Previously: Introduced to main character’s: Noah—a stressed farmer: and his precocious oldest son, Jonah.
Creamy white and buttery yellow, the colors of Noah’s 76’ Chevy C30—with just a little rust—faded down the road. After watching the truck leave, the two boys set to work on the morning chores. First, they tended to the new litters of Berkshires: “Hey Reinhardt, rock, paper, scissors; loser spreads bedding,” Jonah said. Reinhardt’s scissors lost to Jonah’s rock.
“Best two out of three?” Reinhardt asked.
“Hmm, not today.”
Next, they fed the Barred Rocks and Black Giants. Collecting the eggs, they took them to Grandma in the summer kitchen. Grandma made the boys “Eggs in a Basket,” and they asked her about the weather.
“It’ll rain, but later tonight,” she said.
After finishing their second breakfast, they thanked Grandma and went outside—their morning mostly spent.
“Okay Reinhardt, I’ve been stalling,” Jonah said, “We’ve only one thing left on the list, and I saved the most difficult thing for last.” Jonah led his younger brother to the shed.
One end of the shed roof was sagging, but it had endured enough winter storms, wind, hail, freezing rain, and sleet to give everyone confidence it would continue to stand until the end of time. Housed underneath was a genuine circus wagon.
Years ago, their granddad had purchased it at an auction, “They had absolutely no idea what they were selling!” He exclaimed, “I got it for pennies on the dollar.” Painted in forest green with golden trim, it was one of the prettiest pieces of farm equipment. Next to the wagon was the less lovely Ford 861 tractor. Though originally painted in burnt orange with tan accents, decades of rust and touchups left the tractor looking dumpy.
“Do we need the loader at all?” Reinhardt asked.
“Don’t you listen at all?”
“Uh, sorry I forgot.”
Jonah climbed into the pilot seat. He labored the clutch down with his left foot, right foot on the brake pedals, pulled the choke all the way, and turned the key. The tractor cranked to life.
Hitching the wagon took several attempts. They had to back the tractor up close enough to leverage the wagon tongue into alignment with the hitch. Reinhardt held the tongue up and complained, “Jonah, this is getting pretty heavy.” He had to yell over the rattle of the tractor.
“Will you calm down? I’ve almost got it.” And eventually he did, and the wagon was hitched.
“Crap,” Jonah said once he pulled the wagon out and around the side of the shed.
“What?”
“We should have connected the loader first, then the wagon.”
Reinhardt whistled a low note.
“As if you had any idea.” Jonah rolled his eyes. “Just help me line the bracket up.” Aligning the tractor bracket and loader required precision and strength. Jonah failed to be precise with the tractor. He climbed down and tested his strength by trying to shove the loader into position.
“Why don’t we just unhitch the wagon?” Reinhardt asked.
“Because you suck at helping. I’m not doing that over again.” Jonah continued pushing on the loader attachment. Reinhardt stood still. “Are you going to help me or what?”
“I just don’t like when you’re being mean.”
“Really, Reiner? Or should I say Whiner? You’re such a weakling.”
“Right there!”
“What!?”
“You’re doing it again, calling me a whiner, saying I’m a lousy helper. Don’t take your frustrations out on me.”
“Oh, you think I’m taking my frustrations out? This is what that looks like.” He punched Reinhardt in the arm. Reinhardt started to tear up. “See?” said Jonah, “Weakling.” Reinhardt turned without another word and marched off. “I don’t need your help!” Jonah yelled. “Better off without you.”
The old “Diamond Savings and Loan” name could still be seen outside the “Home Savings Bank’s” doors. Two men—one in a suit and tie and the other in a denim uniform speckled with paint—argued about the old letters’ visibility.
“It’s all really too bad,” Noah said when they walked in. “That painter didn’t want to see Diamond’s go either.” They sat in front of a new desk, much broader than the one before the bank’s recent acquisition. A glossy name plaque read “Mr. Don Schreiber.”
“I really don’t like this ‘Mr. Schreiber’s’ desk,” Noah said.
“I definitely don’t like seeing it twice in one week,” Eleanor said.
