The Farmer's Daughter
Avery Sam
The Farmer’s Daughter
by Avery Sam
Copyright Information
The Farmer’s Daughter
by Avery Sam
© 2025 Avery Sam
All rights reserved.
Author: Avery Sam
Contact details: averysam.parachute371@passinbox.com
Book cover, illustration: Avery Sam
Editing, proofreading: Avery Sam
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Disaster Strikes
What a Ride
1950s Rules
Another Universe
Barn Games
S’more
First Rule of Fire
Chorin’
Schooled
Strange Reactions
Completely Inappropriate
Good Intentions
Monkey Boy
Family Drama
Bells Are Ringing
Cold Feet
Intimate Connections
Hungry
A Full Meal
Shotgun Blues
Fits
Digging Holes
Sneaky Devil
Two More Days
Midnight Rendezvous
Loaded
Nervous Excitement
Treasure
The Man of the Hour
Celebration
It’ll All Be Over Soon
To Have and to Hold
Runaway Bride
‘Til Death Do Us Part
Also by Avery Sam
Disaster Strikes
I had just gotten off a call and was listening to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones cranked up at top volume when something went horribly wrong with my car.
The screen on the center panel started flashing, with warning messages popping up on top of other warning messages. Basically, the entire system was going into meltdown.
Keeping one eye on the road, I started tapping the screen as fast as I could, trying to find the source of the problem. But then the screen went dark, the engine switched off, and all I could do was steer over to the side of the road before my car died completely.
Sitting there in total silence, I was in a state of shock. I'd just paid $12,000 to have the car serviced, and now it wouldn't respond at all. I'd charged up the batteries in Huntsville, so I knew that wasn't the issue, but with the screen not turning on no matter what I tried, I had no idea what was wrong.
I picked up my phone to begin Googling "What to do when your Tesla shuts down for no reason" but then I saw to my horror that I had no signal. I was stuck somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Alabama with a car that wouldn't turn on and no internet.
It really was a nightmare, especially for someone like me who's a techie and used to having gadgets at my fingertips that fucking work.
I peered through the windshield, wondering if maybe the car had been hit by a freak bolt of lightning or something, but the sky was clear. All I could see were grassy fields on either side and some scrubby looking trees off in the distance. There was no sign of any habitation, not even a curl of smoke rising up from some moonshiner's cabin.
I kept jabbing buttons on the car's screen and waving my phone around, trying to get a signal, but nothing worked. It was only when the air began to get stale and the temperature inside the passenger compartment began to get uncomfortably warm that I opened the door.
I was standing on a two-lane road, one that my stupid GPS had recommended as a shortcut to get to the interstate. I'd planned my trip to the minute so that I could get to a decent sized town with a restaurant with vegan options on the menu and a nice hotel so that I'd be refreshed and ready for the long drive back to California.
But there I was, completely stuck. My beloved Model X Plaid might as well have been a wooden wagon for all the good it was doing me. I had no way to call or message anyone. It was crazy, really. In just the blink of an eye, I'd been thrown back into the dark ages, and I had no idea what to do.
Remembering that I had a user manual in the dashboard, I got back in the car and rooted around the glove box until I found it.
But the damn thing just recommended calling the Tesla service center hotline or going to their website if "unexpected difficulties arise," so I threw it as hard as I could, watching as it landed a few feet away in the grass, instantly swallowed up by the thick vegetation.
Without my phone working, I had no idea what temperature it was outside, but it was damn hot, I knew that for sure. Angrily, I loosened my shirt collar and tie, and then I began pacing around, trying to figure out what to do.
Surely, this was a public road, so someone was going to come by sooner or later. I just had to remember to be polite and then ask to borrow their phone. Yes, that was simple enough.
The only problem was that I couldn't see any cars in either direction, even when I shaded my eyes with my hand. It was as if I'd dropped completely off the map or something. Didn't anyone live around here? Surely this was the United States, even if it was a remote part of Alabama.
There had to be a hog farmer or tobacco grower or someone nearby, right? At that point, even some toothless hillbilly in a rusted out pick-up truck would've been a welcome sight, but no, there was absolutely no one.
As the sun got hotter and hotter as it rose overhead, I began to sweat like crazy. I rolled up my sleeves and then got my bottle of Fiji water out of the car. But to my consternation, it was more than half gone already. I had no food or emergency supplies with me, just my suitcase with a few changes of clothes and some gear that I'd brought to do the demo.
