likely should keep hogs and chickens! That would certainly give the city matrons a cause for concern.
He shook his head with good humor. He did think he might try his hand at gardening. It was a shame for the seasons to come and go without touching nature occasionally.
"Can you plow a furrow?" Jesse asked him.
The question brought Roe back to the task of the moment. He shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
Jesse turned his head and gave the hillside a long, thoughtful look. "It can be purty hard."
With a smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder, Roe reassured him. "I may not be from around here, Jesse. I know I'm just a city fellow, but I'm getting toughened up a bit, I think. See my hands." Roe held them out for inspection and Jesse did solemnly take note of the tough hardwork callouses that had begun to form. "And I'm very smart," Roe assured him. "A smart man can outthink his labors and make them easier."
Jesse nodded hopefully, but his expression said that he didn't understand. "I know you're smarter than folks 'round here. I ain't smart a'tal. I figure we kindy even things out."
Roe grinned at him. "Maybe you're right." Roe slapped the young man companionably on the back. To his surprise, Jesse hugged him warmly for a long moment. The affectionate movement surprised Roe and made him uncomfortable. Hugging was not something that was a part of J. Monroe Farley's life. Gentlemen did not hug each other. Roe couldn't remember a time when someone had hugged him.
His back stiffened slightly at the contact. But he did not want to hurt the feelings of the gentle young man. Bravely, Roe stood the contact as if it were a traveling dentist chiseling out one of his teeth. He even managed a half-smile when he was released.
"I'm glad yore my frien', Roe," Jesse said.
His answer was a polite nod.
Carefully checking the mule harness and the plow blade, Jesse Best appeared not simple, but competent and knowledgeable. Roe felt a sense of inexplicable pride in his friend as he watched the meticulous preparations for the fieldwork. The unwanted hug Roe had momentarily endured suddenly seemed less a torture to overcome and more a token of brotherhood and friendship. This simpleminded backwoods cracker from the Ozarks
was
his friend. He could never have imagined this being true a week or two earlier.
"Let's get to plowing," Jesse said with genuine pleasure.
Roe nodded.
Gloved and shod, the two young men commenced their labors. The ground was uneven and peppered with more than a few hidden rocks. Jesse set Roe to inspecting the field. Systematically he walked every square foot of the ground awaiting the plow, carefully clearing it of any unhappy surprises that the plow blade might unearth. The sun beat down on his back and the day was progressing from mildly warm to downright hot, but he didn't even think to complain.
Whistling a tune that Roe vaguely recognized as "I'm a Good Ole Rebel," Jesse led the plow-harnessed mule to near the middle of the field.
"Why are you starting there?" Roe asked as he followed the young man curiously.
Confused, Jesse looked down at the ground and then at the mule before he shrugged. "This is where I always start," he said. "This is where Pa showed me to start."
Roe shook his head. "Well, that doesn't make sense, Jesse. You should start at the edge and go to the edge."
Jesse gazed at one edge of the field and then at the other. His brow furrowed in concentration. "That ain't right," he said.
"Of course it's right," Roe told him, smiling. "It makes perfect sense. Starting in the middle doesn't make any sense at all."
Jesse bit his lip nervously as again he surveyed the field. "We got to start right here, Roe. I know we do."
Roe sighed and shook his head. "Now, Jesse, you just told me yourself that I was smarter than folks around here. And I told you that a smart man can make light work of his labors. You do believe that, don't you?"
Jesse nodded solemnly.
"Then you've got to trust me when I tell
He shook his head with good humor. He did think he might try his hand at gardening. It was a shame for the seasons to come and go without touching nature occasionally.
"Can you plow a furrow?" Jesse asked him.
The question brought Roe back to the task of the moment. He shrugged. "How hard can it be?"
Jesse turned his head and gave the hillside a long, thoughtful look. "It can be purty hard."
With a smile and a comforting pat on the shoulder, Roe reassured him. "I may not be from around here, Jesse. I know I'm just a city fellow, but I'm getting toughened up a bit, I think. See my hands." Roe held them out for inspection and Jesse did solemnly take note of the tough hardwork callouses that had begun to form. "And I'm very smart," Roe assured him. "A smart man can outthink his labors and make them easier."
Jesse nodded hopefully, but his expression said that he didn't understand. "I know you're smarter than folks 'round here. I ain't smart a'tal. I figure we kindy even things out."
Roe grinned at him. "Maybe you're right." Roe slapped the young man companionably on the back. To his surprise, Jesse hugged him warmly for a long moment. The affectionate movement surprised Roe and made him uncomfortable. Hugging was not something that was a part of J. Monroe Farley's life. Gentlemen did not hug each other. Roe couldn't remember a time when someone had hugged him.
His back stiffened slightly at the contact. But he did not want to hurt the feelings of the gentle young man. Bravely, Roe stood the contact as if it were a traveling dentist chiseling out one of his teeth. He even managed a half-smile when he was released.
"I'm glad yore my frien', Roe," Jesse said.
His answer was a polite nod.
Carefully checking the mule harness and the plow blade, Jesse Best appeared not simple, but competent and knowledgeable. Roe felt a sense of inexplicable pride in his friend as he watched the meticulous preparations for the fieldwork. The unwanted hug Roe had momentarily endured suddenly seemed less a torture to overcome and more a token of brotherhood and friendship. This simpleminded backwoods cracker from the Ozarks
was
his friend. He could never have imagined this being true a week or two earlier.
"Let's get to plowing," Jesse said with genuine pleasure.
Roe nodded.
Gloved and shod, the two young men commenced their labors. The ground was uneven and peppered with more than a few hidden rocks. Jesse set Roe to inspecting the field. Systematically he walked every square foot of the ground awaiting the plow, carefully clearing it of any unhappy surprises that the plow blade might unearth. The sun beat down on his back and the day was progressing from mildly warm to downright hot, but he didn't even think to complain.
Whistling a tune that Roe vaguely recognized as "I'm a Good Ole Rebel," Jesse led the plow-harnessed mule to near the middle of the field.
"Why are you starting there?" Roe asked as he followed the young man curiously.
Confused, Jesse looked down at the ground and then at the mule before he shrugged. "This is where I always start," he said. "This is where Pa showed me to start."
Roe shook his head. "Well, that doesn't make sense, Jesse. You should start at the edge and go to the edge."
Jesse gazed at one edge of the field and then at the other. His brow furrowed in concentration. "That ain't right," he said.
"Of course it's right," Roe told him, smiling. "It makes perfect sense. Starting in the middle doesn't make any sense at all."
Jesse bit his lip nervously as again he surveyed the field. "We got to start right here, Roe. I know we do."
Roe sighed and shook his head. "Now, Jesse, you just told me yourself that I was smarter than folks around here. And I told you that a smart man can make light work of his labors. You do believe that, don't you?"
Jesse nodded solemnly.
"Then you've got to trust me when I tell
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