From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 5, The Will

 This is episode five of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

  If you would like to purchase "From  Here to 1137," it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or 

paperback.

The Will

Dalton Page, a high school classmate of Edgar’s, conducted the funeral. He became a Methodist minister and picked up a little extra money on the side as the grange pastor. Hank Somers, the grange president, gave a heartfelt eulogy. 

And it was over—in half an hour. 

There were about fifty people at the funeral. Edgar greeted folks but was clearly distracted. He attempted to work his way to Gene Francis, the lawyer. He was eager to find out what was in the will.

Edgar brushed past two people on his way to Gene.

“Hello, Edgar,” Gene said, extending his hand.

Edgar shook his hand, wearing an insincere smile. “It’s been ages.”

“How are things going for you?” Gene asked,

“Very good,” Edgar said. “I passed the bar, first try.”

“That’s good,” Gene said.

“It seems like not that long ago when my wife and I were playing cards with your dad and mom.  You asked me about being a lawyer. And here you are. Your mom and dad would have been very proud.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Edgar said. “Tom tells me you planned on bringing the will with you. Can we get that over with?”

“Sure,” Gene smiled politely. “Let’s round up Tom.”

Edgar looked around the room. He spotted Tom. He waved anxiously at him to come.

Tom made his way through the guests, stopping a couple of times to receive condolences. 

“There’s a room we can use,” Gene said. “I talked to the folks here at the funeral home. They said we could use it without being disturbed.”

Gene led the way to a room that resembled a small living room. They entered the room, and Gene shut the door.

They sat. Tom and Edgar sat on a couch, and Gene sat in a chair.

Gene pulled the will from his inside suit pocket. “Before I read this, I’d like to express my deepest sympathy. I’ve known your mom and dad nearly all my life. We were good friends. They entrusted me with some of the biggest decisions in their lives. In fact, many years ago, your dad asked me if he should propose to your mom.” Gene smiled. “I told him, I’d give him a week, and if he didn’t, I would. Your mom got the best deal. Your dad was one of the finest men I knew. He could have been anything, but he said a farm is the best place to raise a family. Family was everything to him. And your mom, there was no end to her generosity. As you probably already know, there is no one to replace her, not just as your mom, but in this community.”

“Thank you, Gene,” Tom said, pressing back his tears.

Edgar bobbed his head, agreeing. His eyes were fixed on the will.

“Let me read this,” Gene said. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll cut to the quick. I’m sure Edgar is familiar with all the precedent legal verbiage, and I’m equally certain Tom doesn’t want to hear it. However, you can read it later.” Gene cleared his throat. “

“I devise and bequeath both real and personal property, wherever situated, to the following: first beneficiary, all goes to my son, Thomas Bales.”

Gene looked up from the will.

“That’s it!?” Edgar said.

“That’s it,” Gene said. 

Edger suddenly wore a sickly smile. He glanced at Tom for a reaction. Tom stared back expressionless. 

“There has to be more,” Edgar said. 

“There is,” Gene said.

“Well, let’s hear it!” Edgar demanded.

“I hereby direct the executor and sole beneficiary of my will to collect all loans made to my son, Edgar.”

“This is a fraud,” Edgar said. “This will go to court. I’ll appeal it.”

“At your pleasure and at your expense,” Gene said.

“Mom was not in her right mind the last couple of months,” Edgar said.

“The will is dated one year after your dad’s death,” Gene said. “I told her to wait a year. That was my advice. I didn’t want anyone saying she was under some sort of emotional distress when making the will.”

“Tom is eighteen!” Edgar said. “He barely made it out of high school.”

“Everything is held in a trust until Tom is twenty-one,” Gene said. “I’m the trustee. Tom can’t cancel debts or extend them. It is my duty to collect them. The will makes that clear.” 

“And a tidy little sum you are collecting,” Edgar spurted.

“If you want,” Gene said, “I can send a monthly statement. And, so we’re clear, I’m not collecting a dime. I waived all fees.”

“This is a joke,” Edgar said. He gave a quick, disgusted look at Gene and then Tom. He smirked and left the room. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Epidode 4, Picking Up Edgar

 This is episode four of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

  If you would like to purchase "From  Here to 1137," it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or 

paperback.

Picking Up Edgar

Friday, Tom picked corn until 7:00 PM. He showered, hopped in the truck, and headed to the airport, an hour away. He stopped at the drive-through window at a fast-food restaurant. He ordered a burger and a Coke and ate on the way to the airport. He parked at the airport’s parking garage a little past 9:00 PM. Edgar’s plane was due in at 9:10 PM. Tom waited at the gate.

