Chet: Strength Beyond Our Own

Chet

Strength Beyond Our Own

by Larry Murray

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2014 by Larry Murray

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

Published by

Sandy Cedars Publishing

791 E 1550 N

Shelley, Idaho 83274.

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Publisher's Note

Author's Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Books by Larry Murray

Chapter 1

November 23, 2004

David Saunders seethed with anger. Life is so unfair! I'm surrounded by prosperity and yet no matter how hard I work, my family and I are being left further and further behind.

Less than three months earlier, David and his family had relocated to the Snake River Plain in southeast Idaho. David's father, Mark, had stayed in California working to provide for the family while the rest of the family—his mother Julie, himself, and his younger sister Kristyn—worked to establish themselves in their new home and community.

David seethed inside. It was 10:30 at night and he had been home barely long enough to shower and grab a bite to eat after yet another grueling day. It had started at 3:45 a.m. when his mother had rousted him out of bed. He'd grabbed a quick breakfast which his mother had somehow managed to pull together from their dwindling supply of groceries. Afterward, he had ridden with his mother to the dairy where he'd spent the next two and a half hours milking cows. Then it had been back home in time to wash up, change clothes and dash off to catch the school bus.

School had the benefit of being a break from the physical labor that had become such an all consuming part of his life, but that mattered little when weighed against the overwhelming tiredness that was dragging him down into a dark oblivion. It was getting harder each day to stay awake in school, and David knew he couldn't afford to fall asleep. Any schoolwork had to be done in school or on the twice-daily bus rides. There simply wasn't any other time available for homework or catching up on what should have been done while in class. Once all this effort might have been worth it. Not anymore!

David slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and winced at the sharp sting. The pain refocused his exhausted mind and his thoughts picked up in the same well worn rut they had been wallowing in for the past 72 hours.

David was managing to keep his grades up but it was becoming ever more difficult to do so. The responsibilities he'd been assuming here at home were becoming harder to carry with every passing day. In the pattern that had evolved over the past couple of months, David's mom had dropped him and Kristyn at Charles' dairy earlier that afternoon. Kristyn had spent the first hour and a half working on her homework, while he and Charles had milked the cows. Once the milking was completed, the three of them had fed and tended the calves, fed and bedded the dry stock, and finally fed and bedded the milk cows.

David had been cold and tired when his mother had arrived at the regular time to pick them up. Yet, as he had done repeatedly over the past several days, David remained behind while Julie brought Kristyn home for supper and the chance to get to bed at a decent hour. David had spent the next hour splitting wood. He and Charles had forged an arrangement that provided firewood to feed the voracious appetite of the wood stove in the basement of the Saunders home. David was to split the firewood his family used, along with helping to harvest replacement wood for what they burned. For his efforts, David and his family received the firewood they needed to keep from freezing. It was less clear exactly what Charles received out of the deal.

David admitted grudgingly to himself that it had been a pleasant change to have the house warm without his mother fretting every second over how much it was costing for the oil to fire the furnace. With his father out of work, the warmth provided by the wood fire wasn't a luxury, it was an absolute necessity.

It was not yet Thanksgiving and the winter had already been long. David thought wistfully of the warmth of California but cut the thought off ruthlessly. This is my life now and I better get used to it. Dad is certainly going to be no help and Mom already has more to do than she can possibly handle. If anything is going to improve, it's up to me …

David rolled his shoulders, trying in vain to ease the painful tightness that clung there, in spite of the 15 minutes he had spent in the shower allowing the hot water to pound on the knots.

Charles had stayed with him while he split the wood, taking his turn with the splitting maul. As much as David hated to admit it, that was part of what was bothering him. Charles was able to split more wood than David could and he did it in less than half the time. While David flailed away at the wood, Charles went through it like a hot knife through butter. At fourteen years old, it wounded his pride to have an old man working him under the table.

David took a deep breath, fighting down the waves of anger battering against him. In all fairness, Charles is actually carrying more than his share of the work. I can't begin to figure out how he keeps doing it day after day. I've only been helping him out for a few months, and I've only been on this totally insane schedule for a few days, but I'm ready to give up. David thought again of the ease with which Charles sheared through the large blocks of cottonwood and poplar. The thought inevitably brought to mind the 'lessons' Charles kept harping on. Maybe all his talking drives the firewood crazy and it splits apart just to get away from his incessant lecturing. David's guts roiled in an unreasoning surge of anger.

That's not really fair, David chided himself as he tried yet again to master the anger and self-pity that were threatening to overwhelm him. Much of what Charles says makes sense. At least eventually. David's mouth curled into a small smile, perhaps the first real humor he'd experienced since the devastating news that his dad had been fired.

David's smile faded as he shook his head. I never imagined Charles' lectures would carry on to felling and sawing up trees. I guess I should have expected it after spending so many hours listening to his lectures and questions while we were doing chores. Unfortunately, I didn't.