I gulped down the water and then tossed the empty bottle onto the side of the road. Normally, I'd never litter, but I was beyond caring at that point. As far as I was concerned, Alabama and whatever weird anomaly had disabled my car could go fuck themselves. Was there really no one going to come and rescue me from that infernal heat?
The asphalt on the road was so hot that I could feel it through the soles of my shoes. I was still wearing my Limited Edition John Lobbs that I'd worn to impress the locals during the meeting.
I had a pair of Nike Pegasus in my suitcase, but I didn't bother changing into them as I didn't see what good that would do. The sun was hot. The road was hot. Everything was fucking hot as well, and I was out of water and out of options.
As the sun continued to broil me, I started cursing aloud, first just muttering but then shouting at the top of my lungs. Why had this happened to me? I had just been minding my own business and then disaster had struck.
Was I going to get cancer from all the sun exposure? Was I going to die of thirst? Would I have to head off toward those trees and try to scavenge some acorns or something like some kind of primitive savage? It was all just so unfair!
I was so dizzy and dehydrated that when I first heard a vehicle coming down the road my way, I thought it was a mirage. It was bright green and seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, floating up and down as it slowly approached where I was standing.
Finally, it got close enough that I could see it was a tractor. I had no idea why someone would be driving a friggin' tractor down the middle of a state road, but at that point, I didn't care.
I started imagining some friendly local at the wheel, maybe a grower of organic microgreens, who always kept a cooler with ice-cold oat milk in the cab.
Yes, my savior had come, and I eagerly began waving my hands as the tractor inched closer. It was a monster of a machine, twice as tall as my car, and the glare of the sun made it impossible to see who was behind the wheel.
But he had to be seeing me, right? Or maybe he was blind drunk on the joy juice he cooked up behind the chicken coop.
Yet the tractor rolled right past me without even slowing down. I began to scream and holler, jumping up and down as I chased after it.
I couldn't get too close because there were some fearsomely sharp looking implements sticking out of the rear end, but it was driving slowly enough that I could run alongside the cab.
"Hey! Stop! I need some fucking help!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
What a Ride
And then, to my intense relief, the driver slowly ambled over to the side of the road and cut the engine. Panting from the heat and exhaustion, I bent over to catch my breath.
I heard the squeak as the cab door opened, and when I looked up, I saw an enormous middle-aged man with a beard dressed in overalls and wearing a worn-out ballcap on his head.
“What in tarnation are you doing in the middle of the road, son? I like to run you over and squish you like a bug!” he said, his Southern accent so thick that I could scarcely understand what he was doing.
“Please, Mister, you gotta help me,” I said, wheezing as I pointed at my Tesla. “My car broke down, and I need to use your phone.”
“Huh?” said the man, clambering down from the tractor to stand next to me.
I saw that his belly was so big that even the reinforced denim of his overalls was struggling to contain it.
“Please,” I said. “I just need to make a call to get my car towed. I’ve got insurance.”
“Surance?” said the man, lifting his ballcap to scratch the back of his head.
His face was deeply lined from being outdoors, and there were yellowish streaks in his beard that I didn’t want to think about too much.
“Please, can I just borrow your phone?” I said. “I can’t get a signal out here.”
“Ain’t got no phone,” said the man, fishing a round metal can out of the front pocket of his overalls and taking out a pinch of tobacco that he then placed into his mouth, giving me an unfortunate glimpse of his poor oral hygiene.
“Oh,” I said, taken aback for a moment. What kind of person doesn’t have a phone in this day and age?
“Looks like yer ride went kaput,” said the man with a deep chuckle, hooking a thumb in the direction of my car.
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” I said. “Um, if you don’t have a phone, can I at least get a ride into town? Please, I’ll make it worth your while.”
The man frowned, looking at me as if I’d just said something distasteful.
“Or... or not, however you want,” I said. “Please, mister, I just need some help.”
“I ain’t no mister,” said the man. “Folks ‘round here jes’ call me Pa.”
“Ah, okay,” I said, gulping hard. “Well then, uh, Pa, can I get a ride into town?”
“Hmm,” said the man, gazing off into the distance for a long minute as if he needed time to comprehend the basic concept of helping a stranger in need with a fucking ride into town. “Town’s too far.”
