Farm Girl
A tale of love, devotion, and fresh produce
Smashwords Edition
Francis W. Porretto
Copyright © 2010 Francis W. Porretto
Cover Art (such as it is) by Francis W. Porretto
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==<O>==
Part One: First Plantings
Allan Fitzgerald’s front yard was unusually shallow for a parcel that had once been a working farm. A mere sixty feet separated his front porch from the curb of NY 231. Behind his humble little ranch, his spread extended a quarter mile further eastward, and was almost as wide as it was deep. The previous owner had once operated a moderately successful corn farm there, as had the owner before him, but the viability of so small-scale a farm had come to an end when the massive machines of Lyons-Davis Agricorp rolled into Onteora County.
That didn’t matter to Allan. He’d never been a farmer. The field stood idle. In the barn beside the ranch, the tractor and harvester gathered cobwebs. The old Bellamy farm was merely his retirement home, where he hid more or less comfortably from the world and its reminders of his failures.
Allan didn’t bother much about the field or the barn. When the mood struck him to be outside, he invariably went to sit on the front porch. Traffic on NY 231 was too sparse to annoy him, and the Compton farm across the way was as idle as his own.
That morning, he’d been sitting on his porch for about an hour, musing indifferently over a mediocre fantasy novel, when the girl ambled into view.
Foot traffic on NY 231 was unusual in the extreme. It was a truck route, a bypass for the city of Onteora. It had no sidewalks, and was flanked by no consumer-oriented stores or places of employment. It connected to US 90, forty miles to the west, but those who traveled it eastward were seldom Onteora bound.
At a distance the girl was ordinary-looking: medium height, a broad-shouldered but bosomy build, shoulder-length blonde hair. She appeared to be in her early twenties. She wore a heavy wool sweater, blue jeans, and work boots. A shabby satchel of modest size dangled from her right hand. Her walk was strong but unhurried. A surge of curiosity impelled Allan to lean forward, as he attempted to make out her face.
She noticed, stopped, and returned his gaze. Embarrassed without a clear reason, Allan smiled formally and forced his eyes back to his novel.
“Any good?”
The words startled him half out of his chair. She’d approached so quietly that he hadn’t noticed her arrival on his porch, practically in his lap. She backed away a step as he resettled himself.
“Not particularly. Just a way to pass the time. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for work.” She waved at the barn and the field beyond. “Your first planting is late. Need a hand with it? I’m good with machines.”
He grinned ruefully. “You can’t imagine how late. There hasn’t been a planting here in seven years. This isn’t a working farm any more. It’s just my retirement spread.”
The girl’s face fell. She nodded, hefted her satchel, and made to leave.
“Just a moment.”
She turned and looked at him questioningly.
She’s not dirty or unkempt, but...
“How long have you been walking?”
She shrugged. “Couple days. A trucker dropped me off at the end of 90.”
“Got a place to stay?”
She shook her head.
“Had any breakfast?”
“Granola bar.” She indicated her satchel. “They’re easy to tote around.”
“Uh, yeah.” He rose. “Look, I was about to fix some lunch. If you’re not in a big hurry to get on down the road, you’re welcome to join me.”
She stared at him in silence for several seconds.
“Okay, thanks.” She stuck out a hand. He took it, her calluses rough against his fingers. “I’m Kate.”
“Allan,” he said. “Let’s get fed.”
* * *
Kate attacked her ham sandwich with evident appetite. Allan smiled to himself, fetched bottled soda, potato salad, and a plastic container of grapes from the fridge, and loaded them onto the kitchen table.
As he laid out forks, napkins, and plastic cups, he said “Work’s pretty sparse these days.”
She nodded. “Not just here.”
“You’re not a New Yorker, are you?”
“Jayhawk.” She snapped off another bite of her sandwich, chewed and swallowed quickly. “The big outfits have taken over back there. They don’t have much use for local hands. They bring in their own crews. Mexicans, mostly.”
“It’s the same here.”
She nodded and shoveled up a monstrous bite of potato salad. He seated himself across from her, poured soda for them both, and steepled his hands before him.
“So how long have you been on the road?”
She swallowed, laid down her fork, and looked at him as if she were trying to gauge the sincerity of his interest.
“Been a few weeks.”
“No takers for an experienced hand in all that time?”
Her look of disgust was eloquent.
“So what do you think of New York so far?”
She scowled. “Not much. You don’t use what you’ve got. God gave us the land to grow something. To give life.” She took up her cup of soda and emptied it in a single long draught. “You folks don’t seem to realize that. Unless your neighbors are different from...what I’ve seen so far.”
“Religious?”
“Catholic.”
“Me too.” He hesitated. “Can I have a shot at changing your opinion of us?”
Her weighing, measuring stare returned at full force.
“What do you have in mind?”
He rose. “Come with me.”
* * *
Kate ran a hand caressingly along the tractor’s steel flank.
“This is a forty-seven Springfield. They don’t make ’em like this any more. All plastic and sheet metal nowadays.”
Allan nodded. “Think you can get it running?”
She chuckled. “Oh, I’ll get her running, all right. She’s a classic. Pure power, just waiting for the starting gun. When I’m finished with her, she’ll be able to pull your house off its foundation.” Her face clouded; she halted and swiveled to face him. “For what?”
“You want to grow things?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do it here.”
She gaped at him.
“I don’t use the land. Why shouldn’t you?” He waved at the array of machines and tools, idle since he’d taken possession. “Stay here and work it. You’re welcome to do what you like with it. And keep the proceeds, of course.”
She gazed doubtfully at the tractor, plainly uncertain what she’d really been invited to do.
“Stay where?”
“I have a spare bedroom.”
Her eyes rose to his, challenging. “Is there lock on the door?”
“There is. You won’t be disturbed, I promise.”
“Lend me a few bucks for seed and fuel and stuff?”
He nodded. “Not a problem.”
“Corn?”
“Whatever you want.”
She pondered in silence for a long moment.
“Okay.”