David gave another rueful shake of his head. Saturday was brutal. After too little sleep Friday night, I was up at 3:45 for morning chores. After chores we spent all day felling trees, blocking them into 15 inch sections and hauling the blocks to the woodshed. Six back-breaking hours and we brought in just over two cords of green wood. At that rate we'll have to spend nearly every Saturday between now and spring cutting down trees and blocking them for firewood. David sighed as he worked his shoulders in a slow circular motion.

Charles and David had driven to the bank of the Snake River which bordered Charles' farm-land. There Charles had picked out the first tree to be felled. As David looked on, Charles had explained in excruciating detail each and every facet of his observations. The orientation of the branches, their relative estimated weights, the slight lean of the tree and how it had undoubtedly been imparted when the tree was a sapling and was trying to get out from under the shade of some long-gone older tree.

David had let his curiosity get the better of him and had ventured to challenge Charles on how he knew the tree was leaning because it was trying to get out from under the shade of a larger tree. David colored slightly at the memory of Charles' response. He had raised one infernal eyebrow and proceeded to lay out his observations. First off, the tree is leaning into the prevailing winds. While I haven't seen everything there is to see, in my experience trees simply don't lean into the wind unless there's an external force at work. Charles always prefaces his observations with that silly disclaimer that he hasn't seen everything there is to see. Ultimately I think it's just a pointed reminder that he has seen most everything there is to see.

Charles had walked to the northeastern side of the tree and had jutted his chin at a slight mound in the semi-frozen sand of the riverbank. That rise looks like the remains of a rotted-out tree stump.

David had made the mistake of rolling his eyes and had caught the look of steel that clanged in place behind Charles' gray eyes. Charles had pressed on with just a little too much patience. The wind has scoured away most of the snow that has fallen on this south-facing riverbank. What it left behind has pretty much melted on the few sunny days we've had in the past few weeks. Otherwise I would have never noticed the tree mound there.

Charles had pointed at several trees in turn and then asked one of his endless questions, undoubtedly with the purpose of drawing David back into the conversation. What do you notice about the ground around each of those trees?

It had taken some coaxing to get David's observational skills up to speed so he could provide the desired answer, but eventually he had recognized that in each case the ground sloped up from its normal contours to form a rise at the base of each tree.

Charles had explained the phenomenon was the result of the way trees grow. Above ground, trees have a thin living layer under the outer bark. Each year the living layer grows and expands and adds another ring of growth to the tree. Once the new growth is added, the cells in the previous growth area solidify into the hardened wood we are familiar with. The wood provides the necessary structure and support for the existing branches that are now larger and heavier, as well as all of the new branches that were added during the growing season.

Charles had raised an interrogatory eyebrow, silently demanding David's nod before continuing. The same basic process takes place underground. The roots lengthen each year and increase in diameter as well. They do this to maintain the proper balance between the anchoring root system and the above-ground portion of the tree.

David had nodded his understanding and Charles had moved in with his final deadly question.

When the tree grows in size it simply displaces the air around it. What happens when the roots grow?

David had come to the inescapable conclusion that the roots would displace the dirt, forcing it to move aside as the roots occupied the space where the dirt had been previously. In the process, they would raise up an ever-larger mound of dirt as they dug deeper and expanded in diameter.

Then Charles had delivered the coup de grâce. When a tree decays it returns organic material to the soil. The residue is detectable long after the tree itself ceases to be recognizable. Charles had proceeded to kick at the mound of semi frozen dirt. As he did, the gray sand gave way to a darker, almost black soil. That, David, is what used to be a tree …

The frustrating thing about Charles' lessons was the way they tended to pop into his mind at the most unexpected and often inconvenient times. In fact, right now is a perfect example. It's after 10:30 on a school night. I have less than six and a half hours of sleep available and here I am thinking about how trees grow and leave a mound behind them after they rot away.

Charles had returned to his detailed observations and had eventually predicted where the tree would fall when he cut it down. Still not satisfied with the thoroughness of his lesson, Charles had gone on to caution David to keep his eyes open and to remain on high alert as the tree was felled. You simply can't account for all of the variables. A sudden gust of wind, a rotted area inside the tree that weakens it where you expected it to be strong, even hanging slightly on the branches of a neighboring tree when you expected it to fall clear. Any of these and a dozen other factors can cause a tree to fall when or where you don't expect. The results can be deadly.

Charles had delivered the final statement with such absolute certainty that David had shivered.

Finally satisfied with the lesson he had delivered, Charles had fired up his chainsaw and cut down the tree, dropping it exactly where he had told David it would fall. He had then proceeded to remove the smaller limbs while bucking up the larger limbs and tree trunk into stove-length blocks. As Charles and his screaming saw finished with a tree, it was David's responsibility to load the heavy blocks of green wood into Charles' Ford pickup.

The process had been repeated for hour after grueling hour as the two labored to replenish the wood David and his family were burning to keep warm during the brutal Idaho winter.

