Farmer Takes a Wife Read online

  by

  This...is Jamar.

  Written by Olivia Gaines

  Edited by Teri T. Blackwell, Ed.S.

  Davonshire House

  Augusta, GA

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2016 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Teri T. Blackwell

  Cover: Koou Graphics

  ASIN:

  ISBN:

  ISBN-10:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information Davonshire House Publishing LLC, PO Box 9716. Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Publishing October 2016

  Also by Olivia Gaines

  The Slice of Life Series

  The Perfect Man

  Friends with Benefits

  A Letter to My Mother

  The Basement of Mr. McGee

  A New Mommy for Christmas

  The Slivers of Love Series

  The Cost to Play

  Thursday in Savannah

  Girl's Weekend

  Beneath the Well of Dawn

  Santa’s Big Helper

  The Davonshire Series

  Courting Guinevere

  Loving Words

  Vanity's Pleasure

  The Blakemore Files

  Being Mrs. Blakemore

  Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore

  Dancing with Mr. Blakemore

  Cruising with the Blakemores

  Dinner with the Blakemores

  Loving the Czar

  The Value of a Man Series

  My Mail Order Wife

  A Weekend with the Cromwell’s

  Other Novellas

  North to Alaska

  The Brute & The Blogger

  A Better Night in Vegas (Betas Do It Better Anthology)

  Other Novels

  A Menu for Loving

  Turning the Page

  An Untitled Love

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those readers who understand you can’t change a man in 50,000 words. I am doing it in a series.

  The plot thickens.

  The story deepens.

  These men have to grow.

  Welcome back to Serenity.

  This...is Jack.

  By

  Olivia Gaines

  This...is Farmer.

  Table of Contents

  This...is Jamar.

  Chapter 1- Digging Up the Past

  Chapter 2- Turning the Soil

  Chapter 3- Surveying the Land

  Chapter 4- It’s All Fun & Games

  Chapter 5- May Day – May Day

  Chapter 6 – Brace For Impact

  Chapter 7 – A Dark & Stormy Night

  Chapter 8 – A Fresh Perspective

  Chapter 9 – Tilling the Soil

  Chapter 10 – Planting the Seeds

  Chapter 11 – Taking Root

  Excerpt Wyoming Nights

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Chapter 1- Digging Up the Past

  The droplets of rain pierced beneath the dry earth like tiny wet daggers seeking a home in the soil. Under the layer of cracked dirt, seedlings rumbled, searching for the tiny dabs of moisture which were long weeks overdue. Late May was odd because no rain had come and the red strawberries that typically dotted the landscape had yet to make an appearance. Watering, irrigation, and daily prayers had not been enough for the seedling to hatch and Farmer Royal would soon be ruined if the rains didn’t come soon.

  The first droplet was followed by several more and then a torrent of others that saturated the Royal Farm. The water was a blessing from heaven in more ways than one. The sizeable debt owed by Carson Royal’s father had mortgaged the farm beyond recovery. Even if the late budding harvest were to come in, the fruit would be below average in size and debts would still be owed to the seed company for seedlings which were more of a burden than a sacred sign of prosperity. As much as Carson warned his father about going into business with the giant agri-farm company, Ben Royal wanted to be in the big leagues. He had only succeeded in placing the fourth-generation farm into big debt. The debtors were calling. The seed company was calling. The only one Ben Royal was calling was on the Lord for salvation.

  The Lord answered on a quiet morning in late May. Chanticleer, the old rooster, had given up crowing from the fence and instead hitched a ride on the back of Ms. Sally, an old sow full of worms. The old hog lumbered about with Chanticleer on her back, crowing sporadically, while Mr. Toodles, the young tomcat ambled along beside them, searching for something to eat. The three of them represented everything which was wrong on the Royal farm– that some shit just didn’t belong together. Even on this rainy morning, the threesome was down to two as they made their rounds in the rain. Mr. Toodles, not really one for getting damp, opted to remain inside of the barn, getting wet only by licking himself. Ben Royal got a kick out of seeing this each morning as he sat in his big living room chair looking out over his land.

  That morning, Ben was found looking as if he were sleeping in his living room chair as more rain came down washing away the last of the fields. The crops were gone. The fields were washed out and the land was under water. The Royal family farm was ruined. A matter of days was all that was needed to let the banks and everyone else who had their hands out asking for money to come calling.

  “Maybe it’s a blessing, Carson,” Cynthia Kleene told him over the phone. “You have wanted to get out from under the weight of the debt; maybe this is a sign.”

  “Maybe,” he said solemnly. “I just don’t know how to do much else other than farm.”

  “It doesn’t mean you can’t still farm. You can just do it somewhere else. Somewhere fresh. Get a new start,” Cynthia encouraged.

  “Possibly, but where can a black farmer from South Carolina buy land and start over? I just can’t see my way through this one, Cyndi,” Carson told her.

  “I heard about this place in Wyoming called Serene or something like that. It is all the buzz out this way. Some young black man is starting a town like in the Old West. He’s looking for a farmer. There’s a website and everything where you talk to the guy; you can even buy as many acres as you can afford to start out,” she told him.