* * *
Allan was overwhelmed by the fury of Kate’s attack on his offer. She rose at five the following morning, was showered and dressed by five-twenty, and out in the barn immediately thereafter without even a cup of coffee. The constant clanking, scraping of tools against parts, and occasional heartfelt profanity kept him aware of her labors throughout the morning. It took all his resolve to keep him inside so she could work in privacy. He peered out the kitchen window at the open barn doors more often than he’d care to admit.
Just before noon, there came a brief, rapid whirring, followed by the roaring of a powerful engine awakening from slumber. Moments later, the tractor rolled out of the barn, with Kate grinning triumphantly from the driver’s seat, and arrowed up the gentle grade toward his house.
Allan closed the back door behind him and stood on the landing as Kate halted the old monster a mere yard from his steps and killed the engine. Her smile was impossibly wide.
“Told you!”
He nodded. “Indeed you did. Get on in here.”
She frowned, but followed him inside. He gestured her to sit at the kitchen table, then laid a legal pad and a ball-point pen before her.
“Make a list of what you need.”
“Huh? I was going to—”
“No doubt you were. But it’s a fair drive to the best clump of suppliers, so I want to be sure we don’t forget anything.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t think you were going to carry a few hundred pounds of seed, fertilizer, and fuel back here, did you?”
“Well, no. But I was going to hitch Nellie up to the disc harrow and—”
“Nellie?”
“The Springfield. That’s her name.” She grinned. “All these years and you didn’t know?”
He groaned. “Okay, so I’m insufficiently inquisitive about my machines’ monikers.”
“Hey! Shorter words, please. I’m only a farm girl.”
He fixed her with a no-nonsense stare.
“You’re a farm woman.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded. “Okay, whatever.”
“So make that list. I’ll fix us some lunch.”
“Okay.”
* * *
For the next three days, Kate didn’t let up. She put twelve to fourteen hours into the little farm each day: first tending the machines, then clearing away the debris of earlier years, then tilling the soil and readying it to receive seed. She paused only for meals, and at the end of the day to shower and retire to her room. Yet the grinding effort seemed to agree with her; she never complained, and she looked stronger and more assured with each day’s work.
Allan knew that, without assistance, Kate would have to limit her ambitions. She certainly wouldn’t be able to cultivate forty acres’ crops with no hands but her own. He kept silent, and waited patiently for her to disclose her plans for the season before her. It was Saturday dinner before she revealed them.
“Think I’ll plant four acres for trade,” she said between mouthfuls of beef stew, “and put asparagus on four more. Plenty of money in good asparagus. Won’t be worth a damn for at least two years, though.”
“Two years?” A gentle fluttering began in his stomach.
She nodded. “You have to invest the time if you want stuff that’s worth the money. The soil and the asparagus have to get used to one another.”
“So what will this year’s cash crops be?” he said.
“Scallions and rhubarb.”
“Hm?”
She grinned. “You expected corn? Why bother? The big guys grow enough corn to feed the whole world about five times.” She tore a chunk from her dinner roll, sopped up stew gravy with it, thrust it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Small operators have to do specialty crops. I’m really good with rhubarb. You ever had a rhubarb pie?”
He shook his head.
“Then you haven’t lived. I promise you, nobody near here will be able to touch our rhubarb.” She nibbled at the roll. “The hard part will be selling the stuff. Are there any specialty markets around here we could approach?”
“A few. Feel like taking a drive tomorrow, making inquiries?”
She was silent for a moment. “Sure. So when’s Mass tomorrow?” she said.
The swerve hauled him up short. “I go to the seven-thirty. The church is on the other side of the city. You’re coming with me?”
She shrugged. “Of course. Why not?”
“Right.”
* * *
They drew more than a few stares in church. The seven-thirty Mass was populated by the most constant of congregations. Nearly all the attendees sat in exactly the same place every week. An unfamiliar face was sure to excite interest, and more than a little gossip. Especially since it was the face of a young woman, sitting by the side of a considerably older man who’d come to Mass alone for seven straight years.
Father Ray stopped them on the church steps.
“Do I have a new parishioner?”
Kate answered before Allan could compose a response. “For this season at least, Father.” She held out a hand, and the priest clasped it. “I’m Kate Morrell.”
“Welcome to Onteora parish, dear. I’m Father Raymond Altomare.” The priest looked an avalanche of questions at Allan, who did his best to maintain an expression of bland amiability.
“Father,” Kate said before the awkward silence could run too long, “would you know of any markets in the area that might take some specialty produce on consignment?”
The priest’s eyebrows rose. “Are you reviving Bellamy Farm?”
She nodded. “Maybe you’ll be calling it the Morrell Farm this time next year.”
Father Ray smiled. “Wait here.” He trotted off toward a knot of other congregants, animatedly exchanging words and gestures on the church’s front lawn, and returned moments later with a solid-looking man in a sport jacket and NFL-logo tie.
“Hello, I’m Jack Taliaferro. I run the local farmers’ market.” He held out a hand.
Kate shook the proffered hand but did not release it. Her voice dropped a full octave and became husky. “I’m Kate Morrell. Allan has hired me to turn his spread into a working farm again. We’ve put in several acres of champion-line scallions and rhubarb. Very high return per unit. But I’m only good at growing things. I’m hopeless at selling them. Do you think you might be able to help?” With that, she produced a smile of such dazzling power that Allan’s heart clenched in his chest.
Taliaferro’s mouth dropped open. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. His free hand went to his collar and tugged it away from his throat.
“I think I might,” he croaked. “Give me a moment?” He reclaimed his hand with some reluctance and beckoned to another congregant. “Solly? Come do some business!”
Presently Kate was chatting, laughing, and backslapping with the two merchants as if they were friends of twenty years’ standing. A few minutes later, she shook hands with both again and returned to Allan.
Allan took Kate gently by the elbow and steered her back toward the car. “How did you do that?”
The smile she awarded him was 200-proof innocence. “Practice.”
* * *
They went on that way, day after day and week after week. Kate would rise at five, if not earlier, and set to her labors at once. Allan, half an hour or more behind her despite his best efforts, would cook for them, clean for them, and provide the relaxation of small talk at their meals together. At seven each evening she would put away her tools, shower off the grime of the day, and sit quietly before the television with him until weariness compelled her to sleep.