The new banker walked down the hall. In front of a hallway mirror he paused to tighten his loose neck tie and practice a smile. He entered the office bringing the smell of Stetson cologne with him. At the desk, he folded his hands and wore his rehearsed smile.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs.…” the banker glanced at papers on his desk, “Brandtmeyer. I’ve looked over the promissory note.” He spread his hands over the papers. “It was this kind of, er, partnering Diamond Savings and Loan was loved for, but look at them now.” He held his hands up like a magician revealing that the card had disappeared. His smile vanished also. He furrowed his brow and said, “The unfortunate truth is, it’s been ninety days and there can be no further extensions.” With face muscles strained, he continued, “I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Brandtmeyer, but this is the last month before we’re forced to… to pursue our legal remedies.”
Noah breathed deep and leaned back in his chair. His wife at his side gripped his hand. “I have a little cash coming my way soon. I can keep up on the payments; it’s just taking a bit of time. I wanted to ask if we could renegotiate monthly payments or—with a little freed up cash—refinance for a better interest rate.”
“Options, yes. Interest rates continue to be abysmal, but better than your current one. If you have the money to refinance,” the man leaned forward in his chair, “and we make some other adjustments I’ve previously alluded to, we can reduce the monthly payment. But, Mr. Brandtmeyer, with respect, in your situation, will you honestly be able to make even a reduced monthly payment?”
“Depends on how reduced.” Noah’s gaze had fallen at the mention of other adjustments previously alluded to.
The man behind the desk looked down at his papers, began to frame a word in his mouth, reconsidered, cleared his throat and then said, “A credit life insurance policy on a loan can be dropped at any time. By dropping your father’s credit life insurance, the payment—”
“I don’t want to go over all that again,” Noah interrupted, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Eleanor placed her hand on his thigh and stared at the floor. The combination of Xerox, warm printed paper, Stetson’s cologne and fresh paint in the air were beginning to make her eyes red and watery.
“Options, Mr. and Mrs. Brandtmeyer. That, along with a new interest rate would represent a considerable decrease in the monthly payment. So sorry to bring up a sensitive point, but in this case, it bears directly on the matter at hand.” he cleared his throat again and pulled at his neck tie, “Is there any hope of finding your father?” Then he lowered his voice, “Or if he is indeed deceased?”
“I’ll be able to make another few months' payments starting soon,” Noah said firmly. “If I can’t make the payments, what am I up against, what do I need to know?”
The banker loosened his neck tie. He sat up straight and said, “Unfortunately, Mr. Brandtmeyer, the only remaining remedy to us is repossession: the house, barns, machinery, woodlands, even the crops planted in the fields. In a word: Foreclosure.” He exhaled and folded his hands together. “I’m very glad to hear about your coming windfall, but the bank’s position is very clear.”
“Yes,” Noah said, “and to be clear, the credit life insurance policy remains. You said thirty days for the first payment? I’ll have it next week, take that in good faith.” Noah stood up. “Come on Eleanor, we have all we need to know. Good day, Mr. Schreiber. I’ll have a check here next week.”
They didn’t wait to hear Mr. Schreiber make any parting farewells. Once in the parking lot Eleanor asked, “So, going into that I didn’t know we had one-hundred percent decided to sell your father’s Wood-Mizer?”
“What a tax collector, what an unrepentant tax collecting…” Noah’s rant stalled out. “Sorry Eleanor, what did you say?” She repeated herself and Noah said, “I wasn’t sure going into it, but realistically, do you see any other options?”
She looked down. “Can’t the bank just understand and make the extension?” She was choking up, “Can’t the credit life insurance agency advance us money?”
Noah opened the door to the cab, “I can’t change the fine print. I can’t make Dad reappear, dead or alive! What do you want me to do? Hire a lawyer? Pay him with bacon?”
She slumped into the passenger seat; her head fell into her hands. “It’s just so unfair!” and she began to cry.
Noah put his hand on Eleanor. For a few minutes Noah stayed like that, leaning against the truck with his hand on Eleanor as they mellowed. She blew her nose into a handkerchief and sat limp in the passenger’s seat like a deflated air bag.
This is small farm life. This is real. Real struggle, financial worries, equipment, love, way of life, legacy, pressures and as always, the weather. No people depend on the weather as much as farmers. Nobody. Most people can't really understand how crucial or devasting, depending on timing, rain can be. Farmers aren't praying for or cursing rain so that their petunias will bloom, or their little vegetable garden can thrive, or their rose bushes will grow larger. They depend on the weather to flat out survive. Great stuff C.M. - Love it. Thanks for sharing, Jim