we just feel around until we knock our toes or shins into
something?"

"Oh!  Well, I guess it's just the opposite of `the lights are on, but no
one is home!'  Okay, I'll get `em fired up for ya."

Johnny Mark Ware turned to go take care of the lights----assuming there
really were any.  I was skeptical.  Mom looked at me and rolled her eyes.

"And HE'S the opposite of `the lights are off, but someone is home'.
Christ on a plate with a side of fries, that guy....."

Soon, we saw lights on the lower level, but we still crept down
trepidatiously.  `Jew me down'?  Did he really just say that?  How many
hits to the head did that moron take forty years ago, and was he even
bothering to wear a helmet on the field?  We saw furniture crammed together
so tightly, there was no real way of knowing what we were even looking at.
Re-upholstered tractor seats?  Dinette sets?  Brass beds for bordellos?
There was every era of furniture, and I wasn't entirely convinced we
wouldn't find something King Tut or Emperor Ming might've found themselves
at home on.

We walked further toward the back of the room, which was actually the
front.  We were right below the sidewalk, as evidenced by the light coming
through the purple glass brick, harkening from a time in the previous
century when basements weren't typically wired for electricity, and the
last thing you did was take a live flame down below exposed flooring
timbers of a building.

There was what appeared to be a decent bedroom suite.  A big bed, two night
stands, a tall chest of drawers and a dresser with a mirror.  Things were
looking up, certainly compared with my first impressions of the room.  Even
Mom went `hmmm.....' in a slightly positive way.  And then we got closer.

Holy hamster.  Or hamsters.

Is that what we saw?!  Or two very, very large mice?  RATS?!?  In
LEWISTOWN?!  They burrowed out from beneath the pillows on the bed,
probably seeing the lights on for the first time since last week.  They
perched themselves up and looked at us.  I wondered if word had gotten all
the way into town that I could be an easy touch for a duck heart.  I had my
phone out in an instant, and not only got pictures of Willard and Ben, but
video footage, too.  Just in case I dropped my phone on the race to get the
fuck out of that basement, Mom got photos with hers, too.

I'm sure we looked silly, backing up the way we did; but there was no way
we were not keeping our eyes on them until we were upstairs and out the
door.

"Well, you weren't down there long!  See anything you like?  The lights
stayed on, didn't they?"

"Johnny Mark Ware, if those lights had gone out, you'd have heard me
screaming.  People in Calgary would've heard me screaming.
Jeff.....where's your phone?"

I raised it so the scion of the Ware Family could see what we saw.  You
know, `down there'.  I swiped from side to side so he could see the photos,
and then pressed the arrow so he could watch the videos.

"Oh, shit.....Ummm, well, it's a big bed!  They don't take up much room!
Heck, I'll throw them in, free, if you buy the whole set!"

Mom looked like she'd shat a load of bricks.  I saved her the trouble.

"Mr Ware, those are rodents of some kind, and of a most unusual size.  By
that size, I would guess with one hundred percent certainty they're rats!
IN YOUR STORE, ON FURNITURE YOU'RE SELLING.  BUT NOT TO US."

"Okay.  I get it.  Fuck!  Look, I was trying to be funny.  Just.....don't
show that to anyone.  I'll give you another twenty percent off."

"OFF OF WHAT?!  WHAT'S TWENTY PERCENT OFF OF NOTHING?!  Mom, come on.
We're outta here."

"Wait.....please."

Mom was still so pale, she'd lost all of her farmer's tan.  She was the
poster child for Polish people in the middle of Winter without even a
ten-watt bulb in their possession.

"Johnny Mark Ware, we have an account here.  I want you to look right now
to see if we owe any money on it.  RIGHT NOW, Johnny Mark!"

He almost ran behind the counter to find ledgers on his computer.  He spun
the ancient CRT monitor around so fast, it almost careened right off the
counter and onto the floor.  His face was red from embarrassment and anger.
Had he breathed once since I pulled my phone out?

"No.  Nothing since 1989 for Wojtowicz Ranch.  A.....uh, two lamps.  Paid
in full.  1989....."

"AND WHAT DOES 1989 TELL YOU, `BOSS MAN'?!  Close that account right now!
Come on, Jozef!"

Mom almost flew out of the store, and I was sucked into the vortex behind
her.  Goddamn.  What a morning.  We got to our rigs.  Mom was so mad, and
still.

"Mom, please calm down."