Allan kept his distance with difficulty; Kate was too much the dynamo, too filled with life and the fire of enterprise. She electrified him even at her arm’s-length remove. She shone with the quality whose loss had impelled him toward an unusually early retirement: the simple joy of dedication, the ecstasy that comes from giving oneself wholeheartedly to work one genuinely wants to do.
She asked for nothing. He had to drag her away from the farm to drive her into the city for clothes, shoes, and grooming items. Her reluctance to allow him to spend on her made it difficult verging on impossible, but he would not relent. He used marketing and Mass as the rationales. If she wanted to sell her produce widely, he told her, she’d have to cultivate recognition and trust as well as her crops, by becoming socially acquainted with more of Onteora than just him. Besides, contemporary mores to the side, it was unseemly to attend church in stained jeans and work boots. She acquiesced, at first reluctantly, then with visibly growing pleasure.
It grew upon him over time that, while he had adjusted to being alone after his divorce from Marie, he had never come to enjoy it. He was not truly a solitary man. He’d been plagued by his sense of unworthiness and his awkwardness with others, and had come to prefer isolation to their torments. Yet in Kate’s company he could feel neither.
One June morning, she woke him by force, shaking him out of a dreamless slumber to the rising light of dawn. He focused with difficulty, blearily wondering what emergency could justify her unprecedented invasion of his bedroom. The clock on his nightstand made it half past five.
She insisted that he don a robe and follow her, and led him to the fields she’d cultivated. To his sleep-hazed vision, all appeared as it had the day before. She scampered a few paces into the field, squatted, and beckoned to him to join her.
The scallions had sprouted. Green shoots about an inch long had penetrated to the air and sunlight. He looked from them to her, and found in her smile a joy that words could not capture. Instead of speaking, he raised her to her feet and offered his hand in congratulations.
She stepped past his hand and wrapped him in an embrace of crushing power. He returned it hesitantly. Twin streams of tears dampened his shoulder.
* * *
That night, Allan teetered on the verge of sleep when a warm intrusion made its presence known against his side. He groped through the darkness and found a cushiony silken mass: a woman’s breast.
“Kate?”
She chuckled. “Unless you’ve got someone else coming over.” A hand landed on his chest and slid caressingly down to his groin. He became erect at once.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think?”
“But—“
“Shut up, Allan.” She reached into his boxers’ fly and took his organ in her hand. “We farm girls aren’t into a lot of conversation at times like this.” Seemingly in one motion, she divested him of his shorts and rolled him on top of her.
She was muscular yet soft and welcoming, a blanket of loving flesh that sought him with an eagerness he’d never encountered even as a teenager. He had to be the one to slow them down, to delay actual coitus and make room for foreplay. As he acquainted himself with her body, kissing, nibbling, and stroking his way along her bounties, she clutched at him repeatedly, as if she were afraid that he might somehow slip away. He reassured her with fingertips, lips, and tongue, using all he remembered of the art of love from his distant days of joy with Marie.
When she was gasping raggedly beneath him, desperate for the ultimate union, he gently parted her labia, started to slide into her, and hit an unexpected barrier. He pulled back at once.
“What’s wrong?” she breathed.
“Are you wearing a tampon?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“Shut up, Allan!” And she slammed herself onto him with irresistible force.
They cried out together from the pain of her deflowering, but in the aftermath it was quickly forgotten. She would not allow their bodies to be separated; she barely allowed him enough latitude to move inside her. It was mere seconds to her first shuddering orgasm, a minute or two to her second one. As she approached the third, the tides in Allan’s groin swelled toward their peak. He could not restrain them. Her fingers dug deeply into his buttocks as he arched and came.
She screamed deafeningly as his seed flowed into her. She refused to let him withdraw even slightly, pulling him against her so powerfully that his pelvis groaned from the stress. His outpouring of semen seemed to go on forever, a torrent no effort of his could stanch. The force and duration of his orgasm left him exhausted, almost too weak to breathe, but still conscious enough to fret.
Dear God, I’ve broken a virgin. I might have impregnated her into the bargain.
She held him inescapably, her arms and legs woven around him, as they slowly regained their breath and their senses. He remained lodged deep in her body. He did not attempt to breach the embrace.
“Why?” he breathed at last.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“But how?”
“How not?” she replied.
“Kate—”
“Time enough in the morning, Allan.”
With a twist of her hips, she rolled him onto his back and settled herself upon him. Arms around one another, still locked tightly together, they slept.
* * *
As usual, she was up before him, but this time he found her in the kitchen, coffee made and mugs steaming at their respective places. She looked up as he entered and smiled.
It was the radiant smile of the morning before, when she’d shown him the first visible sign of the life she’d nurtured, but it was more. It compounded discovery, triumph, love, and peace into a single visible expression of joy. He could hardly believe he was its object.
He sat at his place and stretched out his hands. She took them in hers.
“What now?” he murmured.
She shrugged. “Breakfast, a quick shower, then I guess I’ll weed and water.”
“Come on!”
She leered. “Got something else in mind?”
“Kate!”
“From where I’m sitting, everything’s great, Allan. What’s got you so wound up?”
“I might have impregnated you last night!”
“You think I’m not aware of that? Farm girl, remember? Oh, excuse me, farm woman. I know what semen is for, Allan. I’ve inseminated cows.” She looked off briefly. “Now that’s really grotty. The bull semen comes in this turkey baster thing. You have to wear these long lubricated gloves, because one hand goes all the way up the cow’s—”
“Kate!”
She giggled little-girl naughtily.
He was unable to speak, barely able to form a coherent thought. She grinned and chafed his hands.
“God gave women wombs for the same reason He gave us the land: to grow something. To make life. I want your baby inside me. If I didn’t catch last night, maybe I’ll get lucky tonight. Or tomorrow, or the next night. Think you’re up to the job?”
Her expression turned serious, and she leaned forward. “Or is it that you don’t want a baby?”
“Kate,” he faltered, “the only thing I want more than a child of my own is you to love and raise it with. I just can’t quite believe it’s all coming true. Why?”
She scowled. “Told you last night. I love you.”
