Chapter Two
February 13th. 2009© 2005 Kimberly J. Fish
An Emerald Marks the Spot
Chapter Two
Kali led Brad past the goat’s water troughs and beyond the gate leading to what she affectionately called the ‘back pasture’. Her nose searched for the calming scents of lavender and rosemary she knew were growing wild nearby, but with her nerves in a riot it was hard to focus on nuances. Lavender was for pretty sachets or fresh laundered sheets, not Grand Canyon level surprises.
Shooing away a bumblebee, Kali formulated a plan. Since by now she should be mature enough to handle a reunion, this could be a simple matter of . . . this could not in any way resemble simple. Her plan was as frail as a spider web. She’d be shooting from the hip, always her worst strategy.
“So when did you buy this farm?” Brad stepped carefully over heavy rocks and rutted paths. “Notice how I use the term loosely because even though the sign at the end of the road reads ‘Provencal Farms’ I don’t actually see livestock or agriculture.”
“To the casual eye it may look like abandoned countryside, but to those of us on tractor duty it’s a bounty in the making. I bought the land about four years ago and it’s taken this long just to clear out the dead trees and fortify the soil. Thankfully the milking goats adapted and they think they’ve found nirvana. Or so they tell me.”
“Buying property on a riverbank must have taken a boat load of money,” he said slipping sunglasses over his eyes.
She’d emptied her inheritance, her savings and cashed in her 401K and that was before she borrowed a loan. “What’s money compared to happiness?”
“Could be a lot.” Brad looked toward the Guadalupe River’s green water ambling over roots of tall cedar trees and around a bend. “If you don’t have any to spare, that is.”
”You were never hurting for money, as I recall.”
“Ranching is a funny thing. Once Dad died I found out owning thousands of acres does not equate to cash in the bank. But maybe fortunes will change here pretty soon.”
“When my aunt died, I used my inheritance to buy this farm, but the cheese industry is not the way to get rich quick. I’ve also planted a grove of olive trees, but it will take years before I can press for oil. So I’ve decided I must have a penchant for the slow road to success.” Kali walked toward a porch swing dangling from the arms of giant oak. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re just about to break even, but I long for the days when I can afford to hire a few more people or stash profits in better equipment.”
Brad sat on the swing next to Kali. “So you don’t have a nest egg to supplement your expenses?”
Kali wondered where he was going with his IRS investigation. Maybe he’d changed careers and she’d overlooked a deduction on last year’s return. She pushed her toes against the dirt, setting the swing in motion. “That’s an odd question for a stranger to bring up.”
“We’re hardly strangers. If you remember I asked you to marry me.”
Kali remembered the rushing thrill ride that crashed two weeks before college graduation. “Asked and then thought better of it as I recall.”
”We were young and you had a glamorous future ahead of you. Or at least that’s what you aunt told me.”
Annalise had strong feelings about girls, college and earning potential. “My aunt talked to you?”
“A few times,” Brad stretched his arm along the back of the swing. “She was set on you making your mark in Washington.”
“Yeah, well, too bad that didn’t work out,” Kali said thinking about her stint as a senator’s aide that was supposed to lead to a brilliant legal career.
“You didn’t become a lawyer?”
“I did, but the legal side of my brain melted when I took Aunt Annalise back to France.”
“I don’t follow.”
“My aunt developed lung cancer and wanted to return to Provence to die. Actually she said her family had a holistic approach to healthcare, but she and I both knew the tumors were too far spread to be healed by herbs and oil. The only good thing to come out of that year in France was that I learned how to make cheese.”
“You gave up a year of your life for her? Were you nuts?”
“She took Lacy and I in when our mom abandoned us, why would I not be with her at the end?” Brad did not need to know she’d scaled back most of her legal counsel to the point she was more of a guide for Washington tourists than political analyst even before Annalise’s diagnosis. No one, least of all Annalise, understood she’d made a bad career choice based on what she could acquire instead of what she could accomplish.
“I guess I understand the sacrifice people make for each other in awful situations,” Brad looked across the grazing field dotted with honeysuckle and clover. “My mother is almost at the end of her battle with breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Brad. Your mother was a very beautiful lady.”
“Pretty on the eyes, but not easy to live with,” he sighed, “that’s what Dad always said about her.”
“She was protective of you,” Kali said remembering the dinner when Brad introduced her to his parents. “She pulled me aside and grilled me about my parentage. When I didn’t have the appropriate answer to fill in the blanks she changed tactics. I think that’s when I first started hearing about the ‘perfect girl’ waiting for you back in Abilene.”
“My mother told you about other girls?”
“There was more than one special girl? I just heard about Linda or was it Lauren? Apparently, you were practically promised to her out of the cradle.”
“Linda ran off with a preacher boy and I think they’re somewhere in South America.”
“Go figure. I can still hear your mother’s clipped tone, kind of like a starling that could speak, and she was quite convinced Linda would make an excellent stay-at-home wife, complete with pearls and martinis, and that’s just the kind of girl your mother wanted for you. She had some disparaging remarks about women choosing a career that would take them away from the stove and babies. And that was just seconds after I told her about the senator’s aide appointment.”
“My mom was always a master of subtlety. It’s a wonder we ever knew how she felt.”
Kali chuckled for the first time since she’d looked across the processing station to see the only man she’d ever loved. “It’s a good thing we didn’t spring our hasty engagement on her that night. She might have fainted face first into her enchiladas.
Brad was quiet as he watched a blue jay dip between the oak branches.
“You never told her,” Kali asked, “did you?”
Dipping his chin toward his chest, he looked at her from the side of his glasses, “Didn’t seem necessary. I set you free, but you didn’t come back.”
To be continued