An Invitation from her Ma...

Chapter Sixteen: Callin’ on Neighbors

The next mornin’ came with that same stuck-on sunshine we’d had since day one. Felt like time didn’t move right, not like back home, but the boys sure kept it interesting. I was sittin’ on the porch, drinkin’ cider and watchin’ Uno try to herd a loose chicken with a rake and a laundry basket. That bird was smarter than it looked, I’ll tell ya that.

Just as I was about to go help—or maybe just keep laughin’—someone called from the path near the gate.

“Hello the house!”

It was a woman, mid-fifties maybe, with a wiry build and a sun-darkened face. She wore a practical skirt and had one of those wide sun hats hangin’ off her back by a cord. In her hands, a woven basket and a look like she didn’t wait for invites.

“I’m Ann,” she said, steppin’ up. “Lu’s ma. Thought I’d come see this mystery farmer settin’ up shop out here.”

“Well, shoot,” I said, standing up quick. “Ron Hosen. You’re more than welcome. Want a glass of cider?”

“Got anything not fermented? Long walk.”

I brought her the cold well water Lu kept in a jug on the back counter. We sat on the porch in two rockers, watchin’ the boys finally corner the chicken behind the woodpile.

“I brought you some of my pickled green beans,” Ann said, handin’ me the basket. “You won’t hurt my feelin’s if you use ‘em to catch possums instead of eatin’.”

I peeked in and laughed. “Nah, I like beans with a little bite.”

We rocked a bit, not sayin’ much. That’s how I knew I’d like her. Folks who don’t feel the need to fill the air are worth keepin’ around.

She sighed finally and looked out toward the field. “You takin’ good care of my daughter?”

That caught me mid-sip.

“I—I sure hope so,” I said, nearly chokin’. “She’s a godsend, truly. Runs this house better’n I ever could.”

Ann chuckled. “I know. She always was the sensible one.”

There was a pause, and then she got quieter. “You know, it wasn’t always just her. Their pa—my husband—he left to fight in the border wars five years back. Never came back. Lu helped raise the younger ones when I was workin’ three jobs in the city.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, more solemn now.

“She’s tough, but she’s tired. Don’t let her fool you with that quiet smile.”

I nodded. “I see more than I let on.”

Ann looked at me sideways. “You’re still mournin’ someone, ain’t ya?”

I swallowed hard. “My wife. Peg. Lost her in a hospital bed back home. Heart failure. I still see the monitor goin’ flat in my dreams.”

She didn’t say nothin’ right away. Just patted my hand.

“I figured,” she said. “Lu don’t get close to many. But she talks about you. And when a woman talks about a man while she’s slicin’ turnips, it’s serious.”

That got a laugh out of me. “I’ll do right by her. Just need a little time. My heart’s still catchin’ up to my feet.”

“Good,” Ann said, standing up. “You’re invited to dinner tomorrow. Just you and Lu. The boys can mind the place for a few hours. Let ‘em burn somethin’ if they must.”

“I’ll be there,” I promised.

She started back down the trail, waving off my offer to drive her. “Walkin’ clears the mind,” she said.

I watched her go, feelin’ like I’d just passed some kind of test. Not a big one. Just one that mattered.

And yeah… I was lookin’ forward to that dinner. Maybe more than I oughta.

Chapter Seventeen: Supper and Something Else

I told the boys to keep the fire low in the smoker and stay outta the cider barrels. Seis nodded like a soldier, but Uno and Dos were already eyeballin’ the leftover honey pilsner with the kind of curiosity that spelled trouble. I pointed a finger their way.

“Not one drop while I’m gone. You got chores, and Lu left notes.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison, which only made me more suspicious.

Lu came out of the house wearin’ a soft green blouse I hadn’t seen before, one with buttons shaped like little wooden beads. Her hair was up for once, a few strands tumblin’ out near her cheeks. She looked… well, different. Not fancy, just softer. She caught me starin’ and smiled.

“You ready?”

I coughed. “Yeah. Mule’s warmed up.”

We rode in near silence. Not awkward—just that kind of companionable quiet that settles when words ain’t needed. The trail to Ann’s place curved through the barley stretch and down past some thick brush where I’d seen rabbit scat earlier that week. I made a mental note to check the traps tomorrow.

Ann’s house was smaller than mine, but neat as a pin. Porch had a crooked rocking chair and a pot of red flowers. She stepped out as we pulled up, wipin’ her hands on her apron.

“Right on time,” she said. “Lu, you get that man inside before the roast dries out.”

Inside smelled like heaven and home mixed up—onions, baked squash, a roast I could hear bubblin’ in the pan. Ann ushered me to the table and set down a pitcher of cold cider.

“Just us tonight,” she said, handin’ Lu a spoon. “The boys are stayin’ put. This is grown-folk supper.”

Lu gave her a look, half embarrassed, half amused. I helped set the table while Ann brought out dishes—roasted beets, pickled carrots, cornbread so moist it near wept when I cut into it.

While we ate, Ann peppered me with questions—about my farm, how I ended up here, whether I preferred fall over spring. Normal stuff, but with an edge. She wasn’t pryin’, not exactly. More like measurin’.

“I didn’t mean to meddle,” she said finally, sippin’ her cider. “But I do worry. My girl don’t say much, but I see how she looks at you.”

Lu flushed and stared at her napkin. I didn’t know what to say.

“She’s had to be strong too long. If you’re gonna stay in her life, Ron, just be steady. That’s all I ask.”

“I can do steady,” I said, honest as I ever been. “Might be slow, but I don’t break easy.”

Ann nodded and stood to clear the table. Lu helped, leavin’ me alone for a moment in the cozy little kitchen nook with its checkered curtains and well-loved cookbooks. Felt like a real home.

When Lu came back, Ann was conveniently nowhere to be seen. Lu sat beside me on the bench and folded her hands.

“Sorry if Ma made it awkward.”

“She didn’t. She’s got every right to care.”

We sat there a minute, not lookin’ at each other directly.

“I like bein’ here,” Lu said. “With you. On the farm. Feels more like me than anywhere I’ve been.”

I turned toward her. “I ain’t ready to talk about Peg. Not all of it. But I think she’d like you. And I think she’d want me to keep livin’.”

Lu reached out and took my hand. “That’s enough for now.”

On the way home, we didn’t speak much, just let the hum of the mule and the night’s endless daylight fill in the silence. When we pulled up to the barn, the boys were sittin’ outside on overturned buckets, playin’ some game with marbles and twine.

“We didn’t touch the cider!” Dos called.

“Good,” I said. “I need somethin’ left for tomorrow.”

Lu walked to the house ahead of me, but just before she went inside, she turned back and gave me a look. Soft. Sure.

And I realized I was startin’ to feel less like a man who lost something and more like a man who still had somethin’ worth wakin’ up for.