David blinked his heavy eyes. Tomorrow is Wednesday and morning is going to be here all too soon. It's a school day and somehow I have to stay awake in class. I can't afford to lose any more sleep, no matter how intriguing Charles' stories might be.

A small smile curved his lips as David rose from the foot of his bed where he had been sitting. Tomorrow is a school day, but Thursday is Thanksgiving Day so I won't have to go to school. Better yet, Charles is joining us for Thanksgiving dinner so I know I'll get at least a few hours off. David crossed the room to the switch and turned off his bedroom light. Feeling his way across the darkened room, he crawled between the cold sheets of his bed.

Chapter 2

Charles turned at David's greeting, barely audible over the throaty growl of the diesel-fired torpedo heater which was struggling to raise the temperature in the milking barn. At 4:30 in the morning, especially this late in November, the grip of Idaho's winter had pushed temperatures in the barn perilously close to the freezing point. The thermostat on the heater had been set at 40 degrees, but separated as it was by a cinder block wall, the tank room had hovered at exactly 32 degrees when Charles had entered the barn.

Good morning to you as well. Charles eyed David closely. You're looking a bit peaked this morning. Did you get enough sleep?

David shook his head. Probably about as much as you did, which is far less than I would have liked.

Charles nodded with a grim smile. You have a point. You'd think with the longer nights of winter a man would naturally spend more time in bed, getting the sleep he won't be able to get during the longer days of summer. Somehow it doesn't seem to be working out that way.

Charles shrugged in dismissal. At least tomorrow is a holiday and you'll get the chance to catch up a bit on your rest. No point doing more than we have to on a holiday. Charles raised an eyebrow. I think even under the circumstances we're in, we can call it a day after taking care of the morning and evening chores.

David smothered a snort. I'm not sure anyone else in the world would think it was a holiday to call it a day after six to seven hours of chores. Even so, I'm looking forward to the time off.

I'm looking forward to some time off as well. While we can't make a habit of it, it will be nice for a change.

Charles shut off and drained the disinfectant solution that was circulating through the bulk milk lines and picked up the first of the five milkers. Draping the hoses over his shoulder to keep them from dragging on the floor, he backed into the door separating the tank room from the milking parlor, opening it so he could pass through. As Charles stepped away from the stainless-steel wash tub, David moved forward and gathered up the second milker. As Charles held the door open with his rear end, David passed through and Charles picked up the conversation.

Is your mother still planning to come by for milk?

David shrugged as he connected the hoses on the milker to the vacuum and the bulk milk lines and then hung the milker on the hook attached to stall number four. She didn't say anything and I didn't ask her about it. If she told you she would be here then I suspect she'll come.

Charles nodded acknowledgement as he hung his milker on stall number five, making the required connections with the practiced ease of 50 years of experience. In that case, I think I better hang around until she shows up. Until we come up with a better alternative my pickup is the only way to transport the milk she needs.

As he finished hanging the milker, Charles turned to face David. I think it's your turn to bring the cows into the holding corral. Keep an eye out for June, she should be calving any time and we don't want her calf out in this cold any longer than necessary. You know what to do, but if you run into any problems give me a holler.

David turned and headed for the cow door at the rear of the milking parlor while Charles returned to the tank room to retrieve the next milker. David mounted the steps to the raised floor where the cows were milked. Rolling the large cow door open, he stepped into the predawn darkness. Pulling the door closed behind him, he trudged down the ramp to the holding corral and picked his way across the frozen mounds of manure. The slick uneven surface was treacherous to walk on and he had no desire to add a twisted ankle to his problems.

David reached the gate leading into the main corral and unhooked the chain which held it closed. Swinging the gate open, he paused for a moment to glance at the sky. It was an almost cloudless morning, and in spite of the yard light which looked down on the corral in the distance, the stars glittered against the velvet blackness. The Big and Little Dippers hung just above the roofline of the shelter which arced over the holding corral. Six months ago I almost never saw the stars. With all the light pollution in the city they simply weren't that visible. Now, due to the long winter nights, I get to see them twice a day …

David noted the position of the dippers. Before my twice daily walks in the dark, I never realized how the Big and Little Dipper change positions as they rotate around the North Star. Last night the Little Dipper was on top, pouring into the Big Dipper. Twelve hours later, the Big Dipper is now on top and pouring its contents back into the Little Dipper. David smiled. Just one more of the tidbits of information Charles has managed to stuff into my head. Something about how they balance each other out, always pouring the milk of the Milky Way back and forth between them, neither one ever getting too full or emptying out completely.

As Charles had instructed weeks earlier, David checked the automatic waterer to make certain it hadn't frozen up. Charles' words ran through his mind. A cow has to have plenty of fresh water if she's going to produce milk. Cut them off from water for even a short time and you'll have a mighty unhappy herd of cows on your hands!

Funny, David mused, it seems like one of Charles' countless stories or pithy expressions is always popping into my mind, yet at the moment I can't think of a single thing Dad has ever taught me.