“Well then anywhere,” I said, feeling a panic attack begin to rise inside of me. “Anywhere I can make a call. Please, I’m begging you.”
“Ain’t no need for all that nonsense now,” chortled the man before turning to spit a disgusting stream of brown juice onto the hot asphalt. “Reckon it’d be easier to carry you on up to the house.”
“Sure, anything,” I said, folding my hands together in supplication. “Thank you.”
“Say... you ain’t from ’round here, is you?” said the man, as if my Saville Row business shirt and $500 shoes hadn’t given it away.
“No sir, I’m not,” I said.
“Where’s your people at?” said the man, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“My... uh, people?” I said, confused.
“Yeah, where’s your people at, son?” said the man before firing off another nasty stream of tobacco juice.
“I’m, uh... not sure what you mean,” I said, desperately trying to figure out what this illiterate hillbilly wanted me to say.
“Ain’t you got no Momma or Daddy?” said the man.
“Oh, right. Yes, well, um, that’s complicated,” I said, not sure why I was even bothering to explain myself. “My dad’s in San Fran, and my mom relocated up to Bakersfield. They’re divorced, you see.”
“Huh?” said the man, turning to spit.
“California,” I said with a long sigh. “I’m from California.”
“Looks like you’s a long way from home,” said the man with a wheezy laugh that triggered a coughing fit.
I stood there on the baking hot asphalt, convinced that this bigoted lunatic was going to have a heart attack and die right there on the spot, but then he pounded his chest until he was able to breathe again.
“Well, reckon you ought to come with me,” said the man, shaking his head as if he was disappointed by that conclusion.
“Thank you, sir... uh, Pa,” I said, feeling quite foolish.
The man then opened the door to the cab of his tractor and climbed up, the seat groaning under his weight. Tentatively, I copied his motions, using the built-in ladder to get up to where he was sitting. But the cab was quite cramped, and there was no second seat.
The man looked at me as if I had a screw loose and then gestured behind him. After a moment, I realized he wanted me to crouch behind him. My lengthy frame could barely fit back there, but somehow I got all the way inside the cab, holding onto the dirty glass windows to steady myself.
The man grunted and swung the door shut and then fired up the tractor, which let out an oily belch of black smoke before turning over. There was no air conditioning inside the cab of the tractor, and I began sweating profusely as he put it into gear and got us slowly rolling down the road.
By the time we got to the farmhouse, I was seriously convinced I was going to pass out. When he brought the tractor to a stop on the gravel driveway, I waited impatiently for him to disembark and then I got out as fast as I could, gulping in great lungfuls of fresh air.
“Ma!” hollered the man, his voice so loud that I could hear it rattling around in my skull. “Get on out here! We got comp’ny!”
I imagined his wife was just as much of a throwback in human evolution as he was. What I didn’t expect, however, was the very attractive young woman who came running around the side of the house, her long legs flashing in the sun.
“Wow, Pa, who’s this now?” said the young woman as she approached us, who looked to be in her early 20s or maybe even younger, her face sweet and round in a way that made my pulse race.
I’d heard tales of how women in the South were supposed to be famous beauties, but I hadn’t believed it until right at that moment.
She was truly gorgeous, with messy, long blonde hair. She was wearing denim shorts, rubber work boots, and a plaid long-sleeved shirt that she’d tied in the middle, giving me a wonderful view of her flat, toned midriff.
“Never you mind that, Anna-Belle!” shouted the man, whom I presumed to be the girl’s father even though there was scarcely any family resemblance. “Go and get yer Ma!”
The girl gave me one last look before turning and running toward the house. I had no idea what was going to happen next, but suddenly my ordeal didn’t seem to be so bad.
1950s Rules
A few moments later, the screen door on the side of the house opened and out walked a woman whose proportions were so out of whack that I could scarcely believe my eyes.
She was quite short and incredibly round, almost to the point of looking like a beach ball that had been stuffed into a faded housedress. It was hard to tell how old the woman was because her face was squished in as if she’d been staring at the sun and then her expression froze for all time, but I guessed she was maybe in her mid to late 40s.
The woman had short, gray-brown hair and garish purple Crocs on her feet, but the thing I noticed right away was the huge wart on her chin with two or three long hairs sticking out.
“Ma!” bellowed the guy beside me even though his wife was only a few feet away. “We got comp’ny!”
