“Wake up boys,” Bessie rang a cowbell in the kitchen.
Jed groaned, stretching limbs stiff from a week of farming. His bandages no longer applied to his calloused hands. He climbed off the couch in the living room where he had slept another night. Say what you want about the host working them hard, but she had nursed him back to health enough for the final track of the legendary trucking quest.
“Whatcha cooking today?” asked Jed, entering the fruity smelling kitchen.
“Oatmeal with crabapples and molasses,” she said, ladling a bowl full of steaming breakfast.
“Can I get an egg over easy too please?” begged Jed.
“Alright, sure man but only because we finally got the fair tomorrow. You need to shave yourself by the way to represent our farm,” said Bessie.
“Yes Ma’am,” said Jed, before spitting out liquid hot porridge that burned his tongue.
Bessie and her father Frank Milla were pretty much the last of the clan except for a few distant cousins living off in far away lands. Her great grandfather had purchased hundreds of acres here in the valley right outside the desert. In more suitable lands this amount would have made the owners rich if they had the necessary farming skills, and the Milla clan did. They weren’t knights or nobles though so this was the best a former cattle herder could purchase with careful savings.
The problem with the land being especially dry in some years meant the wells they drilled couldn’t support even a medium scale farm no matter how deep they dug. Great-grandfather Milla was an expert cattleman and could have run an operation of thousands of animals if only they had the proper royal clan emblem. In reality they had a herd of about a hundred animals that sometimes looked like dehydrated leather still standing. They barely scraped by and the weakest of them died. They had to bring in water onto the farm from away on the worst years and it was already extremely expensive.
Great grandfather Milla was a one woman man to Great grandmother Goergena “Big Ma” Milla and everybody could tell. She often smiled even with a cluttered handbuilt three bedroom farmhouse holding twelve kids. She hosted grand holidays that seated even the extended family. While the man at the head of the table led the gentlemen of the clan she guided the ladies. They laughed, sang, and square danced after eating homemade unseasoned food. It was the best time to remember fondly.
Together they all formed the perfect team in defending the unit solid and away from trouble that would defeat it. Everybody thought the clan ought to have the best luck due to being so honorable among the decaying countryside that was growing increasingly lawless connected to Killin Wood. And they sorta did with so many of the surrounding farms being abandoned due to threats. They persisted even with him taking a part time one winter as a pulp wood truck driver. A few of the kids had to move away at 16 because they would have starved.
Grandfather Greg Milla was the third son out of the womb. He had bright green eyes and a square jaw from five. At age 17 he was called into the great war. Off he went to the trenches where many around him didn’t make it. He kept his head down, doing almost no shooting but instead learning to make hooch from airdropped rations to numb the shell shock. He tried not to get too close to any buddies just in case and it was a smart move. After miraculously making it through constant shelling and cold three months he got lucky enough to get all the fingers shot off. He dropped the gun crawling through the grime missing all the fingers on his shooting hand except the thumb biting a handkerchief to keep his position hidden. Two sisters volunteered as nurses and one killed a man covering his retrieval.
Greg came back to farm a mess delivered in a star striped basket and stayed that way a long while bumming in their garage comatose. Eventually he walked the dirt roads collecting scraps thrown away and bottle money. Getting sick of being burdened with depression, the family pitched together to buy a car that was slick and dangerous for troubled minds with a lead foot. To his credit he did get an honest job immediately on learning of the pregnancy. It wasn't a romance novel but it was real.
One night after a long day of work installing crystal wire it drove Greg crazy. Instead of climbing a pole he ran his car into something like he meant it. What he had just installed burned up with him in smoke. After that grandma had to start climbing poles while pregnant as a linewoman. She was far more cautious doing it to support little Frank being born. The family lived on in hardcore survival mode.
Frank turned out to be a brutally honest man and then another generation down the family tree Bessie a splitting image. That was until the mines closed and it was time to lose the farm or turn to bootlegging like a pro. Soon he and his two younger brothers tore apart the back roads in their hotrods drifting bends. They wore shades and played tapes they recorded themselves of others. Their kids were well fed, educated, played every sort of sport, taking singing and guitar lessons to one day be a country pop star, and could stay at home as long as they wanted. He even dusted off his old fiddle to accompany her dreams . It gave him hope even with the scales starting to show signs of cancer on the horizon. That was a sign to worry about for another day.
A pair of knights on patrol noticed the three cars speeding past. They turned on the sirens in hot pursuit. Frank flew like a mongoose jumping off road and leaving them eating dust. Unfortunately the other two ended up caught and are still in jail unfairly held to this day. Frank even recorded an album of folk tunes to pay the lawyers and feed all the kids scattered around. His band played a mean jug jam back in the present old-fashioned kitchen.