“I guess,” he said slowly, “that’s the part I still don’t get. How am I...how did I earn that?”
Her smile returned. “By being who you are. By opening your home to me, giving me everything you have, and telling me it’s mine to use as I please. By looking after me and treating me like your beloved long before you even knew what I’m good for.” Her brow wrinkled. “What I don’t get is my good luck. Why hasn’t some other woman snapped you up?”
“At my age?”
“Seems like you’re doing okay to me. You’re a classic. You haven’t rusted or weathered. You’re still state of the art. They don’t make ’em like you any more. Like Nellie. How old are you, fifty or so?”
“Fifty-two. Kate, that’s another thing. You’re what, twenty-two or twenty-three?”
“Twenty-three in October.” She grinned. “Lots of farm kids are born in October.”
“Uh, yeah. So I’ve got thirty years on you. Just how long do you think I’m going to last? You could be alone again before you hit fifty.”
She peered at him in disbelief. “I’m supposed to toss away the man I love because I can’t have the whole of his adult life for my own? Okay, so I got here late. My bad. But what you have left is priceless, and I want to share it with you, and with your children born from my body. If you’ll let me.”
He fell silent.
Presently she squeezed his hands, rose and went to peer out the window at the field she’d labored over.
“I can’t abide waste, Allan. Farm people are like that.” She gestured at her tillings. “When you first showed me that field, and all the stuff in your barn, I knew I had to make use of it. You could have tried to send me down the road, but I think I’d have fought you even that very first day. And after you showed me yourself, I wasn’t about to let you go to waste either.”
He shook his head. “So what have you been doing these past six weeks? Working up the nerve?”
She chuckled. “Plus a little agriculture. Actually,” she said, “I wanted to give you the right of the first move. After yesterday morning, I couldn’t make myself wait any more.” She returned to her seat and took his hands again. “Your turn.”
“Hm?”
“Time to tell me how you feel about it—about me.”
He was slow to answer.
“I was...dead,” he said. “Marie—my wife—left me a long while ago. It was harder on me than I realized at first. I lost interest in my work, and I became uncomfortable around others, and pretty soon I was alone. I tried to tell myself that I preferred it that way, but I was alone whether I liked it or not. I had money, so I took advantage of the opportunity to retire and get away. I landed here. Lots of space, no neighbors to speak of, no pressure of any kind. As long as I could get groceries and get to Mass on Sunday, I thought I had what I needed.”
“And then?”
“Then there was you. The embodiment of life. Life on the hoof! What I’d needed but hadn’t had the sense to look for or pursue, delivered right onto my porch on a breezy April day. From that very first moment, you brought me life in such abundance that I knew I couldn’t stay dead. Want to know how I knew?”
She nodded.
“Because I couldn’t look at you without quaking inside from the fear that you might get away.”
Her eyes brimmed over. She rose and pulled him out of his seat.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get moving.”
“Hm?”
“First,” she said, “we shower. Then some toast or eggs or something. Then we go see Father Ray.”
“Why?”
“Banns and a date, dummy! You do want our firstborn to be legitimate, don’t you?” She tugged him down the hallway toward the master bathroom.
“Oh. Right. Kate?”
“Hm?”
“Could I help with the farm? I don’t know much about growing things, but...?”
That stopped her. She turned and searched his face. “It’s dirty, tiring work, Allan.”
“That’s okay,” he said, “if I can do it with you.”
She smiled and pulled him close. “That you can.”
==<O>==
Part Two: Soil Tests
Allan trotted along beside the tractor as Kate steered it toward the barn. He pulled the sliding door open and stood aside as she brought the tractor smoothly to rest in its accustomed place. She killed the engine, jumped down from the driver’s seat, and writhed to stretch the kinks out of her lower back.
“We got a lot done,” he said as he reached for her hand.
She smiled tiredly, slid the barn door closed, and took his hand. They headed up the slight incline toward the house.
“Kate?”
“Hm?”
“Something wrong?”
She looked up at him in some surprise. “No, nothing. Why?”
“You haven’t been very talkative lately.”
That elicited a crooked grin. “Farm girl, remember?”
So along with not talking during sex, they don’t talk the rest of the time either?
He nodded and escorted her to their back door. Once inside, she silently stepped out of her overalls, tossed them at the rough-clothing hamper in the corner, and headed for the bathroom. Presently he heard the pulse of the shower.
Allan frowned, took a seat at their kitchen table, and propped his chin on his folded hands.
Something had to be amiss. Kate’s taciturnity had gone well beyond her norm. She’d been driving herself harder than ever, rising earlier, stopping later, and demanding ever greater prodigies of effort from herself. In bed she’d gone from enthusiastic to frenzied, straining to bring him to orgasm twice or thrice every night. Yet she hardly had a word to say about the farm, their labors, their love life, or anything else.
It’s only been a year. Maybe I don’t yet know her all that well.
He tried not to worry.
Maybe the party will lift her spirits.
He went to their bedroom and rummaged through the closet for an appropriate suit. Though he’d saved several from his lawyering days, they failed to fit him as they once did. Farm labor had developed his chest, arms, and thighs more radically than they could accommodate. He wasn’t unhappy about it—he’d never felt better in his life—but it meant more casual attire for the Taliaferros’ party than he was used to wearing to such occasions. He shrugged and settled on a navy polo shirt and a new pair of tan slacks.
He cleared a spot on their bed, lay back, and allowed his thoughts to ramble. The previous year’s rhubarb and scallions had sold extremely well. With his help, Kate had gotten six acres of each under cultivation, plus six of asparagus from a gourmet line. Present trends continuing, the coming crop would be as bountiful, and would sell out as quickly and profitably, as had the previous one. They had good reason to be proud of their work.
Kate entered wrapped in a towel, spied him reclining on their bed with his suits scattered around him, and grinned.
“They don’t fit any more, do they?”
He chuckled. “How did you guess?”
“It’s my doing, Allan. I made you into a farm boy. A farm boy never has a suit that fits. It’s sort of a tradition.”
She opened her fingers and let her towel fall to the floor. He sat up, the better to admire her tawny-blonde beauty, at once muscular and feminine.
