The sound of roosters crowing could only be drowned out by the sound of tractors plowing. It was going to be a rough year; between the drought and the fire, there wasn't much left. The sand was dry, the grass was dead, and all their money went to feeding the animals. It was unlikely the crops would produce anything they could sell, and then where would they be? The bill collectors wouldn't wait forever. Eventually they'd be knocking on the door, harassing them on the phone, and whatever it was that bill collectors did. But Kasie's father was adamant that she shouldn't worry; he kept assuring her they were going to be OK.
Her mother, on the other hand, had grown silent since the fire. Perhaps it was because she'd lost her prized horse in the chaos. Kasie could still see her mother running frantically into the fire as the flames engulfed the stables. It had been hard to separate the red of the wood from the red of the flames, but the grayish black smoke was the murderer that had taken most of the animals. Kasie had grieved for her own horse, who'd just bore a colt not a month before. There had been no doubt in her mind that her mother had simply been grieving a stressful and tragic situation. At least, that was until Mr. Y showed up on their porch claiming to have business with Kasie's father.
Mr. Y wasn't a tall man--as her mother often said, he was was built right to the floor. That didn't stop him from having a tall personality though. He was animated and unforgettable, the way he talked so fast Kasie had a hard time keeping up. Not to mention the amount of jewels he wore. There were two large diamonds that glistened from his ear, but even more diamonds in his watch, his ring, the chain around his neck, even the chain he had clipped to his wallet. There was no questioning that Mr. Y was loaded, but Kasie couldn't figure out what business, exactly, Mr. Y was in. The middle aged man had never answered her question directly, fielding off her inquiries with more questions or vague abstractions, only to disappear into the study with her father.
Kasie's mother didn't like Mr. Y, not that Kasie did either, but the scowl that wrinkled across her mother's face each time the man showed up on their step was an angry Kasie had never witnessed before. Even the time she'd accidentally let the chickens into the garden and caused them to loose over 1/3 of their crops had not produced the kind of wrath Kasie imagined lived behind that scowl. But day after day, Mr. Y get coming back--and that told Kasie that something was not right. For all of Kasie's father's assurance, she knew they were definitely
not alright.
It had only been two weeks since Mr. Y's arrival when she first heard them arguing. She couldn't make out the words--her parents never yelled, they just spoke through clenched teeth in hushed tones. The only indicator that they were in troublesome disagreement was the sound of their feet pacing around the room. By the time Kasie made it down stairs to be nosy, a deep silence had enveloped the two.
Her mother was back in the kitchen, rambling through the cupboards without actually producing any food, and her father was sitting on the couch idling twiddling a pair of diamond earrings in his hand. Kasie wondered if they belonged to Mr. Y, but at second glance, realized they were much too small for the flashy taste of Mr. Y. Clearly that was the source of the argument...
As the days past, more and more strange stuff appeared in the house. Diamonds, rubies, wads of unexplainable money. Kasie was tempted to inquire as to where they came from, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the distant look that clouded over her father's eyes, or that scowl that had become permanently etched on her mother's face.
There were bits and pieces of a story left trailing around the house for her to sleuth out. But it didn't make sense no matter how she arranged the pieces. She grew weary of the secrets, weary of the tension, and weary of the silence.
"Some times it pays to know people in certain circles." Her father said, sounding too much like Mr. Y. "And sometimes you do things outside of the statutes of legality to provide for your family... Tell me Kasie, do you want us to lose the house? Or would you rather have your dad bend a few rules to get us through this rough patch?"
I was fourteen when the FBI stormed the house, handcuffed my father, separated my mother and I, and hauled us off for questioning. I never knew what he did or who Mr. Y really was. All I know is it was illegal, it was bad, and he did it because he didn't want my mom and I to suffer.
Well we suffered. We suffered questioning. We suffered loneliness.
And if you drive down Millpond Road, you'll see our large yellow farmhouse with that glaring red "for sale" sign, sitting out front.