"NEVER TELL A WOMAN TO CALM DOWN!  THAT DOESN'T HELP ANYTHING!"

"I'll try to remember that, but right now, you're not in good shape.
Mommy, I lost a parent already.  I am not ready to lose another.  Please.
Deep breaths, and sit on the running board.  Or the ground.
Just.....please."

Mom looked at me like she was going to cry.  And then she burst out
laughing.  At least, I thought it was laughing.  I had to look closely to
see if I could tell.  Oh, yeah.....Mom was laughing.  Then I started
laughing.  Tears for both of us, and we were holding onto each other for
dear life, and to prevent from having to sit down, whether running board or
ground.

That continued for a few minutes, and once the hyperventilating (quite the
opposite concern from `not breathing') was somewhat controlled, we wiped
our eyes and looked for our keys.  I noticed on my phone it was only
9:15AM.

"Hey, I have time before I need to go see Ross Sweeney....."

".....doing business as `Asshole'....."

"MOM!"

"Sorry.  You were saying, Dear?"

"I was SAYING, Matka (`Momma' in Polish), that we're only three blocks from
Marc's.  Ever been to the Taylors' house?"

"No, not that I remember.....what're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that we have time, and I'm also thinking you're not going to
let it rest that he should really be sure of the fit of his suit.  Wanna go
see for yourself?"

"GOD, yes.  Great idea.  It'll take a lot to clear the last eleven minutes
out of my head, but it'll be a good start.  I'll follow you, and then I'm
going home from there."

We got in our respective rigs and headed the whoppin' 45 seconds from
Ware's to Theirs' (Gee, I'm so clever, even if you don't think so).  Marc
saw us drive up, because he was out the front door to greet us.  And what
was he in, might you ask?  The same running gear from the day we met.
Well, Marc was finally going to get his run in.  He looked great.  My man
looked so great.....

"Marc Taylor!  What the hell!  Please tell me that is NOT the suit you're
concerned with fitting into, because I can tell you two things: One, you
have ZERO PROBLEM fitting into.....'that', and two, it may or it may not
get you the job as superintendent!  If it were up to the three friends I
have on the school board, though.....you'd be hired yesterday!"

"MOM!"

"WHAT??!  I'm not lying!"

Marc turned red and he ushered us into the house, lest Mrs Kravitz from
next door peek outside to see what the commotion was about.  When we were
inside, Marc laughed and asked why he was seeing us three times in
different locations on the same morning.  Without going into detail too
much, Mom told him where we'd just been and where I'd be going after this,
and that she was at Marc's to see the suit on him herself.  Mom really had
trust issues with bachelors, it seemed.  Well, not `seemed'; it was
evident.

My man smiled and thought it would be a good idea.  He let me give Mom a
tour of the house while Marc when to our room (OUR ROOM!  *SWOON*!) to
change into his suit.  Sure enough, the first thing Mom did was look in the
fridge, and sure enough, there was the lonely box of baking soda.  Poor
little fella.  Kept in the dark, too; almost all the time.  We walked
through the house.  Mom was more than a little appreciative, particularly
about the dining room with all its built-ins.  Something else I noticed
about the house for the first time: there were window seats in every room.
Even the bathrooms, really; the toilets were pretty close to the
frosted-glass windows, so really, I don't exaggerate.

Marc had talked about the blueprints for the house, so I found the shallow
drawer at the very top of the stack of drawers built into the wall with the
mirror-walled, buffet counter above them.  I slid the drawer out, and there
were the plans, the paper already yellowed with age.  I bent my head and
inhaled the third-most heavenly aroma to make its way up to my brain.
Paper, ink and the creepingly slow decay of both was.....incredible.
Nothing like it.  Mom and I carefully opened the pages to see what Famke
Ossenhavig had envisioned decades earlier.

While neither of us could read engineering language, we could read in the
lower right corner of each page: Mr Taylor's signature beneath Mrs Taylor's
signature.  And you know the best one?  The last page.  Mr Taylor's blue
pen had outlined their names with a heart, and an arrow through it.  Both
Mom and I did the teenage girl `Awwww!' sound at the same time, and we
laughed together.  Marc came into the room, wearing his navy blue suit.
Oh, my gosh, did he look good-----IF he was on a Hollywood red carpet.