  “Yeah, but what’s the catch?”

  “I think the only catch is that you have to grow food for the town,” she told him. “Plus, Farmer, it will bring you closer to me.”

  Three years he and Cynthia had been talking online or over the phone. They’d met in an online chat room for lonely hearts wishing to starting over. He never had enough spare funds to buy a ticket to Idaho Falls to go see her, nor did he have enough funds to purchase her a ticket to come to him, but he wanted a life with her. He wanted a life. A new life. Somewhere new with new scenery. In his head, he could see his new start.

  A little farm with only about 5 to 10 acres of good land to grow just enough crops to feed himself and a few families. The money he’d saved up wasn’t nearly enough make a dent in the sizeable debt he would inherit from his father’s bad decisions. Trying to make payments to save the equipment, the house, or even the land would be the equivalent of giving a whale a Tic-Tac. His mother, God rest her soul, had given up on Ben Royal years ago. Each month, she squirrelled away money in a separate account in her maiden name to make sure her children had a future outside of Royal Farms.

  His sister, Sylvia, had run off with a traveling salesman wi
th big teeth and a penis so big it hung in his pants like an elephant trunk. Each time he walked, it appeared as if his pants screamed for relief from the torture of housing the long monster. Ben threatened to cut off the salesman’s wiener if he didn’t leave his Sylvia alone, but many women had tried it and survived; Sylvia wanted to be the last one to ever have it, so she ran away with Big Tooth Big Penis Man as Ben’s mother called him. Several years back when word arrived of Sylvia’s death, it had been too much for Nellie Royal’s heart. The sadness of her daughter’s dream had come true. Sylvia was the last to have the Big Tooth man’s love gun. They died, stuck together in the garage of a neighbor’s home, asphyxiated on carbon monoxide. Ben Royal’s wish had also come true because the coroner had to cut off Big Teeth’s big trunk to get them apart. Sylvia’s death broke Nellie’s spirit, her heart, and her desire to live. Quietly, as the family slept, she drove herself to Charleston, driving non-stop through the night and off a bridge into a deep body of water in her old Chevy. She left Carson a note telling him where he could find the money under her maiden name at the small bank she grew up using in Greenville.

  The money was all he had left of his family. That and a crate load of seeds his grandfather had given him as a boy for him to start his own farm. Carson had locked the seeds in a safety deposit box at the local bank when he’d just turned 18 years of age. It was the perfect time to do it since at the same time, his father had climbed in bed with the biotech agricultural company who claimed to help sustain farmers. Instead, they sustained a chokehold on seeds that produced weeds that could only be killed by products the same company manufactured. The super weeds which popped up all over the farm also gained a chokehold in the soil, robbing it of the needed nutrients to nourish the plants. The moisture in the soil was soaked up like a chamois in a puddle of water. Each year, the crop yields were smaller. Each year, the soil became bitterer. This year, the earth gave up on them.

  Carson was giving up on the land which he loved. He buried his father on a rainy Saturday afternoon in the family plot. The ground was too saturated, so Ben Royal floated back up the following morning in the next deluge of rainfall. Mr. Millworth, the mortician who gave him a deal on the last coffin in the store, a cheap pink one, called him Sunday morning, upset and crying.

  “Carson, I think I just saw your daddy floating down Johns Street,” Mr. Millworth told him. “That pink casket is busted up on the side and your daddy’s hand is hanging out like he’s waving at all the houses as he floats on by.”

  With some effort and a better coffin on the house from Mr. Millworth, on Sunday, Ben buried his father again. This time, he placed heavy rocks on top of the coffin to keep the old bastard down. He also buried him a lot deeper this time around.

  On Monday, the creditors began calling. By Friday, the bank was beginning foreclosure proceedings. It only took two months to sell off everything in the home with the exception of his grandmother’s china, a few trinkets, and other personal items he held on to. The predators circled overhead trying to pick away at his bones as he sold off farming equipment for less than its value, but he was not going to be gutted by anyone. The only saving grace, and the two things which kept him from also driving in a large pool of water, was two nightly conversations.

  One conversation was online with a Jamar Smalls in Serenity, Wyoming. The other was to his Cyndi.

  “I’m going to do it, Cyndi,” he said.

  “Do what, Carson?”

  “I’m going to purchase some land in Serenity, bring my seedlings, and start over. I’m going to grow food for the town of Serenity,” he said with joy in his voice.

  “That’s wonderful, Carson! How soon are you coming out?”

  “I have been talking to the young man out there and I am going to purchase about 20 acres to start. I’m scared because I am buying this land sight unseen. He has sent me photos and everything. There is a contractor on site there who is building the town, but he suggested that I do like one of the other residents and order myself a prefab home, just to get started; other than that, I would have to live in the bunkhouse with the other men. I don’t want to do that. Cyndi. I ordered a pre-fabricated house today,” Carson told her.

  “Why not stay in the bunkhouse until you can get settled? You have to buy equipment and all that stuff to farm the land, right?”

  “Yes, but if I stay in the bunkhouse, it will be months before I can send for you so we can get married. I want to marry you, Cyndi. Will you be my wife?”

