The big Ford tractor sat silent in the middle of the field where it had stopped. Fellow farmers and neighbors stood around it, all at their wits end for an answer to the problem. It refused to start. No amount of tinkering would bring it back to life.
Icy winds blew across the slight elevation of the field as the men pulled their collars up closer around their ears against the chill. They were perplexed by the problem.
Hungry cows lined up along the fence calling out, anxiously waiting for a bale of hay. They were sure it would soon be placed in front of them, taking note that people were near the tractor. They knew all too well that the loud barroom of it's motor when smoke rolled out of the stack, meant food would soon be put out for them. And they were hungry, it was freezing.
Patience was not a virtue owned by cattle in the cold of winter when grass was scarce. Food being the only fuel they were accommodated to keep warm. We can flip the thermostat up; cows depend on their furnace within, fueled by food.
Finally, it was agreed that the tractor company had to be called. The men gathered behind a huge round bale of hay, to roll it out by hand through the gate where the cows stood waiting. My husband made the dreaded call. The last resort of a farmer, the bill would be quite expensive.
The next morning the mechanic called, getting me out of bed to tell me he was on the way. He was early. I gave him directions while I stumbled into my clothes, boots and gloves, to meet him at the field and usher him in. Several gates had to be opened and the cows dealt with, curious creatures that they are, while he maneuvered his truck through them into the field. He drove and I walked, holding the cows back with a wave of my hand.
He began his work on the tractor while I stood by and watched. The brisk morning air sent shivers through me. I'm not much help on the mechanical end of things, especially when it's cold. The mechanic would call me over to ask questions occasionally and I would do my best to answer. I needed to go to the house to get a tool he didn't bring with him. Okay, I drive the two miles home to fetch it, feeling a little irritated that I had to supply a tool. Not to mention I had to deal with the cows again. After all, he was getting paid an should have supplied his own tools.
I put my hand on the door at home; their was a card stuck in the crack from the sheriff. A gasp escaped from my mouth. A note written on the back to 'call asap' sent fear through me. I felt weak and sick to my stomach. My rubbery knees wanted to bend. Was it my kids? My husband who was at work? Who was hurt; or worse.
It couldn't be good news. With shaking hands I dialed the number on the card. Anxious, yet dreading whatever news the call could tell me.
The officer that left the card, informed me that my brother had died in the night. He extended his sympathies and gave me the number that had been given to him. My hands shook so hard, I had to rewrite it several times in order to read it.
My brother. Gone. How could this have have happened? Too soon, I'm not prepared. A deep sorrow filled my heart. Not only by his death, but for the lost years between us.
Somehow, I thanked the officer and hung up. Tears blinded me as I searched for the tool I came to get. I had no choice but to continue the path I had begun the day with. My brain searched for a calming point. I couldn't find one. Every thought in my head banged against the next one, interrupting anything lucid that came to mind.
I had not seen or heard from my brothers, sadly, in many years. They didn't know I had moved, which is why the sheriff's office was called. Fortunately, I am in good standing at the local sheriffs office, so they knew where to find me.
Cell phone in hand I crawled back in the truck. Shaking so much, I slipped and skinned my shin. The pain in my leg is nothing. The pain in my heart is overpowering as I drive through blurry eyes.
I drove into the field with no regard to the gates, leaving them open behind me. I didn't care. As I hand him the tool, he notices the tears flowing down my face and turns away, respectfully.
“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively. He must have had a name, I'm not sure. I can't think. Nothing makes sense.
Barely able to nod, I get back in the truck and dial the number the officer had given me. Wait! I can't do this. I can't just call after so many years. Not yet.
I have no choice; I let it ring. How I would be received kept going through my head. Dread and fear, robbing me of my usual calm. It didn't occur to me at that moment that he had made the effort to find me. My brother wanted to make the connection, he didn't have to. Pictures flew through my mind like the shutter of a camera in speed mode. Children, teenagers, weddings...
My brothers, so long ago.
The ringing stops; my youngest brother answers.
“Hello.”
A flood of love poured over me at the sound of his voice, along with a tsunami of tears. All the stupid wasted years melted away. I love him so much, nothing else mattered at that moment.
The two of us; all that's left of our family. Reunited through the loss of our brother. His sweet words warmed my soul as we cried together. For the loss of our brother and the unspoken knowledge that we could be together again without recrimination. Family.
The best and worst day of my life.
After several hours the blue machine roared again. Black smoke shot from the stack, alerting the cows that a buffet would soon be on the way. They bellowed and mooed, telling me they were thankful to hear the sweet roar once again.