David dropped his eyes and headed off across the corral as quickly as prudence would allow. He called out softly to the cows, rousting them from their warm beds, just as Charles had taught him to do. Reaching the far side, David turned and began to gather up the cows, driving them before him as he walked back. The well-trained cows walked towards the open gate needing little more than an occasional word to keep them moving.

David kept his eyes moving as he walked, searching for June. He finally found her as she rose from where she had bedded down in the straw on the west end of the loafing shed. She stretched and moved gingerly in the wake of the cows walking steadily towards the holding corral. David moved off to his left so he could see June more clearly in the dim illumination provided by the yard light. No sign of an afterbirth, her belly is still distended on the right side, looks to me like she's still carrying her calf. I guess I won't have to deal with a newborn calf this morning and I won't have to milk June by hand to collect her colostrum.

David clucked softly, urging the cows forward. Get up there, Blaze! Why do you always have to bring up the rear? You'd think that at least once in a while you'd want to be first in line. I think the only time I've ever seen you first in the barn is when you calved a couple of months ago and Charles drove you in first. David shook his head. You cows sure are creatures of habit.

David quickened his pace, closing the distance between Blaze and himself and slapped her gently on the rump, driving her deeper into the milling herd crowding the holding corral. David pulled the gate closed and secured it with the chain. Charles tells me this barn is set up to run 70 to 80 head comfortably and up to 100 head in a pinch. As tight as you girls are packed in here, I just don't see it. I think if there were 80 of you in here you would have to take turns breathing. David chuckled briefly at the image of 80 milk cows flicking their ears and tails as they signaled each other when they could inhale as their neighbor exhaled. Things must be settling down a bit if I can conjure up an image that makes me smile, let alone laugh. Perhaps I'll get through this after all.

The cows parted easily as David pushed through and opened the cow door leading into the barn. The light from inside the barn flooded into the holding corral as David cut out the first five head and urged them up the ramp and into the barn. Maybe there's room for 80 head after all. A hundred head, I think that would be pushing it.

David followed the cows into the barn and rolled the door closed behind him. Metal squeaked and clanged as Charles caught each cow in her own milking stall. By the time David had descended the steps to the milking floor, Charles had finished graining the cows and was already washing the udders of the cow at the front of the barn. David picked up his own wash bucket and proceeded to wash and then dry the cow in the number one stall at the rear of the barn. Once prepped, David put the milker on her and then stepped forward to stall number two where he repeated the process.

As they worked, Charles picked up their conversation as if the past 20 minutes had never taken place. I've been thinking about running to town after your mother comes for her milk. Is there anything special you and Kristyn would like for Thanksgiving dinner?

Yeah, for Dad to come home. David bit his tongue on the retort and did his best to steer his thoughts away from the darkness beckoning his mind in that direction. Nothing for me, but I suspect Kristyn would love to have some ice cream to go on her pie.

What's her favorite pie?

Believe it or not, she really likes fruit pies, especially apple and cherry.

Charles sighed wistfully. A girl after my own heart. Very few pies can compare with a well made cherry pie. Granted, apple is a pretty close second but after that the pack runs pretty far back.

David snorted a laugh. Give me a chocolate cream pie any day.

Charles shook his head in mock sadness. A cream pie has no staying power. Put it in the fridge for a few hours and it shrinks to half its size. Besides that, the crust gets all soggy. A cherry pie on the other hand, after two or even three days it's still the same golden perfection it was when it first came out of the oven. Of course, I have never seen a cherry pie that was three days old. For that matter, I've seen precious few that were even two days old …

David cocked his head, Well that's the problem. A real man never lets a chocolate cream pie reach the advanced age of even two or three hours. If I can't polish off an entire pie all by myself then I've eaten too much dinner!

Charles smiled at David's good natured banter. So do you like whipped cream on your chocolate cream pie or do you prefer it straight up?

Whipped cream is OK, but with one of Mom's pies it's certainly optional.

I see. Well, in that case I'll bring home some ice cream for Kristyn and me, and some whipping cream which you can either take or leave.

Sounds good to me.

What about your mother? What's her favorite pie?

I honestly don't know, David replied as he scratched absently at his head, a mannerism which he had often chided Charles for using. She usually takes a sliver of several different pies. Never more than a bite and she seems to like them all.

Well, I can certainly understand that, especially if her pies are anything like her cookies.

Trust me, David grinned broadly, they are.

Chapter 3

With the morning chores completed, Charles crossed the yard to the shop attached to the back of his single-car garage. The garage and shop were constructed of red brick, matching his home which had been built in the early 1900s. It was an older home, but Charles had been conscientious in his maintenance and the house was both structurally sound and as inviting as a widower of 27 years could manage.

Charles kicked his feet against the shop wall to free them of snow, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Sitting in the middle of the floor, its front end a pace away from the shop's east-facing door, sat a gleaming orange and white 1964 Chevy C-10 pickup truck.