“But I’ve got another farm saying in mind at the moment,” she said. “The biggest one of all. The work’s not done until the crop is in.”
His eyebrows rose. “Meaning what?”
She undulated toward him. “Meaning get out of those clothes.”
* * *
“Allan?”
“Hm?” He nuzzled her breast.
“Why haven’t I conceived?”
The question brought him to full alert.
Is that what’s been on her mind?
“I don’t know, Kate. Sometimes it takes a while. It doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something wrong with us.”
“Wrong with me, you mean.”
The catch in her voice was plain. He propped himself on an elbow and peered at her through the early evening gloom.
“I meant what I said. There’s such a thing as couple infertility. It might be the commonest kind.” He dipped his head to brush his lips lightly across hers. “There’s stress-induced infertility, too. You might just be working too hard. Pushing yourself beyond your proper limits. The body sometimes shuts down, uh, nonessential functions to compensate.”
Her expression tightened. “I thought I knew my limits. I’ve worked this hard before. This many hours, this kind of load, and so on.”
“But you weren’t trying to get pregnant back then, were you?”
“Of course not!”
“Easy, Kate. We could go see Dr. Childress, if you want to get tested. He could do a sperm count on me, too, make sure I’m not, uh, shooting blanks.”
She gave him a severe look. “What kind of farm boy are you? You mean to waste perfectly good seeds on a test tube?”
It was too much. He broke into helpless laughter, and she joined him. Presently she rolled him onto his back, straddled him, and slid down the bed until his penis was directly under her face.
“Maybe we haven’t scattered quite...enough...seeds yet.” She dipped her head and ran her tongue along the underside of his penis, from scrotum to head. It brought him instantly back to full erection. A jolt of exquisite pleasure shot through the length of his body, compelling a gasp.
“Mmm!” She dipped for a second lick and smacked her lips. “And all this time I thought I preferred sweet snacks.”
On her third descent she took him fully into her mouth.
* * *
“She’s radiant,” Jack Taliaferro said.
Allan nodded. “I wish we had more occasions to doll her up for.”
Kate stood at the far end of the Taliaferros’ great room, a glass of white wine in her hand. She held court among a group of older wives, all of whom were doing their best to pump her for her antecedents without seeming to pry overtly. Her relaxed, confident poise and amused smile were more of a comment on their efforts than anything she might have said.
It had taken all of Allan’s persuasive powers to get her into the black satin cocktail dress and high-heeled pumps she wore. Yet once she’d donned them and glimpsed herself in their bedroom mirror, her eyes had filled with wonder and tears. When he produced the diamond necklace he’d purchased for their anniversary and fastened it around her neck, she’d plastered herself against him, sobbing from sheer joy.
“We can fix that,” Taliaferro said. “How did you do it?”
“Hm?”
“Bag her.” The produce magnate’s wry grin expressed an envious incredulity. “She’s less than half your age and a damn sight better looking.”
Allan chuckled. “Wasn’t my idea, Jack,” he said. “I was sitting on my porch, minding my own business, and suddenly there she was.”
“Not a client of yours?”
“Huh? I don’t have any clients.”
Taliaferro’s eyebrows rose. “I took you for a professional of some sort. Doctor or lawyer. What do you do to pay for groceries?”
“Well,” Allan said, “I used to be a lawyer. I gave it up when I moved out here.”
That got him Taliaferro’s full attention. “What sort?”
“General commercial law,” Allan said. He sipped at his highball. “Occasionally a little civil practice.”
“Did you hear about Ted Guillory’s death?”
Allan shook his head.
“He handled most of Onteora’s commercial clients,” Taliaferro said. “Very highly regarded, he’ll be greatly missed. There’s a vacuum there now. Are you still admitted to the New York bar?”
Allan nodded. “I’ve kept in good standing.”
Taliaferro’s eyes twinkled. “If your touch is as good with the law as it is with beautiful young women, it might be time for you to think about going back into the trenches. I could use you myself.”
Allan started to demur, stopped himself, and pondered.
Do I miss it at all?
Would Kate mind?
Kate chose that moment to excuse herself from her companions and saunter across the room to him. She slipped an arm around his waist as she smiled up at Jack Taliaferro.
“Mr. Taliaferro—”
“Jack, please.” The produce magnate’s smile threatened to amputate his lower jaw.
“Thank you for having us, Jack. It’s a delightful party.”
“As it happens,” Taliaferro said, “it’s for you.”
“Hm?”
“Everyone I know has been dying to meet you two.” Taliaferro waved inclusively at the gathering. Nearly fifty people strolled the generous spaces of his great room and the huge deck beyond it. All of them were persons of substance or the spouses thereof. “Nan Ormandy was about to bug your house out of sheer curiosity.”
Kate squinted in cordial bemusement. “What’s so intriguing about us?” She squeezed Allan, and he dimpled. “We’re just a farm couple trying to scratch a living out of the soil.”
Taliaferro laughed. “If you’d wanted a life of anonymity, you shouldn’t have started going to the seven-thirty Mass. A couple of parishioners are still grumbling about it.”
“Hm? Why?”
“Because you took—” Taliaferro made hooks with his forefingers—“their pew!”
Kate laughed and rested her head against Allan’s shoulder. “We’ll have to look them up and offer apologies.”
“Seriously, though,” Taliaferro said, “welcome to what passes for society around here. I hope you won’t turn back into strangers after this. Especially this big guy,” he said, indicating Allan. “I’ve got plans for him.”
A little of the pleasure seeped out of Kate’s expression. She canted to look up into her husband’s eyes. Allan felt his face grow red.
“Oh.”
* * *
Kate laid her face against Allan’s chest. “Do I get to hear about Jack’s plans now?”
Allan smiled and pulled her closer. “He thinks he can talk me into going back to the practice of law.”
“Well? Can he?”
He snorted. “Get serious. Why should I? I don’t miss it at all. I have everything I want right here.”
“You do?”
The question surprised him.
Does she doubt me?
“Let’s see,” he said. “I get to spend my whole day every day with you. I’m learning new things every day. I feel better than I have since I was twenty. We’re making a name for your produce. And we’re making money. Should I trade all that for a fluorescent-lit office, a swivel chair, and a desk full of paperwork? Hm, tough call.”