The woman swiveled her entire body to look at me, her neck so thick that it barely existed at all. With beady eyes, she looked me up and down and then she let out a loud grunt. Without saying a word, she then turned and clomped back into the house.
“So, um, you said there was a phone I could use?” I asked.
“In the kitchen,” said the man, gesturing at the screen door.
He then turned and walked off toward what looked like a barn or some other kind of rustic outbuilding.
I hesitantly approached the screen door and peered in, seeing what looked like a kitchen straight out of the 1950s, with quaint white cabinets and an enormous stove, on which sat three or four large cast iron pots, all of them merrily bubbling away.
“Hey,” I said as I eased open the screen door and entered the kitchen. “Your husband said I could use the phone?”
But Ma paid me no mind, too focused on stirring one of the pots with a long wooden spoon. There was a small round table in the kitchen with a few assorted items on it, but I didn’t see a phone. I was just about to open my mouth and ask when I saw the landline mounted on the wall next to the archway that led to the rest of the house.
The landline looked to be from the 1950s too, with a round analog dial and a long, spiral cord dangling down that was twisted in places. I’d seen them in movies before, so I knew how they worked, but I’d never actually used one. I took it off the hook, surprised when I heard a loud humming coming from the receiver.
But just as I was about to start dialing, I realized I had no idea what number I was supposed to call. Foolishly, I had thrown away the booklet into the field when my car quit working, and I hadn’t bothered to save the number in my contacts.
Feeling like an idiot, I replaced the landline phone back on the hook and took out my own phone from my pocket, thinking I could call one of my friends back home and ask them to find the number for me. But, of course, there was no cell signal. And when I did a scan for nearby routers, none came up.
“Hey, um, you wouldn’t happen to have Wi-Fi here, would you?” I said.
But Ma acted like she didn’t hear me, keeping her back turned towards me as she shuffled around the kitchen, preparing what looked like a stupendously large meal.
What kind of family was this? A landline phone and no internet? How could they stand it? I couldn’t even fathom how boring it must be for them to be stuck way out in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do all day.
Feeling sticky and dirty from my adventures, I peered around, trying to see if I could spot something that looked like a bathroom. Inside, I was praying that they had running water because I was beginning to fear that maybe they were so old-fashioned that they still had an outhouse.
“Excuse me, is there a bathroom I could use?” I asked.
Ma didn’t say anything, but she pointed without bothering to turn around, her fingers bloated and wrinkled. A shiver ran down my spine and then I cautiously stepped through the alcove into what was some kind of family room.
There was a decent-looking hutch with a glass front, through which I could see a few ceramic figurines and other knicknacks. I am no expert on antiques, but the hutch looked like it might be valuable.
Otherwise, the walls were grotesquely ugly with fake wooden paneling. A couple of faded photographs in frames were mounted on one wall. Curious, I walked over to examine them.
Sure enough, there was Pa, looking about 10 years younger and a bit more dignified as he was wearing a suit, perhaps the outfit he wore to church. The photo next to that was of Ma, but she looked exactly the same as the woman in the kitchen. Only the color of her house dress was different.
Above them was a picture of the girl whom I assumed was their daughter, the one I had briefly met outside. It had clearly been taken in a professional photography studio as she was kneeling in front of a fake sky blue backdrop, one hand on her chin as if she were pondering the big questions in life.
But even the awkwardness of that artificial pose couldn’t disguise the fact that she was gorgeous, a twinkle in her eyes that made it seem as if she’d sprung up after the photo was taken and gone running off to go cause some mischief.
Standing there, I began to compare her resemblance to that of her parents, trying to determine if they were related by blood or if she had, perhaps, been adopted. It was really hard to tell because Ma’s face was so compact and wrinkled, and Pa’s was so weather-beaten. Frankly, it just didn’t seem possible that those two clodhoppers had been able to create someone that vivacious and attractive.
Off to one side was a fourth photograph of a young man wearing a military uniform of some kind. It was kind of hard to tell, but it seemed like he resembled Pa, although he was trim without an ounce of fat on him.
With a sigh, I tore my eyes away from the photos and crossed the room. There was a short hallway leading to an exit, and the first door on the right was, indeed, the bathroom. I let out a sigh of relief as I opened the taps and water came dribbling out, although it had a sharp metallic odor to it. The bathroom was small, but it was clean, with just a toilet and a sink.