Good morning, Chet. Charles tugged at the brim of his cap in an abbreviated salute. How are you doing on this fine winter morning? Not surprisingly, the pickup maintained its silence. Cat got your tongue this morning? Charles enquired, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Pushing the door closed behind him, Charles stepped to the truck and patted its hood. No more surprises today? Charles' mind slipped back in time to five nights previous. Tired and discouraged, he had sought solace in the cab of the pickup he had been spending all of his free time restoring. As he sat behind the wheel, pondering the mountain of challenges confronting him and his friends, he had discovered a letter his wife had placed in the glove box 29 years ago. The letter had been written in Emily's final days and had been the miracle Charles needed to restore his hope and fire his determination to keep pushing forward no matter what life intended to throw his way.

The past five days haven't been easy, Charles murmured. But after reading Emily's letter, at least they've been worthwhile.

Charles shrugged, bringing his mind firmly back to the present. Speaking of worthwhile, I think it's time to move forward with the final restoration of your bed. After all, you won't be of much use for hauling loads without any floorboards.

Charles rubbed his hands briskly together. First things first. I think I better get a fire going to warm things up a bit. I doubt this is the 'room temperature' referred to on the painting instructions. Charles gave Chet a wink as he moved to the wood stove located in the north-west corner of the shop, right next to a set of concrete stairs which led down to a freshly painted white door, bearing a sign which read, 'Keep Door Closed At All Times.' Gathering up the fireplace shovel and a metal bucket, Charles removed the ashes from the stove and proceeded to lay and start a new fire.

Over the next dozen minutes Charles fed successively larger pieces of wood into the blaze, pausing only long enough to carry the ash bucket outside where he dumped its contents behind the old red barn located a stone's throw to the east. With the fire burning briskly and the stove starting to emit heat, Charles shed his coat, hanging it on a hook by the shop door. This might be a bit premature but the cold will just motivate me to move that much quicker.

Charles walked to the work bench where he retrieved a bottle of paint thinner and an old rag. Wetting the rag to create a tack cloth, he walked back to the floorboards laid out on saw horses set up next to Chet's bed. Seems like we've put this off long enough, Charles murmured as he set about wiping down the boards to remove any residual sanding dust or other debris. The next step in your restoration is finishing up your bed. To do that I need to paint the floorboards. Charles continued to work steadily, rewetting the rag periodically, and he soon finished cleaning the boards.

Charles walked around the pickup and tossed the tack cloth into the stove before carrying the paint thinner back to the work bench. While the boards are drying I'll stir up this black paint and get my paint tray and roller ready to go. Within minutes all was ready and Charles started rolling paint onto the first of the short floorboards that fit on either side of the wheel cover.

Part way through the application of the paint, Charles paused and scratched his head. With the boards lying flat on the saw horses I'm only going to be able to paint one side at a time. At that rate it's going to take half of forever to finish the painting. Charles continued to scratch his head and ponder. How about I put a small piece of two-by-four under each board as a spacer? That way I can paint one side and the edges as well. After the paint dries I can flip the boards over and paint the other side and put a second coat on the edges. A couple more applications of paint with a flip in-between and we'll have two coats on the whole batch.

Charles looked at Chet and raised one questioning eyebrow. Looks like you're in agreement. A small smile curled Charles' lips. I sure appreciate the fact that you so seldom argue with me. Your cooperation makes things go so much smoother!

Charles gathered up an armful of two-by-four scraps from a crate tucked under one end of the work bench. Humph. I seem to remember saving all these scraps so I'd have dry kindling for the rare occasions when I needed to start a fire in the stove. Now when I've been building fires nearly every day for weeks, I plumb forgot these scraps were even here. Oh well, if I'd burned them up earlier then they wouldn't have been available for me to use as spacers. Charles turned to Chet and gave him a wink. I guess there are benefits to getting old and developing a short memory.

After setting up the spacers under each board, Charles continued to work steadily and was about two-thirds of the way through painting the boards when the shop door opened and a beautiful blond-haired woman stood framed in the doorway. She smiled and waved, Good morning Charles.

Good morning, Julie, Charles responded with a nod. How're you doing this morning?

Julie advanced into the room, closing the door behind her. I'm good.

Charles noted that her voice lacked conviction and her smile failed to reach her warm brown eyes. He raised an eyebrow. I wouldn't suggest you try selling any cookies this morning, at least not until you improve your acting abilities.

Julie's smile broadened and became more genuine as she shook her head at Charles. That obvious, huh?

Only to me. Those eyes of yours are an open book to anyone who knows you well.

Julie cocked her head, In that case maybe I better close my eyes whenever I attempt to misdirect you.

You could certainly try that, Charles replied with a smile of his own. However, I'm not certain that simply pulling the blinds down is going to mask the fact that you're prevaricating.

Julie shook her head fondly. Charles, it's too early in the morning for you to be using such big words!

Maybe so, Charles admitted easily. On the other hand, I was raised to never tell a lady she was lying. Somehow it just seems so … coarse and undignified.

Oh, I agree, prevaricating seems so much gentler and more refined.

