sort, in their early 50s, both with visible tattoos, earrings and headscarves. They basically dress and look pretty much alike.”
“But Elwood has a beard, I take it,” Lily surmised.
“A long, scraggly one. He’s actually a pretty good guy. Gives gasoline to folks who can’t pay, and there are a lot of those around since Randall shut down the plant.”
“I read about that,” Lily said.
“The Dills have really stepped up since Randall Manufacturing closed,” Tate told her. “We try to give them as much business as we can. They’re open today so folks who can’t afford to cook out can get burgers at half price.”
Lily nodded. “Good to know. I don’t have a car, but the store is certainly convenient, and a girl’s gotta eat. I’ll be sure to give them my business.”
Smiling, Tate went in and picked up the burgers and fries while Lily and Isabella waited in the truck. As he climbed back in a few minutes later, he heard his daughter saying, “And Dad doesn’t ever do anything fun.”
Imagining what else she’d said, Tate reached into the bag and took out a cardboard cup of fries, passing them back to her, along with a bottle of water. “Here. Eat these.” That ought to keep her little mouth busy.
Instead of heading on down Bronson Avenue and then taking a left on Church Street, Tate chose to head east on School Drive. That way Lily got to see Bronson Park, with its pretty pond, gazebo and playground. They turned back south on Granary Road and passed by the old Bronson Homestead. The house now contained the Public Library. Behind the Homestead, on property donated by the Bronsons, stood Bygones Community Church, which fronted on the aptly named Church Street. They passed a few residential streets and then drove over a cattle guard onto Bronson property.
“So it’s the city limit on one side and your place on the other,” Lily clarified. “You’re practically in town then.”
“Nope. House is still a mile or so away.”
She lifted her eyebrows at that, quipping, “This is quite a yard you’ve got here.”
He chuckled. “You could say that. It’s part of the original holdings. My folks’ house is about a half mile east of mine. We’re country folk. Wouldn’t know how to get along in town.”
“I’m a city girl,” she said. “Bygones doesn’t really feel like town to me.”
“All a matter of perspective, I guess,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, looking around her.
He tried to see it as she did, the wide-open spaces, the fields gilded by the rising moon. It looked like peace to him. It looked like the whole world. It looked like home. He hadn’t prayed in a long while, but if he was going to pray, he would ask God to make this crazy scheme to save Bygones work out, for Lily Farnsworth’s sake as much as anyone’s.
* * *
Nothing Lily had seen thus far had prepared her for what she found at the end of the road. She had already discovered that the topography of the plains was deceptive. Though seemingly flat as pancakes, they were, in fact, low undulating hills, wherein lay small hidden valleys, so that what looked like shrubs in the distance gradually became trees tucked into broad, rolling folds. It came as no surprise then that, as they topped a shallow rise, a wide shady hollow spread out before them. No, the surprise was in how Tate had adapted his home to the natural beauty of his glade.
Lily’s gaze fell first on the barn in a field of golden, knee-high grass. Constructed in the shape of a large rectangle, the building’s walls of native stone supported the weight of its steep sheet-metal roof, while the upper diamond-shaped end walls were made of wood painted a deep, rich red. Corrals of stone, wood and metal pipe surrounded the barn, as well as several smaller outbuildings of the same dark red.
The two-story house mirrored the barn in construction, with the lower walls built of native stone and the upper portion of cedar planking stained a deep red.
“But Elwood has a beard, I take it,” Lily surmised.
“A long, scraggly one. He’s actually a pretty good guy. Gives gasoline to folks who can’t pay, and there are a lot of those around since Randall shut down the plant.”
“I read about that,” Lily said.
“The Dills have really stepped up since Randall Manufacturing closed,” Tate told her. “We try to give them as much business as we can. They’re open today so folks who can’t afford to cook out can get burgers at half price.”
Lily nodded. “Good to know. I don’t have a car, but the store is certainly convenient, and a girl’s gotta eat. I’ll be sure to give them my business.”
Smiling, Tate went in and picked up the burgers and fries while Lily and Isabella waited in the truck. As he climbed back in a few minutes later, he heard his daughter saying, “And Dad doesn’t ever do anything fun.”
Imagining what else she’d said, Tate reached into the bag and took out a cardboard cup of fries, passing them back to her, along with a bottle of water. “Here. Eat these.” That ought to keep her little mouth busy.
Instead of heading on down Bronson Avenue and then taking a left on Church Street, Tate chose to head east on School Drive. That way Lily got to see Bronson Park, with its pretty pond, gazebo and playground. They turned back south on Granary Road and passed by the old Bronson Homestead. The house now contained the Public Library. Behind the Homestead, on property donated by the Bronsons, stood Bygones Community Church, which fronted on the aptly named Church Street. They passed a few residential streets and then drove over a cattle guard onto Bronson property.
“So it’s the city limit on one side and your place on the other,” Lily clarified. “You’re practically in town then.”
“Nope. House is still a mile or so away.”
She lifted her eyebrows at that, quipping, “This is quite a yard you’ve got here.”
He chuckled. “You could say that. It’s part of the original holdings. My folks’ house is about a half mile east of mine. We’re country folk. Wouldn’t know how to get along in town.”
“I’m a city girl,” she said. “Bygones doesn’t really feel like town to me.”
“All a matter of perspective, I guess,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, looking around her.
He tried to see it as she did, the wide-open spaces, the fields gilded by the rising moon. It looked like peace to him. It looked like the whole world. It looked like home. He hadn’t prayed in a long while, but if he was going to pray, he would ask God to make this crazy scheme to save Bygones work out, for Lily Farnsworth’s sake as much as anyone’s.
* * *
Nothing Lily had seen thus far had prepared her for what she found at the end of the road. She had already discovered that the topography of the plains was deceptive. Though seemingly flat as pancakes, they were, in fact, low undulating hills, wherein lay small hidden valleys, so that what looked like shrubs in the distance gradually became trees tucked into broad, rolling folds. It came as no surprise then that, as they topped a shallow rise, a wide shady hollow spread out before them. No, the surprise was in how Tate had adapted his home to the natural beauty of his glade.
Lily’s gaze fell first on the barn in a field of golden, knee-high grass. Constructed in the shape of a large rectangle, the building’s walls of native stone supported the weight of its steep sheet-metal roof, while the upper diamond-shaped end walls were made of wood painted a deep, rich red. Corrals of stone, wood and metal pipe surrounded the barn, as well as several smaller outbuildings of the same dark red.
The two-story house mirrored the barn in construction, with the lower walls built of native stone and the upper portion of cedar planking stained a deep red.
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