The Kingdom Land (2 page)

“
Thanks, but no thanks,” Erik said.
“I'm more than happy to help you out for a time because of
everything, but never confuse that with me wanting to be a farmer.
I'm not the farmer type. You know I could never be a farmer. Either
that or you haven't been listening. Just like Uncle Henry keeps
telling me:
a farmer, to be a farmer, has
to be part of the land. He has to work the soil until the soil
gives back the harvest, no matter how long that takes.
I just can't do that. Uncle Henry is like that,
I'm not.

“He's so much a part of the farm it's almost scary.
When the crops fail, like now, he looks like a broken man. You can
see it in the way he walks. His shoulders droop lower, just like
the wheat. That's not me. I don't want to be that close to
anything—let alone dirt.

“
You know the saying:
Farmers are the only people who don't have to
fear death. They live for the touch of the soil all their lives,
but they can only enter it once they die.
That's too depressing for me. Way too depressing.”

“
Erik, you're bound and determined
to start a fight tonight, but don't think you'll get a reaction out
of me. It's Saturday; can't we talk about anything else? At least
your Uncle isn't here. He's a proud man, and you could learn
something from him. He's committed to God and he's committed to
making this farm something to be proud of. I'm proud of him and I'm
proud of this farm. If you can't understand that, keep your
comments to yourself. I don't want to hear any more.” Mary went to
the Frigidaire to get a plate of butter that Erik didn't need. Erik
watched her hesitate in front of the open fridge and take a deep
breath. Mary rarely got that that upset.
The drought has got to her, too.

Erik was always amazed that Mary could keep her house
and herself so perfectly finished when everything outside the
farmhouse was dust and brown and dying. For as long as Erik could
remember, Mary always had, and still did, carry her small frame
with dignity and composure. She put her long, thick dark hair in a
bun. She said she did it for convenience, but Erik always thought
that it gave her the appearance of royalty. As a young boy Erik
loved to sit on a stool and watch her get ready to meet the day.
She would pull her hair together with a firm grasp, twist it into
the bun and fasten it with one bobby pin. She would never know how
much he respected her for being such a rock in this dismal
land.

When she returned, her voice had regained her usual
soft tone. “What are you going to do tonight? You haven't got
together with the Hanson boy in a long time. Why don't you see what
he's doing tonight?” Mary asked with a plea in her voice.

Erik knew what his answer would be before Mary even
finished. Aaron Hanson was a nice kid, but just too starchy for
Erik. For years he knew Aunt Mary's hope was that Aaron's
Christianity would change Erik, but the more she suggested the
harder he said no. Aaron had never said anything wrong, but Erik
knew exactly where he was coming from and Erik wasn't there.

“
As you say, I don't want to hear
any more of that talk. Aaron Hanson is boring and we have nothing
in common,” Erik replied.

“
He's boring! And you're the one to
talk—Mr. Sociable himself. Why don't you go out with someone else
then, anyone, so you don't have to spend another night alone in
that bunkhouse? You haven't had a date in ages. It isn't good for
you to be alone so much.” His aunt's voice was both tired and
frustrated.

“
Don't worry about me,” Erik
advised. “I'll take care of myself. I always have. Why don't you
get some ketchup so I can put it on this pot roast?” he said the
last with every intention of garnering a reaction and changing the
subject.

“
That's not pot roast. It's the best
roast beef in the county and if you want to put ketchup on roast
beef and drown out the taste, you get your own ketchup. That roast
was in the oven for three hours and I had to work next to that hot
oven all day. You feel sorry for yourself working on the tractor,
but working next to a hot oven so you can have a nice Saturday meal
isn't much better. Your uncle is late because he still isn't done,
and all you can do is complain. I don't know why I even try. You
get your own ketchup!” Mary slammed her cup on the table and left
the room.

It had been years since Erik's aunt
had lost her temper with him.
The
drought's getting to her, too,
he thought
again.

Erik turned back to his plate. He'd gotten the quiet
he wanted, but not in the way he had wanted.

He finished the meal alone. Erik was good at being
alone. He actually felt most comfortable alone, and as Mary walked
away it reminded him that he had been left alone before. He lived
with his aunt and uncle for a reason. Erik's mother had left the
family when he was three and his dad died when he was eleven.

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

E
rik walked
to the refrigerator, grabbed a cold pop and left the kitchen
without saying goodbye to his aunt. He walked straight to the
bunkhouse with the last piece of bread and the pop, dragging his
feet on the dirt path. Although there was an extra bedroom in the
main house Erik lived in the old bunkhouse. It was his choice as it
was his choice to use the entryway sink. The bunkhouse was close to
the tool sheds and grain silos, but far from the farmhouse. It was
where he wanted to live. In the bunkhouse there was no one to
bother him and he could escape that farm in his dreams. Being alone
in the bunkhouse was different from being alone in the farmhouse
kitchen. The solitude in the bunkhouse was something he
created.

The bunkhouse hadn't been painted or
repaired in decades. It was a place no one would want to live, but
it was Erik's refuge. He had the bunkhouse all to himself. The
bunkhouse was the ideal place for him to dream. This was
his
place whereas
everywhere else was
their
place.

Erik went straight to a small room to the left that
was separate from the main dorm. It had both a bed and a tin shower
stall. It took his eyes a second to get used to the dimness of the
windowless room as he stripped and visited the cold-water shower.
He gasped as the cold well water hit his chest, but the water had
the desired effect. He finally felt different and alive. He finally
could forget the farm.

Reaching into the second drawer of a four-drawer
dresser, he retrieved a dress shirt that was seldom worn. A chipped
runner made the drawer difficult to open, but he had never bothered
to fix it. The starched shirt felt awkward, but his donning it
signaled a special occasion he so desperately needed.