The plane arrived, and passengers began flowing out the jet bridge exit.  Tom caught sight of Edgar coming through the door. He looked different. His hair was styled and hung loose. His clothes, though casual, appeared stylish. He carried a suit bag. 

Tom looked down at himself; faded jeans and a flannel shirt. He rubbed the fronts of his shoes on the back of his pants to remove the dust. 

Disappointment showed through Edgar’s smile. Tom immediately noticed it. 

‘I should have thrown something better on,’ Tom thought. “And I brought the pickup. He’s embarrassed. I suppose he has the right to be.’

“Hey, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said and joked, “Looks like you’ve been in the fields all day.”

“Actually,” Tom said, “I have been. I’m trying to get the corn in. They’re saying rain next week.”

“Well, what the heck,” Edgar said and shook Tom’s hand, “It’s good to see you, and thanks for coming down to pick me up.

“Yeah,” Tom said, “it’s been a while. You look different.”

They began to walk down the concourse toward the parking garage. 

“It’s been a year,” Edgar said.

“Actually, two and a half,” Tom said.

“Are you sure?” Edgar said.

“I’m sure,” Tom said. “Mom kept track.”

Edgar slowed his pace. “So how was she in the end?”

“She was doing fine,” Tom said. “I think the treatments were too much for her. I guess it was one of those things where the cure is worse than the disease.”

“We’ve had it rough,” Edgar said, “losing both parents before I’m 25.”

“How are you feeling?” Tom asked.

“I’m devastated,” Edgar said, but his tone did not match the words. He said it as if ordering a drink.

“Have you contacted everybody?” Edgar asked.

“I called Amy, our cousin, and she said she’d take care of that for me.”

“Should have done it yourself,” Edgar said. “I bet she hasn’t called a soul. I bet the funeral will be an empty house. I was hoping to see a lot of old friends. You should have done the calling yourself. If you want things done right, don’t leave it to a cousin.”

“With getting in the corn and some other things, I had little time,” Tom said.

“What other things?” Edgar challenged.

“I had to make Mom’s arrangements at the funeral home. I met with the hospital, and they explained what actually happened with Mom. The cattle had to be fed. Mom got behind on some bills, and I had to get them all squared away. I had to go and pay our taxes. The cattle broke down a fence. And wandered all over the countryside. I had to gather them and repair the fence. Our well pump went out, and I had to replace it.”

“Couldn’t have somebody come out and do that? That’s what repairmen are for.” Edgar asked.

“Next Wednesday,” Tom replied.

“Which reminds me,” Edgar said, “remember I said something about my room?”

“I took care of it,” Tom said.

“Good man, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said.

They walked to the truck in the parking garage.

“The truck!” Edgar said disapointedly. “We have a car, don’t we?” 

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I was in such a hurry, I didn’t think. I’m used to hopping in the truck. Mom always drove the car.”

“Make sure we drive back in the car, alright, Tommy Gun,” Edgar said.

“Sure, the car,” Tom said.

“Good lad,” Edgar said.

They drove up to the pay booth. 

Edgar fished around in his pockets. He pulled out his wallet. “I’m afraid all I have are big bills.” He nodded at a sign under the teller’s window; We Take Nothing Over a Twenty Dollar Bill.

Tom pulled his wallet out and paid the teller. 

As they drove away, Tom asked, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Noon,” Edgar said. 

“You must be starved,” Tom said. “We’ll be home in an hour. A friend of Mom’s from the grange brought some ham sandwiches, a pint of potato salad, and lemon meringue pie.”

“I don’t eat that crap anymore,” Edgar said, “and neither should you. That’s probably why Mom and Dad are in the grave.”

“Actually,” Tom said, “they’re not in a grave. They were cremated.”

“That’s right, but you know what I meant.”

It was quiet for a couple of miles.

“Have you seen the lawyer?” Edgar said. “You know, about the will?”

“He’ll be at the funeral,” Tom said. “He said he’d bring the will and go over it with us privately at the funeral home. I told him about your tight schedule, and he was willing to accommodate you.”

“I guess it’s sort of a professional courtesy,” Edgar said. “Have you seen the will?”

“No,” Tom said. 

“Did Mom ever tell you what was in it?” Edgar asked.

“No,” Tom said. “I think she was uncomfortable talking about it.”

“Typical farmer,” Edgar said. “Oh, sorry, you’re a farmer.”

“Yep,” Tom said.

The rest of the way, Edgar entertained Tom by telling him about living in New York City and his work. Tom smiled politely at each appropriate time.

They arrived home. Edgar lowered his dietary preference and settled for the ham sandwich, but not the potato salad. He ate half a slice of the pie.

They sat at the kitchen table and talked as they ate.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Edgar said.