For a job interview, though?  That suit would have the same effect as the
running gear he greeted us in.  Too tight, and he looked uncomfortable in
it.  Well, that was that.  Mom spoke up in that un-mistakable `everyone
within one hundred miles of my voice needs to pay attention'.  The same
voice she used yesterday to tell us to drop her and Eva at `Common
Grounds', how to prepare dinner, and to take care of the critters.

"Marc, you are absolutely beautiful, but I know for a fact I can't help you
with that suit, and both it and you need help.  You've clearly been putting
on a lot of muscle since last you wore it.  If you'd only gained fat, I'd
have given you one of my Spanx, and you'd be golden!  Jozef, after the
Yogo, come back and get Marc, and you boys go to Billings.  See your dad's
friend at Jason's in downtown.  Tell him I sent you.  If they don't have
anything that'll fit you off the rack, get the closest thing you can find
that you like, buy it and bring it back here.  I'll tailor it for Taylor."

"Mom, you're almost as clever and I am!"

"Hush, you.  And YOUR job is to go to Conlin's on S 20th Street.  I don't
know anyone there, so just find anyone NOT named Johnny Mark Ware.  Get
what you want, minus the rodents.  I don't want to see either of you until
both missions have been fulfilled.  I'll also text you a Costco list.  Oh,
come back to the farm and get the one-ton and big horse trailer; you'll
need it for that stuff alone."

"Wow, Marie; thank you.  This is.....a very interesting Monday already."

"You don't know the half of it!  On the way to Billings, Jozef will tell
you the REALLY interesting stuff.  Okay, gotta go.  Jozef, you're off to
the Yogo.  You'll be early, but better that than late.  Especially for
this.  You want to be the one with all the cards.  Or the ammo.  Or the
upper hand.  Whatever.  Marc, I want a moment with you, please."

I hugged Mom and then Marc, but looking at her out of the corner of my eye.
What did she want him alone for?  Mom has trust issues with bachelors.
Well, my man is no longer a bachelor, and I'm developing trust issues with
my mother.  What could this day bring next?

I got out to my truck and drove off.  My watch indicated I was still twenty
minutes early.  Fine.  I liked the Yogo Inn.  Its railroad history was
certainly interesting.  I could wander around and entertain myself with the
old photos on the walls of the lobby.  When I pulled into the parking lot,
I didn't see Ross Sweeney's famous 1975 triple-blue Eldorado.  Unless he
walked down from the hospital, he wasn't back yet.  Fine with me; I was
casting out of my head whatever aspersions my mother had in hers about Ross
Sweeney today.

Ten minutes after 10:00AM, he walked through the lobby.  For someone who'd
been at the hospital to be with his mother through her medical emergency,
he looked calm.  The news must not've been dire.  I'd had enough of
hospital emergencies of my own that Summer, but I could empathize with
other people and theirs.

Ross Sweeney was a tall man, with graying hair and a tight beard and
mustache.  He was not unattractive by any means, but maybe I was too young
or he was too old, but he didn't set off any `Daddy Vibrations' for me.  No
doubt he did for others, though.  I wasn't on the market.  I never really
was; I just suddenly, and suddenly recently, found myself off any market
that existed.  Ross greeted me with a handshake, and we made small talk for
a moment in the lobby before walking into the expansive dining room.

At a table far in the corner and within a commanding view of the courtyard,
we sat and had almost the entire dining room to ourselves.  The only other
people there at that time of the day were the servers who were turning from
breakfast into lunch mode.  Paulette brought us waters and menus, and
offered something to drink.  I was fine with water; Ross had coffee, and
asked for the pot to be left at the table.  A long night with his mom,
perhaps; or just him awake and worrying.

"Jeff, thanks for coming here to meet with me.  This has been a really
hectic end of one month and beginning of the next.  I hope you were
sparable from Harvest for awhile today."

"It's under control, thanks.  I hope your mom is okay."

"Thanks; I think she will be.  The doctor does, too.  I doubt she'll be
going back to her house, though.  She needs more care than she can provide
herself."

"Oh.....maybe something I'll face one day, myself."

"I doubt your own mother will ever be unable to take care of herself!
She's a formidable woman!"

"We grow folks like that on Farm W."

Paulette returned with coffee for Ross.  She smiled and set a little plate
of lemons in front of me.

"I remember when you were just a little kid, Jeff; your grandmother brought
you here for your birthday, and you'd seen someone at another table have
lemons in their water.  You asked if you could, too.  I never saw a boy
like lemons in water the way you did!  So, `Happy Birthday', early or
late!"