She giggled against his chest. “You sure know the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Yup. Right through here.” He reached down and fondled her vulva.
“Hey!” She giggled again. “Not unless you mean business, sport.”
“Which I do.” He rolled her onto her back and entered her.
“Aaah!” Her hands went to his buttocks and pulled him deeply into her.
As they moved against one another, he whispered, “So, Mrs. Fitzgerald, tell me about this tort you’d like me to handle.”
“I might have misled you, Counselor,” she gasped, “I didn’t mean tort.”
“Hm?” He raised himself onto his elbows and peered into her flushed face. “What did you mean, then?”
“I meant tart.”
“Oh? What tart?”
“Me,” she whispered. She trailed a fingertip down his spine, slipped it delicately into his anus, and stroked his prostate. He gasped and pressed deep into her as he exploded, triggering her own climax. As ever since their first lovemaking, the force and duration of his orgasm consumed him completely.
“Fill me, my king,” she said as his spasms subsided. “Fill your queen with your seed. Let it find fertile ground. Let my breasts swell, and my belly grow great, that I might bring forth an heir to our kingdom.”
He raised himself again and peered wonderingly into her eyes. “Where did that come from?”
“Hey, you wanted me to be more talkative, didn’t you?” She took his face between her hands. “Are you pleased with your lady wife, Your Majesty?”
“Before you, I was nothing,” he said. “I was barely alive. It’s you who’ve made me a king.” He kissed her tenderly. “Only you.”
* * *
“Allan?” Kate called from the front door. “There’s someone here to see you.”
What’s with the catch in her voice?
He turned off the television, rose from the sofa, and ambled toward the foyer. He wasn’t minded to spend much time on a drop-in visitor. The day had gone well, but it had been strenuous, and he’d been looking forward to bed.
He found Kate in the company of a beautiful woman he didn’t recognize. She was dark of hair and eyes yet fair of skin, looked to be in her mid-thirties, and was dressed to the nines in a an elegantly tailored navy blue skirt suit, sheer hose, and high-heeled pumps. A single strand of pearls graced her throat.
Kate’s eyes were full of questions.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
The strange woman extended a hand. “Mr. Fitzgerald?”
He took it and shook it gently. “The same. And you are...?”
“Schuyler Clarke.” She smiled formally. “Forgive me, please, for the intrusion. I’ve stopped by several times during daylight hours, but no one ever answered the door.”
He chuckled. “No surprise there. Kate and I are farmers. We’re out in the fields just about whenever there’s light.”
Clarke’s eyebrows knitted in surprise. “Jack Taliaferro said you were a lawyer.”
It was Allan’s turn to be surprised. “I was, once. I haven’t practiced in eight years now.” He gestured toward the living room. “Would you like to sit?”
Clarke nodded and followed him, with Kate bringing up the rear. When they’d all taken seats, Allan hunched forward, elbows on knees, and said, “Do you have a legal problem?”
Clarke smiled faintly. “I suppose you could say that. I was Theodore Guillory’s paralegal.”
“Oh.” Allan groped for words. “I only heard of his passing a few days ago. My condolences.”
“Thank you. Unfortunately, condolences won’t do much for the clients he’s left behind.”
“Oh! Unfinished business?”
“Quite a bit of it,” Clarke said. “I have no one to refer them to. Jack suggested that you might be willing to help me to meet their various needs.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Kate, seated close by Allan’s side. “He didn’t mention that you were so fully engaged.”
Allan chuckled. “Jack has a way of omitting details he considers trivial.”
“Hm. I’d imagine, then, that you’re unavailable for legal work?”
Allan started to speak, stopped himself.
“How many clients, Miss Clarke?”
“Six,” she said. “All straightforward commercial work. No court appearances, and no conflicts in prospect. I could do the bulk of it myself, but that would be illegal unless—“
“Unless you had a member of the New York Bar to sign off on it, yes.” He sat back and pondered briefly. Kate snugged herself more closely against him.
“I’d be willing to undertake it,” he said after an interval, “on condition that you handle all the routine matters, and that everyone understands that I’d be unavailable for any follow-ups or further work. I’m not really interested in resuming the practice of law.” He smiled and looped an arm around Kate. “My new occupation suits me much better.”
Schuyler Clarke gave him the most thorough going-over he’d ever experienced. Her eyes roamed his face and body as if she were measuring him for a space suit. He could not tell from her expression what evaluation she reached, if any.
“I suppose I can’t reasonably ask more than that,” she said. “Would you be willing to use Counselor Guillory’s old suite for the meetings? I think it might be preferable to having them come here. For the sake of your privacy, that is.”
Kate stiffened against him. He hugged her gently.
“Certainly, Miss Clarke. When would I have to present myself there?”
Clarke consulted a Day-Timer. “Aaron Campbell has an appointment to meet with Ted—excuse me, with you, tomorrow at eleven. Can you make it, or should I try to reschedule?”
He glanced at Kate. There was an uneasy glint in her eyes. She nodded.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
Clarke rose and handed him a business card. “Here’s the address.”
* * *
“Jack’s a cagey sort, isn’t he?”
Allan chuckled. “I haven’t heard that expression in years. Yes, he is. He led off by saying he could use my services. That didn’t work, so now he’s sent Legal Babe.”
Kate stared straight ahead and said nothing. The television droned on, unwatched.
“Kate?”
“Hm?”
“You’re not worried about this, are you?”
She turned to face him. “Lawyers work a lot of hours, don’t they?”
He nodded. “That’s part of why I gave it up.”
“I can’t manage the farm alone, Allan.”
“What makes you think you’ll have to?”
Her eyes probed his, questioning.
“Kate, this is likely to cost me a half-dozen meetings and a few hours reviewing legal documents. If it has me away from the farm for three full days all told, I’ll be really surprised.”
She nodded and started to turn away. He caught her chin and compelled her to remain facing him.
“Is that the only thing you’re worried about?”
Unreadable currents passed over her face.
