The Farmer's Son

Chapter 15 Farmer Ray

Alan stood in the kitchen, phone to his ear. After the warnings, he had come right in and called his father, who was in the next county at a Farmer's association meeting.

"Yeah, we finished the cellar this morning. Yeah, Ray is moving the tractor inside right now. Okay... Yeah... No, I don't think you should drive back today, Pa. Least wait until the tornado warning's over."

"That could be tomorrow or next month," came Noah's voice through the phone. "Longer I wait, hotter it'll get. And if a tornado decides to rip through—"

"It'll catch you on the road."

Noah sighed at the tone of his son's voice. "I'll wait till the sun goes down," he finally conceded. "You boys stay inside. Don't let Ray go out to that garage, now, he'll cook."

"I'm only one man, Pa," Alan said, making his father give an amused grunt. "Be safe."

"You, too, son."

Without hanging up the phone, Alan ended the call and dialed another number, just as Ray came through the kitchen door. "Pa's staying in Tyler's Landing till nightfall," Alan said, as he did. "We're not going back into the fields until the heatwave breaks. Mrs. Mason?" he said into the phone. "It's Alan."

Ray sat at the table as Alan made call after call, checking in on his friends and neighbors. No one needed telling about the warnings, or how to prepare for them, they'd been doing that their whole lives. It was about the importance of keeping the lines of communication open and being ready to lend a helping hand when needed.

As Alan hung up the last call, he sighed heavily.

"You okay?" Ray asked.

He glanced up at Ray, who pushed a glass of juice at him across the table. "It's not my first warning," he said, sitting down. "And it won't be my last."

"Doesn't make it any less scary," Ray said.

"If only most of the men hadn't left for the association meeting, we—" His next words were cut off by the ringing of the phone. Quickly getting to his feet, he reached out and lifted the receiver to his ear before his body caught up. "Hello? Mrs. Geary, what is it?" He listened, frowning. "Alright," he said. "I'll go check on him. Okay." He hung up.

"I'll go check," Ray said, getting out of his chair. "Who am I checking on?"

"Dusty," Alan said, a smile pulling his lips even in his worry. "Likes to sleep on the porch when he drinks."

"Bring the old man in out of the sun. Got it," Ray said, making Alan give a breathy chuckle. "Matter of fact, you stay here, and just call and let me know where to go."

"You sure?"

"We only have the one jeep, and they'll feel better talking to you. I'm the hired help, so let me help."

Alan gave an appreciative smile, watching as Ray collected the keys from the wall hook and went out the kitchen door into the unrelenting heat of afternoon.

*

Ray was out for most of the afternoon, making general wellness checks on the other farmer's wives. They were apprehensive about his presence, at first, but after he dragged Dusty inside and set a fan on him, and corralled little Gillian's escaped pet ducks, they became grateful. He was offered drinks and bread and pastries, and a few even invited him inside, but he wisely declined those.

His last stop was Mrs. Geary, a big, stern woman with iron grey hair coifed on top of her head. Alan had sent him because she was the type to look out for everyone else and not herself. "Humph," she said, standing on her porch and looking him over with a critical eye. "We'll make a farmer out of you yet, Cowboy."