"Thanks, Paulette!  It's actually coming up; next month.  This was really
nice of you.  I'll tell Mom; she remembers that, I'm sure.  That woman has
forgotten nothing!"

Paulette laughed and asked if I was going to have Swedish Pancakes with
Lingonberries.

"How is it you and Lu Barney can read my mind?!"

"When you've been doing this as long as she and I have, well, we just
remember things.  We get paid to!"

Ross was clearly ready to end that, and he did.

"Okay, Paulette.  I'll have some fresh fruit and an English muffin.  No
butter.  Do you think you can you remember that?"

"Yes, I can.  Thank you both."

Paulette took off, but she was no longer smiling.  Okay, Ross; I think Mom
might've been right about you.  At least in that regard, you're an asshole.

"Jeff, we need to talk about the agreement we had before your father died,
about your steer."

"Sure; that's why I'm here.  I'm sure we can talk all about it.  If there's
anything I don't understand, I can call my mom or brother and ask them.
And yes, I remember it.  You and he shook on the agreement that you'd buy
my steer, and then you and I shook on it.  The first shake was binding
between two adults; I know that.  Your and my handshake was a formality,
really.  But still, everyone shook on it."

"Yeah.  So, about that......I'll explain this as I go, and you can get
clarification from me, if you need it.  No reason to bother your mom or
brother."

What the fuck was he talking about!?  I have never bothered my family.
Pissed them off on occasion, sure; but we always knew where we stood with
each other.  Ross wasn't making sense.

"Jeff, if I remember correctly, your steer had been grass-fed, and would be
corn-finished for 90 days before you sold him."

"That's correct."

"How long have you had him on corn?"

"75 days, as of this morning."

"Oh, almost done, then.  Good.  So; two weeks."

"Yes."

"Jeff, have you had any other interested buyers?"

"No.  At least none who've said anything to me about it."

"Maybe your mother has?"

"I'm pretty sure she'd have said something, so I doubt it."

"Maybe you should check with her."

"No, not necessary.  You already agreed to buy my steer.  We agreed on a
price.  You, my dad and I agreed.  I doubt anyone is going to pay more than
you offered, but it's kind of you to think someone might give more for
Sebastian."

"Oh.....right.  That's your little steer's name."

"It is, but he's not little, Ross.  When I weighed him in at the fair, he
came in at 2,178 pounds.  Dressed out, he'll be well over half that.  I
need to stop saying `he', like he's a pet.  My steer has been a 4H business
project five years in the making, and `he' took a purple ribbon at the
fair, too."

"What?!  I didn't know that!  Well, now you SHOULD consider seeing if
there's a higher offer for your steer."

"No, I don't have time to do that, and even with the offer from the state
4H organization to show him at the State Fair, my steer and I have gone as
far as we need to go.  Until ninety days, anyway.  And then I'll bring him
to you, just as agreed.  By our all-around handshake."

"Jeff, try to let the nostalgic notion of a handshake out of your head.  We
didn't sign anything, and you're just a kid.  Legally, that handshake died
when your dad died."

Paulette was returning with the breakfast.  She wasn't smiling, and she
could probably see I wasn't, either.  She looked horrified by Ross
Sweeney's comments.  Mom was suddenly making sense.

"Mr Sweeney,"

"Ross....."

"Mr Sweeney, nothing died when my dad died.  My steer didn't.  I didn't.
Your COMMITMENT to honoring our agreement didn't die when Ned Wojtowicz, to
remind you of my dad's name, died.  The only thing you said that was right
was that I'm just a kid.  But not one who was born yesterday.  Will you
tell me what's going on here?"

NOW Paulette was smiling.  She walked away from the table, behind Ross
Sweeney.  She winked at me and nodded.  I did not return the gesture.  I
noticed she and two other servers stood only a dozen or so feet away, all
three watching our table, and pretending to be working on organizing their
station-----just in case their boss turned around to see them there.

"Watch your mouth.  Listen, we're off on a bad foot.  You're getting
hysterical and taking this waaaaay out of proportion."

"Okay.  Sure.  Let's start over.  Deep breath, Jozef.  Whew.  There we go.
Okay.  So, you agreed to buy my steer, and in two weeks, I'll be bringing
him to you, and in exchange, you'll hand me a check for $7,500.00.  Per our
handshake."

"NO.  That WON'T happen.  I have had to sink a lot of money into this place
since I took over.  New equipment that AIN'T CHEAP.  I'm paying numbskulls
good money, better money than this place can support, and need to get rid
of half of them."