Wasting no time, I ran my hands under the water and then splashed my face until I began to feel a little better. Looking in the mirror, I was shocked at how much color I’d gotten in just a few short hours. Then again, I’d been caught out in an emergency with no time to put on any sunscreen. Weirdly, I looked kind of good, as if I’d just completed a high-intensity workout at the gym or something.
I dried my hands on the monogrammed towel hanging from the hook next to the sink. It was a curious touch, seeing that there, and I wondered if it had maybe been a present for their wedding or something. I then exited the bathroom and made my way back to the kitchen.
When I arrived, Pa was already seated at the table, his belly so big that his chair was pushed pretty far back. He had his head tilted, a look of concentration on his face, and it took me a minute to realize he was listening to a radio. But instead of music playing, it was just some guy rattling off a bunch of words I couldn’t understand followed by some numbers.
“Hey,” I said, putting on my politest smile so as to try and not get him riled up again. “Listen, is there anywhere around here where I can get a cell signal? Because it turns out I lost the number for the service center.”
“Huh?” said Pa, scowling at me.
“Cell phones? You know what they are, right?” I said. “I have my phone with me, but I can’t get a signal here.”
“Phone’s over there,” said Pa, gesturing with his chin to the landline mounted on the wall.
“I know, but you see...” I said, my words trailing off when the girl came skipping into the kitchen and then took a seat opposite me at the table.
“Hiya,” said the girl, giving me a little wave.
I tried not to stare, but she’d done something with her shirt, cinching it even tighter so that even more cleavage was on display than before, making it abundantly obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Nervous, I glanced over at Pa, expecting him to scold her, but he was too engrossed in listening to the radio to notice that his daughter was prancing around half naked in front of a stranger.
“Oh, um, hey,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm as I forced myself to keep my gaze above neck level.
Compared to her parents, she was like a gorgeous wildflower growing in a sea of mud, and once again I marveled as to how someone that pretty had come to be a part of such an otherwise unattractive family.
With the stove going full tilt, the air in the kitchen was unbearably warm, and I felt myself beginning to work up a sweat again. But then Ma opened the ancient refrigerator and took out a glass pitcher, filling three tall glasses and bringing them over to the table.
Unsure what it was but too thirsty to care, I took a large gulp, discovering that it was iced tea, although it was laced with so much sugar that it made my teeth ring.
I guess I must have made a funny expression because the girl giggled, and when I looked over she was smiling at me in a way that made my pulse race.
Another Universe
Thankfully, Pa broke the tension by switching the radio off. Ma then began setting out plates and silverware.
When her body briefly brushed against mine, I recoiled as she was radiating so much heat through the fabric of her cheap polyester dress. Yet when I glanced at her forehead, I saw no perspiration, which was odd.
Pretty soon, Ma had the table covered with dishes of all kinds. I only recognized some, such as the platter of fried chicken and a bowl heaped with fluffy biscuits as well as some dishes containing green vegetables.
I glanced over at Pa, expecting him to ask us to fold our hands as he said grace but there was none of that. The moment that food came his way, he began spearing it with his fork and putting it on his plate, so I followed suit.
“Don’tcha want no gravy?” said the girl after she saw me take a biscuit and put it on my plate.
“Gravy?” I said, confused.
“Oh, wow, you don’t know what gravy is?” said the girl, her eyes wide with amusement.
“Um, I know what gravy is,” I said, although I always avoided it as I knew it was bad for my cholesterol or something.
“Like this, ya goof,” said the girl, grinning.
She leaned forward and picked up a ceramic bowl filled with a thick gray sauce and then poured it on top of my biscuit until it was completely drenched. As she did that, I had to avert my eyes to avoid looking straight down her shirt, which made the whole thing doubly uncomfortable.
“Um, thanks,” I said.
After that, everyone was eating, except for Ma, who seemed to exist solely to ferry more food over to the table and to refill our glasses.
It was no surprise to see Pa packing away the food, but I was a little shocked to see the girl display an equally ravenous appetite, making me wonder where it was all going since her bare midriff was flat and toned.
At first, my plan was only to eat a few bites to be polite, but it turned out that the food was incredibly delicious, especially the chicken, which was tender and moist on the inside with a lovely crunch on the outside.
The green beans had a rich, savory flavor, probably because they were dripping with butter, and the other green vegetable, some kind of wilted leaves, also had a complex, earthy taste that perfectly paired with the other dishes. Even the gravy-soaked biscuit turned out to be pretty good even if it was a little too rich.