“It’s funny,” Tom said, “When I took Mom for a treatment, I was looking at a magazine, you know, one of those home decorating ones. They had kitchens in that magazine just like this. People are returning to this style.”

“Outdated,” Edgar scoffed. “You should rip everything out and update this place. It looks like Margaret Truman decorated it. You know…”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Tom said.

“Harry’s wife,” Edgar couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge.

“Actually,” Tom said, “Margaret was the Trumans’ daughter. Bess was Harry’s wife.”

“Are you sure?” Edgar said. 

“I don’t think it makes a difference,” Tom smiled, “unless they had different tastes.”

“And this place smells the same,” Edgar said. “Can’t you get some scented candles or something?”

Tom smiled. “You ought to be here when the wind comes from the east. The Prescotts have started raising hogs.”

“What time is this thing tomorrow?” Edgar said.

“You mean the funeral?” Tom said.

“Is it technically a funeral?” Edger said, “There’s nobody. Will there be an urn?”

“At 10:00 AM,” Tom said. “I decided on no urn. And there’s a noon luncheon at the grange in Mom’s memory.”

“Sounds divine,” Edgar said.

“They just want to show their appreciation,” Tom said. “Over the years, she put in a lot of time at the grange hall.”

“They owe more than that,” Edgar said.

“What time do you have to be at the airport tomorrow?” Tom asked. 

“Plane leaves at 6:35,” Edgar said.

“That will give you some time to talk to some old friends down at the grange,” Tom said.

“Yeah,” Edgar said. “I can hardly wait.”

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 3, Dinner For Two

This is episode three of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

  If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle version or paperback.

Dinner For Two

Tom worked a full day in the field on the corn picker. Up and down the rows, his thoughts tossed back and forth from Edgar to the death of his mom. A couple of times, he stopped: the sadness and emotion overcame him. 

The sun set. He parked the tractor at the end of a row and climbed down. He plodded along the lane. He reached the barn and tossed down hay for the cattle.

He walked in the back door of the house and kicked off his boots. He checked the answering machine. The funeral home left a message. 

“Hello, Mr. Bales, this is Carl Travis at the funeral home. We just wanted to let you know your mother’s cremation is complete.”

Tom dropped the phone and plopped into a dining room chair. He buried his face in his palms and wept. 

Eventually, he gathered his emotions. He showered and dressed in his pajamas.

In the kitchen, Tom bobbed his head around, looking into the refrigerator for something to eat. 

He said to himself, “Everything in here was prepared by Mom.’

He heard a knock at the door. He turned his head quickly. 

He opened the door. It was Debbie, a girl Tom’s age who lived a mile down the road. She held a picnic basket and a sympathetic smile.

“Hi,” Trace said and looked embarrassedly at what he was wearing. “I’m sorry, come in and I’ll get some clothes on. Come in.” 

“That’s okay,” Debbie said. “I just wanted to drop this off. I heard about your mom.”

She handed the basket to Tom and noticed he had been crying.

“Thanks, Debbie,” Tom said. “But please, come in.”

“Are you sure?” Debbie asked.

“The company would be nice,” Tom said, standing out of the way to allow her to come in.

“Why don’t you have a seat at the dining room table?” Debbie smiled, “and let me take care of everything.”

“I know better than to say no to you,” Tom said and sat at the table.

Debbie emptied the basket, spreading a meal in front of Tom. There was a thick slice of roast beef, fried potatoes, tossed salad, and half of a pie.”

“You don’t expect me to eat all the pie, do you?”

“Only if you want to,” Debbie said and sat at the table. “There are two roast beef sandwiches at the bottom of the basket and some more potatoes. I think you're good for another two meals.”

“I don’t like to eat while other people are just watching,” Tom smiled. “If you don’t have at least a piece of pie, it will leave me thinking there’s something wrong with it.”

Debbie pressed a smile. She reached inside the basket and removed a piece of pie already on a plate. “I knew you would say that, so I was prepared.”

As they ate, they talked.

“I heard about your mom a couple of days ago,” Debbie said. “I’ve been by a couple of times, but either you weren’t here or out in the field.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I’ve been really busy.”

“It looks like things are still pretty emotional for you,” Debbie said.

“It comes in waves,” Tom said. “And unexpected.”

“She was good to me,” Debbie said, and added, “She was good to everybody. She was a good person.”

“Remember when our moms stacked hay for ole man Fenster?” Debbie said.

“You were out there, too,” Tom grinned.

“And you came by to help,” Debbie added.

“The job was almost done by the time I got there,” Tom said.

“That was such a good day,” Debbie warmly smiled. “Is this okay for you?” She placed her hand on his hand.

“It’s perfect for me,” Tom said. “Those are the things I think about all day long, and have nobody to share them with.”

“Where’s Edgar?” Debbie asked, changing to a serious tone.