All three turned their full attention on Ross' back, their eyes and mouths
wide and not happy-looking.

"I'm not going to embarrass myself by writing a check I can't cover, just
because I shook hands on a moment of civic weakness with some fast-talking
salesman and his precocious child.  This place needs more attention than a
money-losing promotional gimmick I dreamed up to attract business.  Now
ain't the time, Kiddo."

Oh, fuck, he did NOT.

Not `Kiddo'.

NEVER `Kiddo'.

"Well, here's how I see it, Mr Sweeney."

"Ross, goddamnit."

Now the three women were covering their mouths, laughing.  God, how I
wanted to laugh along with them.

"As I was saying, Mr Sweeney.....YOU approached us at the auction yard in
May.  YOU made a verbal contract and shook hands with a businessman and his
son, whose family and family name----and all the dignity and integrity it
carries----have been in this community for over 130 years.  Longer than
this hotel has been here.  Longer than the train station it was converted
from in 1959.  And unless I'm quite mistaken, longer than the two years
you've been in town.  Coming from where was it?  Oh, yeah.  Texas.  TEXAS,
Mr Sweeney.

I guess they do things differently down there, and handshakes made in
public, in the witness of dozens of other farmers and ranchers in several
counties, not just this one, mean nothing.  I can't speak to Texas, but you
spoke to Montana when you suggested, not Ned Wojtowicz, not I, that you buy
my steer as a way to promote the Yogo Inn.

Now.  Whether you can afford to cover your check is not my concern,
although I hope you can; for your sake.  It's still a good idea, from a
promotional standpoint, to make a big deal of buying a now purple-ribbon
winning Black Angus Prime steer from a farm boy.....what was the word you
used?  Oh, yeah.  `Kiddo'.  And it's an even better idea, from a
promotional standpoint, not to go back on a handshake, with the man or with
the kid.  That is NOT the promotion you want you and your hotel to be known
for here in Montana."

"You're a smart-assed little shit.  My lawyer can get me out of this.  Tell
your mommy to have yours ready to hear from mine."

I reached for my wallet and pulled it out, opening it up for him to see.

"Better yet; take her card, Mr Sweeney.  That'll save you and your lawyer
some time, I think.  Both her numbers are on there.  I have her saved in my
phone's contacts, just in case I find myself in a situation she earned not
one, but two law degrees----agriculture law and contract law---to handle.
Things juuuuust like this one, Mr Sweeney.  Would you like to use my phone?
No?  Then hold onto the card."

I stood up and extended my hand.  Either not being very bright or just
acting on business tradition, he shook it.  I held on.  He was surprised by
my strength, and the fact that he didn't have his own to pull away from me.

"Ah, another handshake.  That makes two we've shared.  Now it's just going
to get confusing for you, I suppose.  Thanks for breakfast, but I've
already eaten.  See ya around.....'Ross'."

I placed my napkin on the table next to the plate, the ages-old indication
I was all done at that table.  On my way out, I looked at Paulette, Karyn
and Josie, now gathered by the kitchen doors.  They were each smiling and
giving me the `thumbs up'.  How they could smile when they'd just heard
their boss call them numbskulls, and indicate some would be losing their
jobs, well, the whole morning was just getting so fuckin' weird.  I'm sure
THEY knew a billion Shriners were about to descend on Fergus County and the
Yogo Inn.  How invested in their jobs, in the service they were hired for
and known to provide, would they be in only four days?  Answer hint: not
very.

There.  I brought you back to reality.  I said `fuckin', and we all know:
kids do nothing but play video games, eat, and say `fuck' with every other
word.  I'll say `fuck', but I pity the fool who ever again says `Kiddo'
within my hearing distance.

I walked out through the lobby.  I turned to see Ross Sweeney stalk off all
huffy-like through the far doors of the dining room to the executive
office.  Oh, he did not look pleased, but he looked like he was on his
phone.  As Mom said, I'd love to be a fly on the wall for THAT
conversation.

I turned my head back and smiled, making sure I didn't run into Magda Gabor
(yeah, she'd stayed there, as had some other celebrities, when there'd been
an early-60s rumor Montana would legalize gambling like Nevada had) and her
rat dogs.  Ugh.....rats.  NO MORE KIDDO, NO MORE RATS.  I'd already been in
rooms with four of them today, and it wasn't even Noon.  Before I reached
the lobby doors to the outside, I saw a flash of blue and white racing
toward me.  Paulette, Karyn and Josie were on me like moths to a candle.
Then from out of nowhere, my mother, brother, boyfriend, my boy and my
girl.  Heck, only Eva, my steer and my horse were missing.  What the hell?!

