Spencerville

"Well, I just wanted to let you know about that horn honking a few nights back."

"Heard it. Saw it."

"I got into a little scrape with the Spencerville police, and they were doing some payback."

Martin nodded.

Sue said, "They have no business out here. I called them that night, but the desk sergeant said he didn't know anything about it, so I called Don Finney, the sheriff, and he said he'd check it out. He didn't call back, so I called him again, and he said nobody at police headquarters knew anything about it."

Martin added, "We were going to call you and see if you knew anything, but I figured you didn't."

"Well, as I said, they got themselves riled up about something."

The Jenkinses didn't ask what, nor would they ever ask, but Sue added, "Don is some sort of kin to Cliff Baxter, and they're two peas in a pod, as far as I'm concerned."

Keith said, "I'll try to see that it doesn't happen again."

"Not your fault," Sue said. She added, "Those people are getting out of control. Citizens ought to do something about it."

"Probably. Hey, the corn looks good."

"Real good," Martin agreed. "Good all over the damned state. Gonna be a glut again. Lucky to get two dollars a bushel."

And that, in a nutshell, Keith thought, was the problem with farming. Supply always outstripped demand and prices fell. When he was a boy, about ten percent of the American population were farmers. Now it was about two percent, and farmers were a rare species. Yet production kept rising. It was sort of a miracle, but if you had four hundred acres, like the Jenkinses and most family farms did, your overhead ate up your sales. In a bumper year when the prices were down, you broke even, and in a bad crop year when the prices were up, the yield was down, and you broke even. It was the kind of job you had to save up for. Keith said, "Sometimes I think I'd like to give farming a try."

Sue laughed, and nothing more had to be said.

Keith asked, "Do you want to sell or rent one of your horses?"

Martin replied, "Never thought about it. You need a horse?"

"I think I'd like to ride. Pass the time."

"Hell, you don't want to own one of them things. They're more trouble than a hay baler. You just take one out and ride it when you want. The kids only ride on weekends and holidays."

"Thanks, but I'd like to pay you."

"Hell, no, they need the exercise. Do 'em good. Just water 'em and wipe 'em off after you ride them, maybe give them some feed. The gray gelding is gentle, but the young mare's a bitch." He laughed. "Same around here."

Sue commented, "If I see you looking at that postwoman again, you will be a gelding."

On that note, Keith stood and said, "Thanks for the coffee. Mind if I take one of them now?"

"Go right ahead. Gelding's name is Willy, mare is Hilly. Hilly and Willy. Kids named 'em."

Keith went out to the barn and found the stable door. Inside, the two horses stood in their stalls, feeding. He opened both stalls, and the horses wandered out. Keith slapped them both on the flanks, and they ran out into the paddock.

He went out and watched them awhile. The gelding was sort of listless, but the young mare had a lot of spirit.

He found a bridle in the tack room and approached the mare, getting the bridle on her, then tied her to the fence post while he got a blanket and saddle. He saddled her up and walked her out the gate. Keith mounted and rode toward his farm, across the road, and out toward a wooded area that ran along a creek between his farm and the one to the west.

He got into the trees and rode down to the creek, which was nearly dry. He headed south through the creek bed, following it downstream toward Reeves Pond.

It was quiet except for the flowing water and a few birds. This was nice. His father never kept horses, and most farmers didn't, because they cost money and had no practical use. Now what extra money a farmer had for fun went into snowmobiles and road bikes, noisy things that went too fast for thinking and looking. Keith liked the feel of the animal beneath him, its warmth and living movement, and its occasional snort and whinny, and they smelled better than exhaust smoke.

He and Annie had borrowed horses now and then and ridden to secluded spots where they could make love. They'd joked that the only place they hadn't done it was on horseback, and Keith wondered if that was possible.

He gave the horse its lead, and it seemed content to follow the creek with a good gait.

Any thought he'd had about spending the rest of his life here, he realized, wasn't possible as long as Baxter was around. He'd let Baxter bait him, and he'd risen to the bait. This was bad strategy.

He reflected on his objective, which was not to engage Cliff Baxter in a contest, but to engage Mrs. Baxter in conversation. If nothing else, he'd like to speak to her one more time, for an hour or two, and resolve whatever issues remained between them. They'd never done that in their letters, and Keith felt he couldn't get on with his life until he understood clearly how and why they'd parted.