Jed ate the last drop of his oats. Bessie set down a plate with the egg she had just cooked for him. She took his bowl to the sink and washed it in a long old-fashioned sink that was almost a tub. The wallpaper was peeling into a cozy entry lined with their hanging overalls freshly washed and dried on the clotheslines yesterday. The well had plenty of water because they only had a few dozen cattle. The ground cracked veins dried out in the suns and bleached with many years of bad luck. The swines had recently caught flues and the farm had the blues again. They were relying solely on vegetables to carry them at turning a profit at the biggest fair in the state.
“Thanks Miss this has turned out to be a good meeting of the fates in great benefit to us both if you will stay friends if I ever visit back this way. I intend to purchase a Crystalcycle and go a long distance to express myself with the outside elements flying past fast feeling fine,” said Jed, shaking salt and grinding pepper.
“Yeah hey why not ride Mule?”
“I’d feel better giving him a break when I can break a machine instead plus I need some quiet time don’t tell him that,” said Jed.
“Sure but I'm gonna get him now so we can have the kitchen meeting to go over everything that needs to be packed for our journey to the fair to sell our wares,” she said, placing the last dish on the rack and heading for the front door.
“What’s going on guys I'm feeling fine and ready to farm,” said the talking animal prancing in through the screen door Bessie had opened.
“Hey bud ready to pull some serious cargo tonight?” asked Jed, before licking the yolk off his plate clean.
“Farcing course I am for a good profit and chance to show myself off, Ah I'm already practicing my sales pitches to sell us out of everything,” declared Mule, strutting around.
“How so?” asked Bessie.
“I will have you know that I'm best in show when it comes to magic tricks and carny shit,” Mule proudly declared.
“Cough ahhchoo,” interrupted Frank, limping into the area on his cane.
His birthday was 67 tomorrow by coincidence.
“Alright Jed it’s time for us to work the longest day ever today but after that you are done I intend to pay you 25% hopefully we make out good,” said Frank.
“Thank you sir,” said Jed, extending his hand.
He shook the old man with a firm grip.
“Let’s take a ride on my tractor.”
As the last of three suns was setting the old tractor had a connected trailer loaded to the brim. The four of them had done a damn good job cleaning up the remaining work. The vegetables were cleaned, sorted and the best loaded. The large greasy green machine with chipped paint sputtered and belched black smoke from its snout. No matter how many times the old man turned her over and cursed it out, nothing started.
“FUCKIN ass licking scum!” he screamed, kicking the sputtering engine that seemed to die for good.
He held the key but no sounds continued.
“Sorry gang but it's time for plan b so we will have to double load the chuck wagon from here let’s go hook you up Mule,” said Bessie.
“It’s ok I will haul much faster than that out of date piece of crap heehaw let’s go,” said Mule.
“Alright I'll get ready to move the products one last time,” said Jed, crossing his arms to look over what to grab first.
“Whoah what a fine ride,” whistles Jed, as Mule pulls up.
The chuck wagon was a custom built luxury ride made to celebrate the best year they ever had with spinning chrome wheels. They always used it parked straightaway with the farm's logo exposed to the fairway lighting bright lights to fit in with the circus. It was a long time ago but the clan had done a fruitful enough harvest to be one of the sponsors of the fair along with a leading brand of royal cola.
They set off leaving the old man behind with hopes to do good. The rocks kicked up in their wake as Mule galloped forward insanely fast. Being the green horn of the operation Jed had high hopes. Bessie held a poker face while holding onto the speeding wagon for dear life. They rounded a corner tilting and losing a can of pickles that broke glass in the road.
“Sorry,” said Mule.
Bessie regained her composure, but secretly hoped to break even feared for the worst. She held the reins that did nothing to affect the stubborn beast saving their asses.
“How far away is this far anyway?” asked Jed, sitting next to her in the front two seats.
“Don’t start that shit, but 86 miles are you up for it Mule?” Bessie yelled.
“How long do I have to get there before the gates open for business?” asked Mule, beginning to sprint.
“Woah slow,” yelped Jed, being thrown to the side.
Mule wildly swerved onto asphalt dodging potholes. The chuck wagon he hauled flew forward king of the road scaring off birds.
“We got six hours of chill, so slow and steady wins the race we aren’t trying to speedrun,” said Bessie.
“Yeah plus a breakdown is the last thing we need right now let alone an accident, I like to learn from the past and drive cautiously," said Jed.
“Kinda corny but I’ll obey,” spit Mule, rolling his eyes, but slowing his roll.
“Let’s have fun guys,” laughed Bessie.
“Phew, things really are great,” said Jed, feeling himself growing closer to her.
They could have something going on. He didn’t really have many fucks to give though so being just friends was fine too. Money wasn’t everything, but the time off from war would give him a chance to screw his head back on straight. Jed was feeling really confident about his future whatever that would end up being.