Pa ate like a mechanical shovel loading in fuel, making no effort to keep his mouth closed as he chewed, but the girl dispatched her food in quick, orderly bites, making me feel a little self-conscious as I tried to keep pace with her without eating like a savage.
By the time I was done, my belly was full and content in a way that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Ma might not have been much to look at, but I could see that she was a deft hand in the kitchen despite her ungraceful bulk.
Yet just as I thought the meal was over, Ma opened the oven door and pulled out a pie that was pulsating as she slid it onto a wire rack. The top was criss-crossed with strips of golden brown crust with some kind of pinkish fruit peeping through the gaps in the lattice.
“Oh goody!” said the girl, clapping her hands in delight. “You like peaches, don’tcha, mister?”
“Sure,” I said with a grin. “But please, you don’t have to call me mister. My name’s Jordan.”
The girl’s eyes went wide with merriment and she began to titter before partially covering her mouth with one hand.
“Um, did I say something funny?” I said, partly amused and partly irritated.
“Jordan? That’s a girl’s name,” she said with a grin.
“Oh,” I said, feeling deflated for some reason. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s my name. And I’m not a girl.”
“My name’s Anna-Belle. And I’m a girl,” was her response as she pointed toward her chest.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Annabelle,” I said, thinking that was the end of the matter.
“Nuh-uh!” said the girl. “Anna-Belle, not Annabelle.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I said, confused.
“Anna-Belle,” said the girl. “It’s two names. You talk funny. Where are you from?”
“Oh, my apologies,” I said. “I’m, uh, from California.”
“California, Pa! Didya hear? He said he’s from California!” squealed Anna-Belle, pronouncing it with five drawn-out syllables.
“Don't you think I know that? Now hush your yapping and let the man be,” said Pa, frowning.
I opened my mouth to say something, but just then, Ma brought the pie over to the table and set it on a wooden board. She then began cutting out truly enormous slabs of pie and putting them on clean dishes, dealing them out like a professional Las Vegas casino dealer.
“I just wanted to let you know, ma’am, that the meal you cooked was fabulous,” I told Ma, but she just ignored me, concentrating on her work.
“Ma’am?” said Anna-Belle, giggling.
I decided to ignore that and instead unlimbered my fork, preparing myself for battle. The slice on my plate was big enough to feed a party of four at a dinner party where I came from, but apparently, the custom here was to feed guests until their stomach burst.
Despite how full I was, the pie was magnificent. The crust was tender and flaky, and the peaches had been perfectly seasoned and were so soft that they melted right in my mouth.
If Ma had put a scoop of real bean vanilla ice cream on top, they could’ve charged diners $30 for that dessert at any upscale restaurant in Los Angeles.
“Whew, my god,” I said when, at long last, I was done, only a few crumbs left on my plate. “I am stuffed.”
“Well, of course,” said Anna-Belle, giving me another look to let me know how comical she thought I was being. “Don’t you have Sundays in California?”
“Uh, what?” I said, taken aback. “Sundays? Sure.”
“Well, what you eat on Sundays over there?” said Anne-Belle, looking genuinely curious.
“Gosh, I don’t know,” I said. “Depends on what I’m doing. Sometimes, I’ll meet up with friends and we’ll get a bite at the gastro pub. Other times, especially if I’m working from home, I’ll treat myself to some DoorDash.”
“Huh?” said Anna-Belle, tilting her head.
“Quit pestering the man, girl! And mind yer beeswax,” said Pa, giving his daughter a stern look.
I thought about offering to help Ma clean the table, but she whisked away my plate before I could say a word. I realized then that some kind of strange patriarchal system was in effect here, and I didn’t feel it was my place to question, especially when I still urgently needed to make a friggin’ phone call.
“Um, Pa, hey,” I said, broaching the subject as tenderly as I could. “I really need to do something about getting my car fixed. I was wondering...”
“Your car? What’s wrong with your car?” said Anna-Belle.
“Oh,” I said. “I don’t know. It just died, and I had to leave it on the side of the road. Is there maybe someone I could call to get it towed? A service station perhaps?”
“Luke,” said Pa with a grunt as he leaned forward to take a toothpick out of the dispenser sitting in the middle of the table.
“Luke?” I said, confused.
