* * * * *
“The leaves are changing already.” Mr. Browley observed as the wagon wiggled and bumped down the dusty road. Chris looked to the back of the wagon to make sure they still had their entire load. With the way the wagon jerked and swayed all over, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they were leaving a trail of wheat seed behind them.
They all were there. Sacks and sacks full of wheat seed. He didn’t want one single kernel to escape after all of the work they had done.
After the sheaves had dried out, Chris, Mason and Mr. Browley loaded them up in the wagon. Wagon load after wagon load, they hauled up to the barn. The entire family then pitched in. The children, Chris included, were to beat the wheat, that laid in the loft of the barn, with a stick hanging from a longer handle from a short chain. They called this contraption a flail, Chris remembered.
As the wheat seed was beat out, it left the wheat stalks which Mr. Browley raked away. Priscilla and Hanna gathered the seeds into baskets and took them outside to Mrs. Browley who tossed them into the air allowing the gentle breeze to carry away the seed bits and left over hay while the good seeds fell back into the basket. Once the entire basket was nothing but usable seed, she emptied it into the awaiting sack.
The process took exact timing from everyone, so no one person was left standing and waiting but nobody was overwhelmed either. The family seemed in-sync. Chris knew it was from the years and years they had done this same process and he hoped he wasn’t holding anyone down.
‘No matter, now.’ Chris thought ‘The harvest is done and I’m on my way to see my first 1800’s city.’ He was surprised how excited he was. He imagined the old western movies he’d seen on the black and white television he and his mother shared. The hustle and bustle of wagons and dust everywhere and standoff, shoot outs. That was fine to watch on TV but he did secretly hope nobody was shooting while he was there.
He had been to Shorlin a few times in his life. Once with his grandma and a couple of times in his mid teen years with the gang. It was larger than Coar City, even in his time, so he expected to see more than prairie, crops and trees.
The wagon ride seemed like an eternity. They had stopped several times, including for lunch, but the all day ride was almost too much for Chris. This trip would have taken just over an hour by car. That was definitely one thing he missed about his time. The convenience of invention.
“We’re almost there.” Mr. Browley stated finally. “Just over that hill and around the bend. It’s close to supper time, so we’ll grab some grub after we check into the inn. Business will have to wait until tomorrow, as usual.”
Just before rounding into town, Mr. Browley stopped the wagon and made sure all signs of a wagon full of valuable wheat seed was covered. He hopped back up onto the bench, clicked his tongue to the horses and headed into Shorlin.
Chris was amazed how much larger it was to Coar. Shorlin looked nothing like he imagined. The streets lined with one and two story buildings and were bustled with wagons and pedestrians. The fashion was different than in Coar, as well. Chris noticed every person, man and woman wore a hat and the women all carried umbrella's looking too fancy to be for rain. Lined up in front of every building was a wide boardwalk which echoed each footstep even over the noise of the wagons and horses.
It was definitely louder here. Chris hadn't realized how accustom he'd become to quiet. In the Coar City he was from, there was never a quiet moment and he'd become used to that, but now, the noise seemed to annoy him a bit.
Mr. Browley turned left just before town and slowed the horses to a stop in front of a large open faced barn. “We’ll keep the horses and wagon here tonight.” he stated as he climbed down with grunts and grimaces. Mr. Browley was considerably older than Chris but Chris’s body felt the same cracks and stiffness. It must have been that ride. How Mr. and Mrs. Browley and Hanna made a month on month long trip was beyond Chris’s comprehension.
As they made their way down the street after dropping the horses and wagon off at the livery, Chris took in all the sights. It never ceased to amaze him that each month he was stuck in the era, something was constantly surprising him.
“I can’t believe this is Shorlin.” he said out loud but to himself. He realized he should have kept that in his mind when he noticed Mr. Browley look over to him.
“Here we are, Miss Molly’s Inn. I’ve always preferred this place to the Shorlin Hotel or the boardinghouse, it always feels more like home.”
“Why Mr. Browley. Has it been a year already?” A loud, large woman with fire red hair said with open arms. She grasped Mr. Browley’s upper arms and gave him an obnoxious kiss on each cheek. “I can always count on seeing you shortly after the harvest time.” Chris was slightly alarmed when she turned to him. “And who do we have here? This cannot be your Mason.”
“No, Miss Molly, this is Chris Scholt. He came around our parts this spring and he’s been helping me on the farm for room and board. I thought a trip to the city would be good for him after all the hard work he’s put in this summer.”
Was that a compliment? From Mr. Browley? Chris didn’t know how to react. He’d grown used to it from Mrs. Browley but rarely heard anything sentimental or anything close to it from Mr. Browley. He just smiled as Miss Molly pinched one of his cheeks as though he was five years old.