It’s the woman. It has to be.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be working alongside you tomorrow morning till ten. I’ll be home by two PM at the latest. I might have to take the same sort of leave a few more times, but I swear to you, on my wedding vows, that I will not allow this, or Jack Taliaferro, or Schuyler Clarke to drag me back to the practice of law. I left it for good reasons, and I have even better ones to be here with you. Believe me? Please?”
“So why are you doing it at all?” she said.
“It’s an ethical obligation.” He stroked her cheek as he cast about for the right words. “Ted Guillory’s passing left a few people with unfinished work. They’ve paid for it, they deserve to have it completed, and it seems I’m the only guy around who can see to that. If they’d been my clients, and my death had left them high and dry, I’d certainly want someone else to step in and finish what I’d started. So I have to do this.” He swallowed. “To be a good Christian, if for no other reason.”
She nodded and fixed a thousand-yard stare on the television.
It’s not the farm, and it’s not the law. It’s the woman. But she’ll never say so.
He rose. “I have to make a quick trip into town. I’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?”
She nodded without looking at him, and he left.
* * *
Evenings To Remember was, thankfully, still open. Allan had never entered it before. He knew of it only from a conversation overheard as he left church. But if there was any establishment in Onteora that might sell what he sought, that would be the one.
He pushed open the door tentatively, uncertain what he might see. The interior of the shop was pleasantly lit, and the arrays of goods were approximately what he expected to find there: erotic lingerie and shoes, vibrators, bondage devices, and assorted other bedroom playthings. Though there was no concealing the nature of the place, nevertheless he found it more tasteful than he’d expected. He cast a quick glance over the racks without finding the specific item he needed.
A beautiful young woman in leather garments and high heels came out from behind the counter and ambled toward him, smiling pleasantly.
“Good evening and welcome to Evenings To Remember.” She held out a hand. “I’m Martine. May I help you with something?”
He took her hand and shook it gently. “Hello. I’ve never been here before, and I’m not sure you carry what I need.”
“Well,” she said, eyes twinkling, “that depends on your definition of ‘need.’” She waved at a card table in the corner, set with a china tea service and a plate of small white cakes. “Care to chat over a cup of tea?”
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
She pulled him gently toward the little table and seated him, took a seat for herself, and poured each of them a cup of tea. He sniffed it and smiled in appreciation.
“Earl Grey?”
She nodded. “My favorite. It goes really well with these cakes. Try one.”
He took a cake from the plate and nibbled off a corner. An exquisite blend of sweetness and spice, like a Christmas confection but with a subtle undertone of sensuality, spread through his palate. “Mmm! Your recipe?”
“No, taught to me by a friend.”
He smiled. “Hold onto that friend.” He finished the little cake with two more quick bites. “These are delightful.”
“Thank you. Now,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand again, “what exactly is it that you need, and why would you think I might not carry it?”
Her eyes went wide as he told her.
* * *
Allan picked up his sport jacket, paused to ponder whether he should buff his shoes a second time, and dismissed the thought as he glanced out the bedroom window. Kate was still laboring over the rhubarb, her back to the house. She’d said hardly ten words since they’d risen that morning.
She’ll come around. She has to. Oops, almost forgot.
He went to Kate’s dresser, picked up her key ring, and carefully slipped two small keys onto it.
For the love of God, don’t lose these, Kate.
Twenty minutes later he knocked at the door of the late Theodore Guillory’s office suite. A moment later, Schuyler Clarke, as smoothly turned out as the previous evening, let him in.
“Good morning, Counselor.”
“Good morning, Miss Clarke.”
She smiled. “Please, call me Schuyler. Or Sky, if you prefer.” She led him to the inner office where Guillory had presumably held private meetings. The oaken desk, barrister’s bookcases, guest chairs, and small conference table were straight out of a legal supplies catalogue.
He chuckled. “Okay. Is Mr. Campbell on his way?”
She nodded, bade him be seated, and sat in one of the guest chairs. He lowered himself gingerly into the high-backed leather swivel chair. A folder labeled Campbell, A. lay on the desk before him.
“Been a while since I last sat in one of these.”
Her gaze was tinged with subtle amusement. “Like coming home, isn’t it?”
“No, not really.” He shifted back and forth, seeking a comfortable perch. “Actually, I don’t, ah, sit much these days. Farm work never ends, you know.”
“Like legal work, then.”
Yes and no. “Well, the work we’re here to do will see its end soon enough.” He opened the folder and bent to study the contents, watching her covertly as he did so. He could not miss the current of displeasure that crossed her features.
A few minutes later he looked up and smiled. “This will go easily enough. Have you finished the paperwork?”
She nodded and indicated a folder in his in-box.
Not my in-box. Guillory’s in-box. Never my in-box. Keep that straight, moron.
A moment’s perusal of the forms she’d prepared was all he needed. “We’re ready to proceed.”
“Very good,” she said. A knock sounded against the door of the suite, and she rose to answer it.
Allan rose as Clarke escorted Aaron Campbell into the inner office.
Let’s make this march.
“Mr. Campbell,” he said as they shook hands. “I’m Allan Fitzgerald. I think we have your compliance reports completed. Shall we review them and get back to our regular lives?”
Schuyler Clarke scowled.
* * *
Clarke watched Allan’s face as the door closed behind Aaron Campbell. He smiled and carefully resumed his seat at Guillory’s desk.
“Why didn’t you charge him?”
“I’m not his lawyer, Schuyler. I’m just a pinch hitter. When you take a client’s money for a service, a bond forms. Expectations get set. I don’t want those expectations. I’m only doing this so you can close Ted Guillory’s accounts.”
“You moved through it as if you had a train to catch.”
He smiled. “I do. Kate’s waiting for me at the farm. There’s too much work for one person. She’s used to having my help.”
“No time to have lunch with your paralegal?”
She’d pulled the guest chair up to the edge of the desk. One arm was draped casually across its surface, with the hand invitingly palm up. Beckoning.
“Sorry, no. When’s the next appointment?”
She recoiled, plucked her Day-Timer from her handbag, and flipped through it. “Cecily Mattison, Thursday at ten AM.”
“Paperwork all finished?”
She nodded, and he rose.
“Till Thursday, then.”