“Luke's got the only garage in town,” said Anna-Belle, nodding. “He’ll know how to fix your car. He can fix anything! He’s got magic hands.”
“Ah,” I said. “Okay, then Luke it is. Can we call him?”
“Can’t,” said Pa before reaching over to switch the radio back on.
“Um, what?” I said.
“Out fishing,” said Pa, nodding as he somehow followed along with whatever the man on the radio was droning on about.
“Luke loves to go fishing. Hunting too, except deer’s out of season right now,” said Anna-Belle.
“Great,” I said, frowning. “Does anyone know when this Luke will be back?”
“’Morrow most likely, maybe day after,” said Pa.
“Tomorrow or the day after?” I spluttered. “You don’t understand. I’ve got meetings I’ve got to get to. Isn’t there someone else we could call?”
“Nope,” said Pa, taking the toothpick out of his mouth, inspecting it, and then inserting it into his mouth once again.
“Oh, I know! He can stay in the barn. Can’t he, Pa? Please say yes,” said Anna-Belle, her eyes pleading as she looked at her father.
At that point, Ma looked over to give me a hard look, but her face was so wrinkled and inscrutable that I couldn’t read it.
After a long hesitation, Pa nodded his assent.
“Oh, thank you, Pa!” said Anna-Belle, springing up from the table to give her father a peck on the cheek. “It’s been ever so long since we had comp'ny.”
“Now hang on a second...” I said, but then I realized I’d been defeated.
There was no internet. My phone couldn’t get a signal. And apparently there was only one service station in the area, the proprietor of which had bunked off to go fishing.
My only other option was to start walking down the road and try and hitch another ride, and dusk was fast approaching.
“Come on, California! I’ll help get you all set up,” said Anna-Belle, taking me by the hand and hauling me to my feet.
It was all so surreal, being led by a nubile young woman I’d just met as we exited the kitchen via the screen door. Somehow, I’d gotten myself stuck in another universe, picked up on the side of the road by a pot-bellied man in a tractor, fed a massive meal by a woman with no neck, and now forced to spend the night in their barn.
How in the world had this happened? This was like something out of a horror film, and I could just picture myself telling my friends about it once I was back safe and sound in California. There I was, a million miles from home, with no clue whatsoever about what was going to happen next.
But despite my misgivings, I realized I was actually starting to enjoy myself a little.
Barn Games
I followed Anna-Belle over to a large, weathered structure that looked like it had been painted red about a century ago.
The inside had a very high ceiling and was subdivided into little areas that I assumed were stalls, although some of them were mounded full of dusty junk and other stuff I couldn’t identify.
“So, this is the barn?” I said, peering around cautiously. “Where are all the animals?”
“Um, it’s summertime,” said Anna-Belle with a giggle.
Apparently, I’d committed yet another faux pas. Nonetheless, I shook it off and followed her over to a rickety wooden ladder that swayed ominously as she scampered up. Averting my gaze so as not to stare at her backside, I waited until she was out of sight and then followed her up.
It turned out that the upper level of the barn was on an open plan with only a few support beams dividing up the space. Most of the upper section was filled with hay, and I could see dust and other things swirling around in a shaft of light coming through one of the cracked windows.
“All right, let’s get you settled in,” said Anna-Belle, retrieving some truly ancient looking blankets from a stack and then spreading them around on the hay to form a kind of human-sized nest. "There. You'll sleep real good now."
“Really?” I muttered to myself.
My plan had been to stay in a five-star hotel that night, and yet there I was, forced to bed down in what was literally animal-like conditions. It was humiliating, and my skin began to itch just looking at all the hay.
“You all right?” said Anna-Belle, a look of concern on her face. “You seem tuckered out.”
“No, um, it’s fine,” I said, unable to meet her gaze.
“Wow, you really ain’t never done slept in a barn before, have you?” said Anna-Belle, grinning.
“No, I most certainly have not,” I said, picking off bits of dust from my pants. “In fact, I’ve never even set foot inside a barn before.”
“Woah!” gushed Anna-Belle. “That means you ain’t never played no barn games. We gotta fix that, pronto!”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, I saw her take down a rusty pitchfork that was hanging from a nail on one of the support beams and begin pitching hay down through the hole to the lower level of the barn. Curious, I watched her shift several forkfuls of hay down until there was a large mound at the bottom of the wooden stairs.
“Um, what’s all this?” I said.