“Handsome young man.” she said with a wink and smile. She locked eyes with him for only a split second but long enough for Chris to feel uncomfortable, then turned back to Mr. Browley.
“Your usual room?”
“Yes, please, and an adjourning room for Mr. Scholt. You still offering supper for tonight? I know it’s a little later than usual, but...”
“Supper is always ready here at Miss Molly’s.” Molly piped up. “You both go on up, get changed and I’ll have Thelma bring up some hot water for you.” Her voice was annoyingly squeaky and sported an accent that Chris could not identify but she seemed very hospitable and nice.
When Chris arrived to his room, how tired he actually was hit him in one moment. He wanted to crash down onto the bed and sleep the evening and night away. The room was nice, small but very cozy. The bed was no larger than his in the sod house and had many blankets on it incase the night became chilly. A dresser sat on one wall with a large vanity mirror resting on top along with a pitcher sitting inside a large bowl. A small desk and chair were near the foot of the bed and a night stand stood next to the bed with an oil lamp resting on it. The one window between the desk and bed faced the busy road.
A quiet tap sounded on the door. “Come in.” Chris called. An older woman entered with a large metal pitcher. “Hot water?” she asked.
“Please.” Chris answered as he watched her walk timidly over to the ceramic pitcher on his dresser and empty the steaming liquid into it. She gave him a nod and exited the door.
Chris poured the water from the pitcher into the basin and submerged his hands into it. It was almost too hot to handle but it felt like heaven after the dusty ride. He filled his cupped hands and spread the water across his face breathing in the vapors. At that point he wished he could climb into the bowl. Oh, how he missed showers. With his eyes still closed, he reached over in the direction he remembered seeing a rack with a towel on it and felt around for the cloth. After drying his hands and face, he laid down on the bed and allowed his head to sink into the pillow. Chris groaned when he heard another knock at his door.
“Chris? You ready for some supper?” he heard Mr. Browley ask.
With what was left of his strength, he rose from the plush bed and made his way to the door.
They both made their way down the stairs and to the back of the house. Through a large doorway was the dining room. It had five small, round tables, some with four chairs crammed around it and some with only two. Mr. Browley seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go when he walked over to the table with two chairs that sat cl
osest to the window.
“I’ve always liked this table. It has a spectacular view of the garden.” Mr. Browley stated, pointing out the back window. “I’d love to come here in the summer sometime to see it in full bloom.”
“Why don’t you?” Chris asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. There are a lot of things to tend to at home in the summer time. If I came back, it would be for leisure and I’d want to bring the missus, but she has so much to do tending the garden and meals, we just wouldn’t be able to get away. With the kids being young, we wouldn’t be able to leave them.”
“Your kids are not as young as you may think.” Chris said wondering if he was overstepping his bounds.
Mr. Browley’s brow wrinkled. “You’re right. I guess I never really thought about it before. Priscilla is turning into quite the young lady, Mason is almost a man and Hanna...” His words trailed off.
“I think the four of us would be fine if you wanted to take Mrs. Browley here next summer. It would be good for you guys to have some alone time. My parents never took time for each other and they...” Chris once again stopped himself.
Mr. Browley gave him a look but then shook his head as to fling the thought from his mind. “The four of us, eh? You planning on being with us till next summer?”
“If I have no other option.” Chris stated immediately hearing the curt in his voice. “Actually the farming life has really grown on me.”
“Well, Chris, once you wiped that attitude off of ya, you have proven that you can do anything. You’ve done a really good job on the farm for the time you’ve been working it. I’ve really appreciated the extra set of hands. This trip is actually a couple of weeks early because we harvested so quickly.”
Chris stared blankly at Mr. Browley who, again, seemed to be complimenting him.
“You all right?” Mr. Browley asked noticing Chris’s odd behavior.
“I’m just tired. I guess I’m not used to the compliments I’ve received since I got here. I never heard anything positive growing up. I had led myself to believe that I was not good at anything.”
“We all have our strengths and weaknesses.” Mr. Browley said. “The trick is to find your strengths and work hard to make them stronger. God has given us the tools we need to do His work and your strength comes from Him. If you find what you’re good at, it may be Him leading you to use that to do what He is calling you to do.”
“You just said I was good at farming. I feel I’ve caught on quickly and that I am good at it. It’s the first time I’ve felt useful in my entire life. But...” Chris lost the question in deep thought.
“But what?”
“How could farming be my calling from God? How is threshing wheat doing His work?”
“God works in mysterious ways.” Mr. Browley stated with a smile. “It may be the beginning of the grand plan he has for you, giving you the strength of manual labor to get you prepared for what’s next. Just a guess, though. Nobody knows what His divine plan is. We’ll never know. The trick is to just listen and obey what he tells you.”