He plopped himself down hard on the bed. “This is
better.” He could feel the slope of the bed which was propped up by
bricks in one of it's corners to solve a broken leg. It was still
better than anything else he had felt that week.

Erik had time to kill before his
trip. All week he had dreamed exactly how this evening would go, so
it was time to take a nap. He felt himself drifting off while he
rehashed the dinner conversation with his aunt. That conversation
hadn't been the start to his evening in any of his dreams. He knew
his aunt was wrong.
I wasn't trying to
start a fight. She needs to listen to me sometimes, and the
conversation wouldn't have happened if that stupid county agent had
went to the house like he should have. Besides, she doesn't have
the right in getting mad at me and trying to tell me what to do
with my life. She's a great lady, but she has her own
problems
.

When he was completely asleep, an all too common
nightmare returned. His dreams took him to another kitchen and a
time years earlier. His dad was still alive and Erik was nine. That
kitchen was in the old house where he used to live with his dad.
His dad had just returned to the table from a phone call that had
interrupted dinner. His picked up his fork to eat, but slammed it
down hard holding his head rather than his fork. He glared at Erik.
It wasn't a mean glare, but a glare of disbelief. Erik didn't know
if it he was in trouble, but someone seemed to be. When his dad
left the table, Erik instinctively followed. They got into the old
pickup and Erik didn't even have to asked where they were going. He
just knew

They pulled in front of his Aunt and Uncle's house.
His dad got out of the truck and went into the house as if Erik
wasn't even there. His dad always walked ahead, but this time his
steps looked as if they were in quicksand and darkness covered the
cement steps.There were men in the house that Erik didn't know, but
they were obviously policemen, maybe even State cops. Erik was told
to sit at the kitchen table while the adults went into the dining
room; his dad, the police, Aunt Mary and Uncle Henry. Erik could
hear their voices, but not their words.

Finally Erik was called into the dining room with its
linen covered table. Erik never sat there, when he and his dad
shared a meal with his aunt and uncle, they ate in the kitchen, but
he sat in the dining room that evening. Aunt Mary tried to look
calm with a gentle smile on her face that Erik didn't believe.

“
Erik, I have something to read to
you. It's a letter your mom wrote when she had to leave. We, your
dad, wanted to wait until you were old enough to understand before
we read the letter to you. Now we think it is time for you to hear
it. These two gentlemen,” and she smiled brightly at the police,
“just spoke with your mom and she is doing fine, so it's probably
time for you to know why she hasn't been here.”

Erik still didn't know why policemen would be
reporting on someone if there wasn't a problem, but their eyes
never left Erik, as if he was the one they were looking for.

“
Erik, like we told you in the past,
your mom got sick and had to go away to get better. She'd be fine,
but she had to go, and she wrote this letter. We, uh, we didn't
share it with you before ‘cause we thought she'd get better right
quick and be back in no time… But, well, now seems like we better
share her letter with you.”

Aunt Mary adjusted her reading glasses without
looking at him. Her voice shook and cracked as she began to read
from the paper she held in front of her.

 

“
Erik,

 

I love you very much, but I have been sick and I
need to go away. I will come back when I am feeling better, no
matter how long that takes. I know every day apart from you will
hurt me, but I want you to know I will think of you every
minute.

I love you, and it's best for both of us that I get
well.

I love you, and you are always in my thoughts,

 

Your mom,

Maggie.”

 

Aunt Mary lowered the paper. Her face and neck was
flushed scarlet. She forced herself, nearly defiantly, to meet
Erik's eyes, and Erik knew she had just told the biggest whopping
lie of her life. There was a soft exhalation of relief from the men
in the room. For his aunt's sake, for his dad and uncle's sake, and
even for the two strange policemen's sake, he swallowed once,
twice, and then nodded.

He wasn't sure if they had just protected him from
something, or made it worse.

The dream shifted, morphed, melded
into a time ten years later. Erik was in the Cooper's house alone
and found himself in front of his Aunt's open jewelry box. He
opened the bottom hand carved drawer and found a poorly fashioned
fake bottom holding an old note yellowed with age He had found a
secret and suddenly became thrilled at his find, until he read the
words. It was very short, but instinctively Erik knew
this
was the note from
his mother.

I'll leave this so you don't call
the cops. I've had enough. I'm leaving the state. Don't try to find
me. I won't come back no matter what you say. I can't stand
Fairfield and this farm is even worse. I tried. I'm done
trying
.

The note wasn't signed, but Aunt
Mary had noted in the margin:
December 12,
1957, Maggie.

Erik wondered why Mary would want to memorialize that
day. It would make more sense to burn the note; not burn the date
into everyone's mind. Then Erik remembered it was his aunt's insane
need to keep everything in place and filed away. At that moment he
hated his aunt. It was all her fault. He wanted to go mess up his
hallway sink.

Erik quickly noticed he wasn't mentioned in the note.
There was no way he could confront Mary since he was the intruder.
He simply had to wait and wonder and come to his own
conclusions

He found the truth from complete strangers. He was
sixteen. Erik was waiting at the Fairfield Five and Dime for his
aunt to give him a ride home after football practice. The store had
a fountain counter and on this day there were two ladies sitting
two stools to his right.

It was obvious they knew Erik. They kept looking at
him as if they had discovered someone on a wanted poster. At first
they spoke in low whispers, but as their excitement grew so did
their voices. This was prime gossip, and the fact Erik was there
only added to the thrill. One lady kept staring at Erik while the
other spun the story with increasing gusto. At first Erik couldn't
hear her exact words, but that quickly changed.