“C’mon. I’ll show you. It’s loads of fun!” said Anna-Belle, her eyes sparkling with merriment.
I just about had a heart attack as I watched her step over the hole and then fall down to the lower level, landing on the pile of hay. For a moment, I thought she’d broken her neck, but then she began laughing, letting me know she was okay.
“That was... crazy,” I said once she’d climbed back up the ladder to rejoin me.
“Nah, it’s lots of fun! Come on, you’ll see!” said Anna-Belle, tugging my arm to bring me closer to the hole.
“Good lord. I can’t jump down there. That’s suicide,” I said.
“Aww, don’t be such a city boy,” said Anna-Belle. “Just do it, ya scaredy cat.”
Not wanting to be outdone by a young girl, I offered up a quick silent prayer and then let myself plummet down through the hole. For a moment, I was sure I was going to hit the ground and break every bone in my body, but then the pile of hay caught me and brought me to a gentle stop.
“You see? How was it?” shouted Anna-Belle.
“It was... all right,” I said, getting to my feet.
To my dismay, I was completely covered in bits of hay and straw. My gorgeous business shirt and pants were probably ruined, and I dared not look down at my lovely shoes.
“Oh, look at you!” chortled Anna-Belle after I climbed back up the ladder. “You got hay all in your hair!”
“Oh, yeah?” I retorted. “Well, so do you.”
“And now I’m about to get some more!” gleefully cried Anna-Belle as she leaped down into the hole.
After that, we took turns jumping and climbing back up the ladder. Since I was already filthy and my clothes were a total write-off, I figured why not, you know?
And the truth is that it was actually kind of fun. The hay was quite fragrant and pleasant smelling, even if it was messy, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something just for the thrill of it.
Following my fourth or fifth plunge into the hay, Anna-Belle held out her hand and helped me to my feet. She and I were both laughing, and then she reached over to grab a big chunk of hay that had gotten entwined in my hair somehow. That set us off laughing again, and I only stopped when it became hard to breathe.
“My goodness, you look just like a scarecrow,” said Anna-Belle, her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkling.
“Holy cow,” I said. “I’ve got hay all down the back of my shirt.”
“Me too!” said Anna-Belle, giving me a strange look that set my pulse racing. “Come on, let’s go get washed up.”
I thought we were going back to the house, but instead she took me by the arm and led me out back of the barn to what even I as a city person recognized as a watering trough. Anna-Belle opened the spigot and began rinsing off her arms before using her wet fingers to comb out bits of hay from her hair.
As I watched her, I couldn’t help but think that she really was a vision of beauty. Unlike the vamps in Los Angeles with their Botoxed lips, designer outfits, and spiky nails, Anna-Belle was a fresh-faced, gorgeous young woman who looked absolutely wonderful even without a stitch of makeup.
Her bright white smile and sparkling eyes told me that she was living quite a healthy life out there in the middle of nowhere, giving her a leg up even on LA girls who spent thousands of dollars at high-end salons to look good.
“All right, your turn,” said Anna-Belle, gesturing for me to wash up.
I copied her actions, using the water from the spigot to sluice off the bits of chaff and hay from my arms. But when I looked over, Anna-Belle was frowning at me.
“What?” I said.
“Um, ain’t you gonna take off your shirt?” said Anna-Belle.
She certainly had a point as I could feel hay all down the back of my neck and sticking to my skin. But taking my shirt off in front of others just wasn’t something I did, not because I was ashamed of how I looked but just because it wasn’t the done thing where I came from.
But then I remembered I was living the country life now, so I shrugged off my misgivings and then took off my shirt, carefully hanging it on a nearby nail.
After that, washing up certainly went a lot easier, but every time I looked over at Anna-Belle, I saw she was watching me with an intense fascination. Was she dismayed to see my pasty white chest? Or was there maybe something more going on behind those beautiful blue eyes of hers?
“Here, let me help you,” said Anna-Belle, taking a metal cup off a hook and filling it with water from the spigot.
Before I realized what was happening, she’d dumped the water straight on top of my head, instantly soaking me.
“Hey!” I said, but Anna-Belle just giggled and danced away from my outstretched hand. “That water is cold!”
“Don’t I know it!” tittered Anna-Belle, filling the cup once again and using it to fling water at me.
“I’m gonna get you for that!” I shouted, using my hands to scoop up some water and send it her way.