“He’ll be home in two days,” Tom said. “He passed his bar exam, and his firm piled him with a bunch of cases right away.”

“You know something?” Debbie said. “I wouldn’t work for anybody who wouldn’t allow time off for my mother’s death.”

“I get it,” Tom said. “It’s a great job for a prestigious firm. It’s a great opportunity for him. He’s worked hard for it. Besides, I’m not doing anything different than him, I’m working all day.”

“It’s different,” Debbie said. “There’s nobody to take in your corn. Everybody’s busy doing their own. His firm should step up and help him.”

“I think it’s a different world that he lives in than you and I do,” Tom said.

Debbie shook her head as if to say, ‘You know that’s not right.’

“By the way,” Tom said, “why aren’t you away at college?”

“I decided to go locally,” Debbie said. “I thought it would be great to move out of state, but when Mom, Dad, and I sat down and figured things out, you know, room, meals, all that stuff, we decided it would be best to go somewhere close by.”

“Like?” Tom asked.

“The branch,” Debbie said, “I can get the same degree there as I could anywhere else.”

“I haven’t seen you since graduation,” Tom said.

“I got a summer job at King’s Island,” Debbie said. “It was a great experience. I learned that I didn’t want to work there another summer. I’d rather stack hay. Which reminds me, what are your plans? When are you starting college?”

“I’m going to enroll at the branch this winter,” Tom said. “Dad and Mom had it figured; they would pay for Edgar’s college, and after he got a job, they’d pay for mine. When Dad died, Mom had it all figured out that we could rent the land out, and instead of Edgar paying back a college loan, he could pay for some of my education.”

“Some of it,” Debbie retorted, “Why not all of it. You’ve worked the farm and at the same time went to high school. That paid for all his education. You worked your butt off for him to have a good education.”

“Edgar worked hard,” Tom said. “He was able to get some scholarship money. That eased our burden.”

“He didn’t have to go to Harvard,” Debbie said. “There’s plenty of other colleges he could have gone to for a quarter of the money.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “but Harvard, he’ll earn that much more with a degree from there.”

“I’m sorry,” Debbie said, “that’s none of my business. It’s just that I saw you working hard to keep the farm going, and your grades suffered.”

“I just wasn’t that smart to begin with,” Tom said. 

“Cow pucky!” Debbie retorted.  

“Why Debbie Truesdale,” Tom chided jokingly, “you almost said a vile word.”

Debbie smiled. 

“You were always taking my side,” Tom said. 

“That’s double cow pucky,” Debbie said. “You were always taking my side.”

“Okay,” Tom grinned and conceded, “we both stuck up for each other.”

“I remember my first day at school,” Debbie said. “I was a freckle-faced blimp. I got on the bus. Nobody moved over to give me a seat—but you did. And when kids teased me, you always came up to me and made me feel like the most special person in school.”

“You were,” Tom said. “You were special. You are special.”

“I remember the eighth-grade dance,” Debbie said. “Nobody asked me to go. I volunteered to work at the refreshment counter just to see what other girls did to have fun. And two songs into the night, you asked me to dance. I always wondered and never asked, why?”

“You were honest and real,” Tom said. “It was really that simple. You weren’t a blimp, and I never noticed the freckles. All I saw was a nice person.”

“We never danced again,” Debbie said regretfully.

“Dad died shortly after that,” Tom said. “I worked on the farm. Mom wanted me to go to dances, play sports, and get involved. But I was moody and depressed a lot. I took everything very seriously. To me, school dances became a frivolous waste of time.”

“We always sat together on the bus,” Debbie said. “We had such great conversations.”

“All you talked about was your boyfriends,” Tom chuckled. 

“I only had maybe one or two,” Debbie confessed. “I was trying to make you jealous.”

“And a good job, indeed,” Tom said.

“We had some great summers,” Debbie said. “Our families are close. You taught me how to fish and milk a cow.”

“How could I forget?” Tom said. “And you taught me how to ride a horse and sew.”

“This doesn’t seem like the right time to say this,” Debbie hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “From that first day on the bus, I’ve had feelings for you.”

“On the bus, I always made sure nobody sat next to me,” Tom said. “The seat next to me was always for you.”

“We are very emotional right now,” Debbie said. 

“My life is very uncertain at this point,” Tom said.

“I’ve made plans for the next four or five years,” Debbie said. “They shouldn’t be changed in one night.”

“Thanks for the meal,” Tom said.

Debbie stood, and so did Tom. 

Tom walked her to the door and kissed her.

She smiled and winked. “Good night, Thomas Bales.”

“Good night, Deborah Truesdale.”

She smiled and pushed his nose as if it were a button. “I was too a blimp.”