Before I could say anything, my mom and my man hugged me.  Then my brother,
and then my best friends.  I didn't have to say anything; Paulette did
allll the talking, and she left out nothing.  Josie kept watch for Ross
Sweeney or anyone else who shouldn't be made aware of the dining room
disturbance.  Nope, no interruptions.  Mom was looking like General Mark
Milley, both happy and sad that she knew what was likely to happen, and
then to get confirmation that it did.  Her only soldier in battle, though,
was no casualty.  Fergus County's own Vladdy Putin, though.....well, a
different story, all together.  He had some wounds to nurse.

"Marie, you would've been so proud!  Jeff handled himself like Ned would
have.  You've raised a boy into a man most remarkable.  Today has been the
best day I've ever spent inside this building, and that probably includes
my own honeymoon here, ten years ago!"

Everyone laughed, and the three servers pulled me into another four-way
hug.  Karyn was next.

"We heard everything that rat had to say!  He made a big mistake not
putting his hearing aids in today, because he talked extra-loudly.  We know
now what's going on, and it pretty much confirmed what we suspected.  Jeff,
I'm so sorry.  That's a lousy, very un-Montana thing to do; to welsh on a
handshake.  If my dad or husband or brothers or sons were here, heck, even
if my daughter and granddaughter were here, they'd all take turns kicking
his ass all the way back to whatever rock he slithered out from beneath!
And then I'D kick his ass!  All three of us here would!"

Josie traded the look-out with Karyn.  The coast must've been clear.

"We're just the women on the breakfast crew.  Two more will join us for
lunch.  Then three more will take over for dinner.  That doesn't include
Ann, Molly and the other Jeff, the bussers.  By the end of the day,
everyone on this floor is going to know what we heard, and Ross Sweeney
won't be able to refute it.  That doesn't even include the housekeeping,
maintenance, groundskeeping, bar staff, banquet staff or the front desk
folks.  In all, 31 or more people are expected to accommodate a sold-out
hotel when the Shriners are here.  Every other place in town is sold out,
too.  I just wonder, Paulette....."

"What do you wonder, Josie?"

"Who Ross Sweeney is going to get to come into work when 31 hourly workers
call out sick on Friday morning, also for Saturday and Sunday?"

Oh, my goodness.  Or, as my great-great-great grandfather used to say, all
broken English and charm, `Good Googa-Mooga!'

The three women all whooped and cackled and ran off.  I knew then that if I
ever got into the entertainment business, they'd be the first people I'd
cast for the first characters on stage in `MacBeth'.  They'd be naturals.

I looked at Marc, Mom, Aleksy, Tommy and Kristi.  Then I crossed my arms.

"Does anyone among you care to share why you're here?  I don't think
Justice Nancy Todd was serious that Junior would be staying at a
hotel....."

Mom hugged me.

"I stayed out of the dining room and out of the conversation.  I just
wanted to be here if you needed me at any point."

"And I wanted to be here for Mom, in case she needed me at any point."

"And I wanted to be here for Marie and Aleksy, if they needed me at any
point."

"And we were just driving by and saw all your rigs, and thought there might
be a party.  Looks like Kristi was right!  So, let's party!"

I laughed the loudest at that, and threw my long arms around all of them.
It was the best group hug of my life.  The laughter continued, and being
the second-tallest in the room (My brother had me beat, 6'3" to my 6'1"), I
saw the cranky-faced cranky-pants known as Mr Sweeney coming through the
lobby.  When the others saw the direction of my glance, we all walked
forward to the lobby doors.  He stopped at the front desk and just glared
at me.  He'd already said way more in public than he should have, and
threatening me with legal action wasn't his finest point in his day
already.

I don't know how we were all on the same wavelength, but as we six walked
out the front door of the Yogo Inn, we turned to wave and call out,

"Bye, Ross!"

I'm sure our laughter could be heard throughout the big parking lot.  What
a day.  First Junior, then Johnny Mark Ware and his Rodent Circus, and now,
Ross Sweeney.  Great-Great-Great Grandpa, you were right:|

Good Googa-Mooga.