  The line was quiet as Cynthia Kleene listened to the even sound of his breathing through the line. Three years. They had spoken to each other every day for three years. She knew Carson Royal better than she knew most of the people she had lived next door to for years. There was nothing to hold her in Idaho Falls. Her school teaching job was boring her to tears. Each year the students got dumber and the parents got younger.

  “I will,” she answered softly.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Carson asked her, thinking he had misheard.

  “I said I will marry you, Carson Royal,” she said louder.

  “Whoo-hooo!” he yelled in the phone.

  “Six months max, Cyndi. I need six months to clear out everything here, get packed, drive out to Serenity, set up shop, till the soil, spike in some nutrients to the dirt, and set up your new home. Then I will send for you or drive to Idaho Falls to collect you,” Carson said with a smile.

  “That sounds good. I won’t renew my contract with the school for the fall term,” she said with joy in her voice. “Carson, are you serious? We really are going to do this?”

  “Yes ma’am we are. The only thing is, I don’t think there are any families in Serenity yet, but when the kids come, you can open a small school or something. Right now, however, I don’t know about any jobs, but when I get there I can scout around and see,” he said.

  “I don’t have any debt really,” she told him. “My car is older than I am. I am renting the carriage house from old Mrs. Markham. The whole house smells like corn chips and pickles. I recently found out the smell was her feet. So...”

  “So?”

  “We shall work alongside each other to build this farm,” she told him.

  “Cyndi, I love you,” Carson said softly.

  “I love you too, Carson Royal,” she said back.

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  “Good night,” Cyndi responded.

  The scavengers circled around the door of Royal Farms up until the day the last tractor and unwanted pitchfork was sold. Family members who only showed up for bar-b-ques and free food were on hand the week of Carson’s departure. Especially his Uncle Ellis, his mother’s oldest brother, who always had something to say after the fact. The stench from the pyorrhea from his rotting gums arrived often before he did and stayed long after he left. As far as Carson was concerned, he was a bag of stinky hot air with nothing of importance to add to the dialogue other than more stinky. Ellis hadn’t been any help after Nellie died and Carson didn’t see him being of any assistance now.

  “I tell you, Carson,” Ellis started. “I cannot remember a time in many years that a Royal hasn’t farmed this land. I encouraged Nellie to marry old Ben so she and her children would inherit this land...good land, solid land.”

  “Uncle Ellis, this soil is as dead as my parents. All of those genetically modified seeds you encouraged my father to buy from the bio-agricultural company grew super weeds which sapped all the moisture and nutrients from the soil. The more we treated the weeds, the more we toxified the ground. The rain washed it all away and there is not even topsoil left here. Nothing will grow,” he said with no emotion in his voice.

  “Yeah, but to sell off everything and just desert the place...just ain’t right,” Ellis said rubbing the six grey whiskers on his chin.

  “What isn’t right is me staying here another year, giving my best years to a piece of land that will bear no fruit. This plot of dead belongs to all of the vultures who feasted at my fathe
r’s corpse. May it be a burden to them as well,” Carson told his uncle. With a tip of his hat, he went back into the old barn, walking the grounds once more, looking the place over. In his head, he told himself he was checking for overlooked tools or items he may have missed. In his heart, he was closing a chapter full of childhood memories.

  Ellis had followed him into the barn.

  “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask,” the old man said to his nephew.

  The scenario and segue was more than perfect as Carson opened the stall, grabbing the leash and pulling out his father’s old hound dog. The droopy red eyes looked up at Carson as if begging him to shoot it, to take him out of his misery. The animal was chronically depressed, even more so since his father’s death.

  “Here you go, Uncle Ellis,” he said handing him the leash.

  “What am I going to do with ole Roscoe?”

  “You said you wanted to help. Here. Help,” Carson said. “I am driving across the country and I have no need of him. You can help by taking him off my hands. I never liked the old hound and he never cared for me.”

  “Wait a dang gone minute!” Ellis exclaimed.

  “No, you wait a minute,” Carson said. “You have slinked around here for years with your bad ideas and half-ass advice. If you truly want to help, take the damned dog!”

  “I resent your callous and disrespectful tone with me, Carson!”

  Carson inhaled deeply, exhaling a gust of air and years of unspoken words that he unleashed on his Uncle.

  “And I resent you!” Carson said.

  Ellis took three steps back as if the words had struck him like a boot to his chest. His breath was having the same impact on Carson. “What have I ever done to you, Carson? I gave your parents solid advice so they could...”

  “...so they could what, Ellis? End up in an early grave like they did? It was your solid advice to Mama to loosen the reins on Sylvia, ‘let the girl have some fun before she settles down’ I think were your words. Look what happened to her. The new tractor Pops picked out required him to take out a second mortgage on the farm to purchase the overly priced seed planter, was also your advice. The genetically modified seed purchases were also your idea, not knowing that those seeds would be the only seeds you could use forever once you placed them in your soil. Seeds Dad was contractually obligated to buy for five years, Ellis!” Carson yelled at the old man.