Charles smiled at Julie's riposte. So what's bothering you this morning? Unhappy about the fact that Mark won't be able to make it home for Thanksgiving tomorrow?

Julie sobered. Yes, at least partly. She walked slowly around Chet. She reached out and brushed her fingertips on the tailgate hook, the trim, the door handle. I think the real problem is the way Mark is becoming so distant … Julie shrugged helplessly.

Charles dipped the roller into the paint tray and proceeded to roll paint on the next floorboard. Without looking up he spoke. You know, it can be brutally difficult for a man when he loses his job and can no longer provide for his family. It may take some time for Mark to work through the situation.

I know. I've been through it many times before with Mark. It's just that somehow it's different this time. In the past he has always wanted to talk about it, to explain how it was someone else's fault, that he was somehow the victim and it was going to work out for the best in the long run. The next job, a better job, was just around the corner and there he would be appreciated and rewarded the way he deserved. Julie shrugged again, her eyes shadowed with concern and a touch of fear. This time there's no bravado. For that matter, there's no fight in him at all. It's like he has given up … Julie's eyes held Charles gaze. It's like he has given up on everything, including me and the kids. The last came out softly as a tear slid down her cheek.

Charles set the roller down in the paint tray and took a tentative step towards Julie. He reached out and wiped the tear track with a crooked finger. Give it some time. I don't know everything that's happened in the past, but this time around Mark has pretty much everything on the line and he isn't even close enough to draw support from you the way he undoubtedly has in the past.

Julie dabbed at her eyes. I'm sure you're right, it's just so hard to think of being separated for the holidays.

Slow down, girl. Charles laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Granted, Mark won't be here tomorrow for Thanksgiving, but that doesn't mean we can't get him here for Christmas. Charles tilted Julie's chin up so she was looking into his eyes. Don't give up hope.

Julie did her best to give Charles a genuine smile and although he wasn't certain, it looked like some of the fear had retreated from her eyes.

Charles jutted his chin in the direction of the stool sitting next to the workbench. Why don't you pull that stool over by the stove and have a seat while I finish up these last few floorboards? As soon as I'm done we can get your milk.

Julie nodded, removing her coat and hanging it on a hook by the door before retrieving the stool.

Charles applied himself to his painting. So have you heard back from—Tom, I think his name was?

Julie's confusion showed as her mind raced to catch up with the sudden change in subject.

The owner of the specialty store in California, Charles clarified. The one you sent your cookies to.

Oh, that Tom. Julie smiled. Actually he did call on Monday. He ordered another 12 dozen cookies which I shipped out on Tuesday. He asked me to set up an automatic shipment of 12 dozen cookies every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. With a two day transit time, there will be cookies arriving on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday each week. He figures he'll be increasing the size of the orders in the near future but for now he's confident he can handle three gross a week.

Charles nodded encouragingly. Sounds like you are well on your way to developing an ongoing relationship there. What is he deciding on carrying your cheese?

Julie's forehead wrinkled. Well, from what I can tell his customers like the cheese but he doesn't think they're going to be willing to pay a premium for it. He said he has a couple of local sources for cheese who give him a lower cost since he doesn't have to deal with freight on top of the product cost. Julie shrugged. Even so, he asked me to send him six wheels of mozzarella with the next shipment of cookies. I'm not sure if he ordered the cheese just to secure his source of cookies or if he really thinks he can sell the cheese at a higher price than the local brands.

Charles scratched his head as he contemplated Julie's information.

Julie placed her hands on her hips and screwed her face into her best mock scowl. Well out with it!

Charles chuckled at her display of impatience at his thinking mannerism. If I were a betting man, which I'm not, I'd venture that he's working you for the best price he can get.

Julie's hands slipped from her hips. Why do you say that?

Well, think about it. Assuming he really does have two local vendors with similar-quality cheese at a lower wholesale cost, why would he bother bringing in a higher-priced product even to ensure availability of your extraordinary cookies?

Are you disparaging my cookies? Julie asked with a tiny smile.

Not at all! Charles assured her hurriedly. My point is, a successful businessman is not going to bring in dead stock just to appease a supplier. He would be smarter to pay a bit more for the desired stock and totally avoid the less desirable product. Assuming Tom's a smart businessman, I think he's planning to use your cookies to position your brand as a premium product, which would just happen to convey the same lofty status to your cheese.

Julie looked thoughtful. But why would he go to all the trouble of setting up the expectation that he's paying too much for my cheeses?

It was Charles' turn to shrug. Being in the milk business for 50 years I've been pretty much forced to learn a bit about marketing low-margin commodities. When you have the chance to differentiate a commodity product you want to milk it for all it's worth.

Julie shook her head sadly. That was one of the poorest puns I have ever heard.