He strode steadily to the exit, feeling the pressure of her gaze the whole way.
* * *
By one-thirty, Allan was back in his overalls and alongside Kate, tending to the scallions. She seemed surprised at his return, but said nothing about it. They bent to their chores as if it were any ordinary day, but he could hardly miss his wife’s pleasure at his timely return to her side. It shone from her like the warmth of the sun.
They put down their tools at the usual time. Their dinner was a simple salad with chicken. When they’d finished and Allan bent to the sink to do the washing-up, he felt Kate move up behind him and wrap her arms around his waist.
“I love you,” she said.
He set down the dish he’d been about to scrub, turned to her, and returned her embrace. “I love you.”
“You really meant it?”
“About not going back to the law?” He chuckled. “Not for anything, Kate. Not even at gunpoint. This is where I want to be. With you, and with the fruits of our labors.”
“She didn’t try to convince you?”
“She did.”
She looked away. “I was afraid.”
“I know,” he said. “I could tell.”
“She’s awfully pretty.”
He nodded, holding her gaze. “I noticed.”
She looked away, plainly struggling for words.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Ask.”
“Did you want to...you know?”
He chuckled again. “Of course I did. Any man would.” He put a hand to the underside of her chin and raised her eyes to his. “Just as any man would want you. Didn’t you notice all the attention you got at Jack’s party?”
She blushed and nodded.
“Sweetie, may I show you something?” He took her hand, led her to their bedroom, and closed the door behind them.
“You know,” he said as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, “I could never say why I do that. We’re alone here. I don’t have to close that door for any reason I can imagine.”
He slid his jeans to the floor and did the same for his boxers, and she gaped in confusion.
“What’s that?”
“Take a closer look.”
She squatted before him and examined the device that constricted his genitals. The thick polycarbonate cage that sheathed his penis was securely padlocked to a tight steel ring around the base of his package. It could not be removed without first unlocking it and detaching the cage from the ring.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s so I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Anything except pee.”
She fingered the little padlock that secured it to his body. “How do you get it off?”
He indicated her dresser with his eyes. She followed his gaze, snatched her key ring from her dresser, and gawked at the two small keys he’d added to it.
“Do you have...?”
He shook his head. “You have them both. All.”
She crouched before him again and stared at the chastity cage in mushrooming wonder.
“Did you have it on all day?”
He nodded. “Right out of the shower.”
“That is so...hot.”
“I hoped you might think so.”
She looked up and searched his face, incredulous.
“I will wear it,” he said deliberately, “whenever and wherever you want me to. But for God’s sake, Kate—“
She grinned. “I know. Don’t lose the keys.”
She inserted a key into the padlock, unlocked it, and carefully freed his genitals from confinement.
“How can you trust me this way?” she whispered.
“Don’t you think you deserve it?”
“But I—I didn’t—”
“That’s the idea, Kate. You will. It might take a while, but you will. And meanwhile,” he said as he raised her to stand straight, “who but my queen should I trust with the key to the royal treasury?”
“Oh, this is the treasury, huh?” She took his organ in her hand and stroked him toward erection. It arrived at once.
“Well, part of it,” he said. “But one of us seems to have forgotten her favorite maxim.”
Her brows knitted. He chuckled and began to undress her.
“The crop’s not in yet, is it?”
“No.” She smiled, joyful once more. “It isn’t.”
==<O>==
Part Three: Bounties Innumerable
From the instant Dan Childress returned to the examination room with Allan’s patient file clutched in his hand, Allan knew the news would be bad. He gripped the edges of the exam table and braced himself as best he could.
Childress slouched into the metal chair at the other side of the room and released a weary sigh.
“It’s you, Allan.”
Allan nodded. “I thought it might be.” He dismounted from the table and reached for his jacket. “Is it treatable?”
The doctor grinned wanly. “If only. Deb and I tried for a fourth for ten years before I went for a test.” He laid the file folder on his lap and steepled his hands. “Age gets all of us eventually.”
What about my capacity for erection? How long can I count on that? Allan didn’t say. He zipped his jacket closed and pondered. “Well, so much for the easy part.”
“Hm?”
“You only had to tell me, Dan.” Allan grinned. He held out a hand, and the doctor rose and took it. “I have to break it to Kate.”
Childress’s face tightened in vicarious discomfort. “Good luck with that.”
* * *
Allan parked and locked his truck, immediately went around the house to the fields, and found Kate in the barn, laboring over their tractor, doing something incomprehensible to an assembly he couldn’t even name.
“Nellie not well?”
Kate looked up, startled. “Oh!” She set her tools down delicately, ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. “No, she’s okay. I was just resetting the valve gaps and the timing so we could run her on cheaper fuel. Costs about five horsepower, but for what I use her for, that’s okay.”
“Why bother? We’re not hurting for money.”
“So we should spend it unnecessarily? What kind of farm boy are you, sweetie?”
He swallowed and dropped his eyes. “A sterile one.”
He heard her breath catch, felt her arms tighten spasmically.
“No doubt about it?”
Allan shook his head. “None. No treatments for it, either.”
She buried her face against his chest.
She wanted babies so badly. What will this change? Will she stop wanting to be with me? Stop loving me?
“It doesn’t matter.” The words were muffled against his chest.
“Hm?”
“It doesn’t matter!” She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “We have the farm. We have what we grow. We have each other. That’s enough for me.” Her jaw tightened visibly. “Is it enough for you?”
He stroked her back and shoulders. “Kate, you are the only thing in this world I really, truly need. I’d have loved to give you children. I wanted them just as much as you. But if you can bear this, as hard as I know it must be for you, then I can do it easily.” He ran his fingers through her hair and laid his palms along the sides of her face. “As long as I have you.”
She stared hard into his eyes, and he grew briefly afraid.
“Oh, you have me, all right,” she whispered. “It’s a good thing that’s okay by you, ‘cause I’m the one thing you can’t get rid of. You could burn the house down and salt the ground, and I’d stand by you. You could bring home a second wife, and I’d stand by you. This disappointment is nothing compared to how I love you.”
She nudged him out of the barn, slid the door closed, and pulled him up the incline toward their house.
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