Chris nodded but still confused. The older woman, Thelma, brought them two plates heaped with food. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and carrots, all smothered in brown gravy.
“I could eat all this and the plate, too.” Mr. Browley stated rubbing his middle.
“There’s more where that came from.” Miss Molly stated coming up from behind with a coffee pot. “Have all you want but remember, there’s dessert.”
That night, Chris recalled the conversation he’d had with Mr. Browley about God’s divine plan. What was His plan for Chris? He couldn’t imagine what he was supposed to be doing with his life or where he could be useful. His grandma did say that his earlier thoughts about God sending him back in time was His way of teaching Chris a deeper meaning in life. If anyone had told him that back when he arrived, he would have scoffed, but now... it was sinking in. Chris realized that he was starting to have more and more realizations of what life was all about. It wasn’t how many stores you could hit up, it wasn’t about having material things, it was about family, friends, community and survival. Chris knew that growing your own beans, snapping them, cooking them and enjoying them around a large table of family was simpler than stealing a can and eating it alone in an alley because the first scenario was more gratifying.
Chris never would have guessed that he could learn more from someone like Mr. Browley than from someone like Joe-Z. Joe-Z seemed to know more than anyone about how to live on the streets, but Mr. Browley knew something much deeper. He knew how to live his life honestly and live it well.
All the years Chris wanting to be like the leader of his former gang was quickly drifting away and it surprised him how much he wanted to be a Browley, instead.
The next day, Mr. Browley and Chris made their way back down to the livery to pick up the horses and wagon. They headed East, then North near the Oak Forest River. Chris noticed the large building with a large door in front and only one window near the top peak of the structure. A large, faded sign hung in between that read ‘Shorlin Flour Mill’.
Chris waited in the rig while Mr. Browley went inside to conduct his business. When he returned with another man Mr. Browley introduced as John Timberlin, Chris helped them bring in the sacks of wheat seed.
“I’ve done business with Mr. Timberlin since we arrived in Coar some 12 years ago. He’s a fine man.” Mr. Browley exclaimed as they rode off from the mill.
“Since we’ve dropped off the wheat, why do we have to stay until tomorrow?” Chris asked.
“For the last several years, I’ve brought all my wheat to the mill here to sell most of it but now I have Mr. Timberlin grind up what we need for home. The family and I have tried every way to grind our own flour but any home process takes too much work and time. Mr. Timberlin graciously offered to grind up what we need for home for a shave off of the sell price. It works out better this way. We can now return with all we need for the winter. It should be ready first thing in the morning, then we can be on our way.”
“What will we do with our day, then?” Chris asked.
“I usually get my Christmas shopping done while I’m here. It’s always been an interesting process when I have Mason along but I think I’ve always successfully pulled it off.” Mr. Browley stated with a smirk. “You up for it?”
“Sure.” Chris answered actually meaning it. He wouldn’t mind spending a day wandering around the city, exploring what it was like and comparing it to shows, movies and books he’d seen in the past. Only making it to the 8th grade, he’d studied little history but he knew what he’d always imagined in his own head.
“The missus is easy to shop for. Every year, all she wants is a roll of nice material to make the family new Sunday dresses, but I think I’m going to get her a little something extra.” Mr. Browley stated, almost talking to himself rather than Chris.
He wandered over to the jewelry and began looking intently at the broaches. He selected a cream and burgundy broach and also a set of jeweled hair clips, a roll of blue, floral material and one of brown calico and made his way up to the front counter.
As Mr. Browley paid for his merchandise, Chris meandered over toward the jewelry, eyeing each piece. ‘Oh, how easy it would be to snatch up one of these broaches.’ he thought. The tempting thought caused him to take his hands from his pockets and look around. The only store clerk was behind the counter helping Mr. Browley. There are no cameras and no one else was in the store. A perfect setting. He’d have something wonderful to give to Hanna which could possibly cause her to look at him differently and possibly give her a reason to begin to love him.
He reached his hand forward, then paused. Something caused him to hesitate, but what? A perfect setting, he thought again. If he gave Hanna an expensive piece of jewelry, though, it would definitely be questioned where he got it. Most importantly, a direction his brain had never vent
ured before, he knew he was being watched. No witnesses, no cameras but he knew he was being looked upon from above. His grandma had made the promise more than once that she was watching over him and all these months he’d attended church with the Browley family, it had been stated repeatedly and read from the Bible that God watches over us. He knows our actions, he knows our feelings, our thoughts and our hearts.
Chris walked quickly away from the jewelry and joined Mr. Browley at the counter. He didn’t do it. He didn’t take anything but he thought about it, he’d almost taken it, it was in his mind. Had God seen? Had He heard his thoughts?
‘Forgive me, Lord.’ Chris thought hard in prayer as he struggled to keep himself composed. ‘Please forgive me.’