Charles looked his momentary confusion, then nodded and smiled in comprehension as his thoughts caught up with Julie's quick wit. No pun intended, but if Tom really does have an opportunity to position your brand as a premium offering, he's going to want to control his costs and make as much money as possible, for as long as he can. Since he knows you're new in the business, he probably figures he can keep your prices down by carefully waving your competitors under your nose. He's likely a bit reluctant to do so where your cookies are concerned, especially after making such a big deal over how desperately he wants to keep offering them to his customers. That leaves him with just one option, and that's to keep competitive pricing pressure on your cheeses in the hopes that you'll be reasonable on all of your prices.

That seems a bit devious to me.

Not necessarily devious, but he is definitely looking out for his own interests. However, depending on how you look at it, he may also be looking out for your interests at the same time.

How so?

When you are first starting out you're trying to feel your way to the proper price point. It needs to be high enough that you not only cover your costs, but make a worthwhile profit as well. If you don't make a profit there's no reason to stay in business.

Julie nodded, acknowledging that she was following Charles' logic.

On the other hand, Charles continued, if you price too high you won't be able to sell your product. After all, there's a certain point where the market will say you're simply too expensive for the perceived value. Charles scratched his head briefly before continuing. If I'm reading Tom correctly, he has just tactfully informed you that your price is close to the point it should be at if you intend to sell your cheese in direct competition with other sources. At the same time, intentionally or not, he has also revealed that a properly marketed premium product will sell for more, at least as much more as the shipping is going to cost him. That could be valuable information as you begin to market to other stores.

Julie looked thoughtfully at Charles. You know, you're smart enough to make a pretty good partner.

Charles chuckled. Thanks, but no thanks. I have more than enough to do with taking care of my dairy.

Julie reached out and grasped Charles' arm. I know you do, Charles. That's part of the reason I'm so grateful for everything you're doing for me, and for my family. Julie cocked her head and her smile returned, the mischievous twinkle in her eye lighting anew. Just keep in mind, whether you're willing to admit it or not, I consider you to be my partner.

Charles cleared his throat softly to make sure his voice was steady. Silent partner perhaps, but we definitely want you and Mark to remain the public face of your venture. After all, we wouldn't want to scare off all your potential customers with this craggy old face.

Julie punched Charles lightly. Not so craggy and not so old either.

You're too kind for your own good. Charles smiled. Which fact brings me to a couple of points this silent partner needs to raise.

Julie quirked an eyebrow.

How are you doing for baking supplies and what kind of payment terms have you worked out with Tom?

Julie shifted uncomfortably. Not too well on the cooking supplies. When I tapped out our credit card to buy groceries, I didn't expect to be cooking several hundred cookies a week. I'm frankly out of flour, sugar, and pretty much everything else I need to make cookies.

Under the circumstances that doesn't really surprise me. What about the payment terms?

Julie shrugged noncommittally. Not that it will be fast enough, but Tom has agreed to pay me on a semi-monthly basis. From what I understand that's quite a concession as most suppliers bill on 30 day terms and often don't receive their money for 45 days or even longer.

Charles scratched his head again, buying himself a few moments to think. Perhaps it's altruism on his part … on the other hand, he may just be doing what he figures he has to do in order to help prop up a promising new supplier who stands to make him a lot of money over the next few years. Assuming she's able to stay in business …

That's just it. Julie sighed. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stay in business. Our credit cards are maxed out and I literally don't have enough money to purchase the supplies I need to keep going for the next 10 days until Tom's first payment arrives.

Charles nodded. I suspected as much, which is why I brought the issue up in the first place. Charles raised an eyebrow, making certain he had Julie's undivided attention before he continued. As your silent partner I'd like to make a little trip to the grocery store this afternoon. I promised you a turkey for Thanksgiving and I've been remiss in getting it to you as far in advance as you requested.

Well, it's not like you haven't had anything else to worry about.

Charles nodded, silently acknowledging the fact that there had been a lot of turmoil over the past several days. I had a visit with David and it sounds like there are a few odds and ends that would help round out our Thanksgiving meal tomorrow.

Julie looked at Charles suspiciously. Just what do you have in mind?

Not that much, Charles assured her with what he hoped was a suitably dismissive gesture. Just enough to make sure you have sufficient baking supplies to handle whatever orders Tom may throw your way over the next two weeks. I'll need to have you give me a list of all the ingredients you use in your cookies.

My secret ingredients as well?

Yes, your secret ingredients as well. I can't very well pick up what you need if I don't know what you put into your cookies.

What if I have enough on the shelf to get me through the next couple of weeks?

Even if you think you have enough on the shelf to get through the next month, Charles insisted firmly. You never know what surprises Tom may throw at you. Christmas is just around the corner and he could very well swamp you with orders over the next few weeks and you would find yourself right back in the same predicament you're facing right now.

So you expect me to reveal all of my secrets? Julie persisted with a playful pout.

Insofar as the ingredients go, yes.

Julie's eyes brimmed with silent laughter. So that means my recipe is safe. I don't have to tell you measurements, baking times, any of that top-secret stuff?

Charles expelled a long-suffering sigh, playing his part to the best of his ability. No, Julie, you don't have to tell me the top-secret stuff, just enough for this silent partner to carry his share of the load.

Deal. Julie affirmed, extending her hand.

Taking her small hand in his large calloused one, Charles carefully matched his grip to Julie's firm clasp. While you're at it, why don't you add your grocery needs to the list as well? That way I can pick up everything in one trip.

Oh, no, you don't! Julie exclaimed, halting in mid-shake. This sounds all too much like you're trying to bail us out! What did you call it, a hand-out versus a hand-up?

Charles enfolded Julie's hand in both of his. Julie, be reasonable. I've already promised your kids that we'd have pie and ice cream. You wouldn't want me to go back on my word would you?

Julie planted her left hand on her hip, her right locked firmly in Charles' grasp. First, it's all too easy for you to tell me to be reasonable when it's me who has to be accommodating and accept your handout—

"Hand-up, Charles corrected gently. I'm simply helping you fill the orders that will be the ongoing source of income for you and your children."

Hand-up then, Julie bit off crisply. Secondly, she pushed on, you should know better than to make promises to my children that you know I'm going to be opposed to!

Charles nodded contritely. At least he hoped it was contrite.

And third, I happen to know you're stretching the truth about ice cream. David wouldn't be caught dead eating ice cream on his pie.

Point taken, Charles acknowledged as Julie's barb bounced off his suddenly smug smile. David did inform me that he is particularly partial to chocolate cream pie. As I recall, the accommodation we reached was for me to provide whipping cream while leaving the choice up to him as to whether or not he would indulge.

Julie deflated and Charles steeled himself for what he suspected was coming.

Charles, you really are putting me in an awkward position. You know how desperate our situation is, and as much as I hate to admit it we really could use your help. It's just that you have already done so much, and frankly it frightens me how much I already owe you.

Noting the use of the singular personal pronoun, Charles jumped back into the conversation. Julie, you don't owe me anything. Everything I've done has been for your family—

Julie cut him off with a raised finger. Let's not split hairs here. You've certainly been helping my family, but entirely too much of your help has pulled me personally out of what otherwise would have been some very painful situations.

Charles smiled gently. Of course the situations would have been painful. What else could they be when a mother is looking out for her children?

Julie's eyes blazed as Charles' comment sunk in. Sometimes you don't play fair.

Charles patted Julie's hand. I'm not playing. I never do when the welfare of those I love is at stake. Charles held her gaze steadily and it was Julie who looked away first.

OK, you win. I guess all I can do is say thank you, again. Julie raised her eyes, once again brimming with tears. Thank you, Charles, from me and my family. Thank you … from the bottom of my heart.

Now about that list, Charles prodded gently. If you could get started on it while I finish painting these floorboards then I could leave straight from your house to go to the grocery store.

Kind of a slave driver aren't you? Julie accused with an impish grin. Unfortunately I don't seem to have any paper or anything to write with. I guess you'll just have to wait until I get home and can find something to make my list, she smiled sweetly, after we have lunch.

Charles shook his head. We both have too much to do. You filling the orders, me replenishing the supplies you'll need. I believe you'll find a pad and pen in the house, on the kitchen counter. I suggest you march yourself into the house and get started on your list while I finish my painting.

Julie cocked her head. "You have a point. After all, I do have a batch of milk to pasteurize and process into cheese before tomorrow, not to mention thawing a late arriving turkey and preparing a Thanksgiving meal … Julie watched closely to see if her comments had found their mark. However, the fact you're standing me up for lunch today simply means you'll have to eat an extra helping tomorrow."

Charles maintained his best poker face as he made shooing motions with his hands. Go put your list together or there won't be anything on your Thanksgiving Day table.

Don't be too certain. Julie smiled slyly. After all, I've been making cheese for months now. Julie tapped her cheek with her index finger. I could carve a cheese wheel to look like a turkey, melt some cheese for basting sauce, whip up a cheese gravy, even prepare some cheese-covered snow for dessert.

March! Charles commanded, pointedly turning his back and resuming his painting. It seemed an eternity passed before Julie's musical laughter was cut off by the closing shop door.

Charles spoke over his shoulder to Chet. Well, that went better than it could have. Now all I have to do is get through the next few hours in one piece and I'll be safely back in my barn where I belong.

Over the next 20 minutes Charles finished painting the rest of the floorboards and cleaned the roller and paint tray. Refilling the fire box on the stove to make certain there was sufficient heat to cure the paint, Charles shrugged into his coat and exited the shop, locking the door behind him.

With more than a little uncertainty Charles stepped into his kitchen. Julie watched him intently as he walked across to the table and picked up the lengthy list. Starting at the top, he read down through the items. Flour, sugar, eggs—the next item was in all capital letters, was underlined twice, and 'secret ingredient' was written in parentheses behind it. Charles smothered a grin as he read 'love'—followed by rolled oats, butter, milk chocolate chips, vanilla chips, butterscotch chips … and the list went on.

Finishing the list, Charles peered at Julie from under his brows. "You