Saturday afternoons at the diner tended to be quiet, just the regulars in, those who almost never cooked for themselves. Today was no exception, except that the diner was not actually quiet. Everyone who was there was still talking about the land sale, about what the influx of construction workers and then tourists would mean for the local economy.<\/p>\n
Just about everyone asked her what she thought about it. After all, the family diner certainly stood to benefit, and her family lived right near the property. There was plenty of speculation about whether or not the developer would want to buy her family home, too. And also plenty of advice, that as a pretty, young girl, she should stay away from the construction workers once they came.<\/p>\n
She smiled through most of it, said what was expected of her. \u201cIt would be nice to see the diner really busy,\u201d and \u201cI love our house, but if someone made Mom a really good offer, it would only make sense of her to sell.\u201d These were considered the reasonable and right things to say, and most of the customers smiled back at her.<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms sat at that counter, nursing his coffee. He did not talk about the land sale. He did watch and listen though, and once the lunch crowd had left, and it was just him and her, he said \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was just a few seats down from him, on the other side of the counter, refilling salt and pepper containers. She jumped, spilling some salt, when he spoke. \u201cExcuse me, Mr. Timms?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said, bullshit. You aren\u2019t excited to see that land sold. You would throw a fit that would put the most troublesome three year old to shame if your mother tried to sell the house. You love that land, love it more than any of the Barnows ever have.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms was in his 80s. He had fought in the Second World War- tanks, North African Campaign. He had been part of the group of soldiers who had lost to the Desert Fox himself in Tunisia. \u00a0Because of his age, and preference to talk about the past, it was easy to forget that the man was still sharp. He noticed everything.<\/p>\n
She shrugged. \u201cYou may be right, Mr. Timms, but there\u2019s nothing I can do about the sale of the river land. And nothing I could do about it if Mom sold our house either, so not much point in arguing with folks here.\u201d She continued filling the salt shakers.<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms grunted and sat quietly with his coffee. A few minutes later, he gently banged his cup on the counter, signaling he wanted a refill. \u201cYou about ready to switch to unleaded?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCoffee tastes terrible. Only reason to drink it is the caffeine.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled and got the correct carafe. As she was pouring, her brother\u2019s comment about the letters not being the key came back to her. Mr. Timms was not old enough to have been alive when the letters were written, but he was old enough to have known who they belonged to.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf the Barnows have never loved that land, who has?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms gave her an odd look. \u201cWhat makes you think anyone ever did?\u201d<\/p>\n
She carefully considered her answer. \u201cAs far as I know, no one has used that fishing shack since before you went off to the war, but it still stands. Even the roof is still in decent shape. That means someone put a lot of care into building it, and maybe even that someone continued caring for it after it stopped being used. To me, that would seem to indicate that someone loved that piece of land.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms took a drink of his coffee and nodded his head. \u201cI like smart girls.\u201d He seemed to think about his answer.\u00a0 \u201cYour Grandpa bought the land your house is on from Abe Milner, knocked down Abe\u2019s old house and built your place. Abe loved that land. He had permission from the Barnow\u2019s to use the fishing shack. Took good care of it. Course, he spent more time there then he did at home, once his wife died.\u201d<\/p>\n
She did a quick run through of all the town citizens in her mind. None of them were named Milner. \u201cWhy did he sell to Grandpa? Why not leave the house to his kids?\u201d The question was harmless enough. In this town, most families who had land kept the land, generation to generation.<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms twisted his coffee mug in his hands. \u201cOld Abe only had one kid, daughter, by the name of Marion.\u201d He smiled at her. \u201cMost beautiful girl in the county. She married Addison Farnum.\u201d He chuckled. \u201cDidn\u2019t exactly need her Daddy\u2019s land now, did she?\u201d<\/p>\n
Addison Farnum. AF. But that could not be right. Abe would have been the right age to have received the letters. His daughter could not have been the one to write them. But the Farnums had owned the half of the town that had not been owned by the Simon family, at least up until 40 years ago.<\/p>\n
The excitement welled up in her, but she fought to keep it down. She replaced the carafe and started to make more coffee, just to keep her hands busy. \u201cI never knew any of the Farnums. Why did they sell everything off?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNever knew any of the Farnums?\u201d Mr. Timms seemed almost angry with her. \u201cHas nobody at the high school been teaching you kids local history? You all know a Farnum, not that that\u2019s her last name anymore. Mrs. Maggie Rickert, she\u2019s a Farnum.\u201d<\/p>\n
She blinked, surprised. Ms. Maggie, as all the kids knew her, was the kindergarten teacher. She had been for the last 40 plus years. \u201cBut if Ms. Maggie is a Farnum, why did she sell everything off?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Timms banged his cup on the counter again, and she filled it with the last of the current carafe. \u201cShe didn\u2019t. Her no good brother did. He hated this town. Could not wait to leave. Since he was the oldest son, he inherited everything except the small house Maggie lives in now. He was never one to work. Loved to gamble. As far as I know, all the property, even the family business, got sold off to pay his gambling debts.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Saturday afternoons at the diner tended to be quiet, just the regulars in, those who almost never cooked for themselves. Today was no exception, except that the diner was not actually quiet. Everyone who was there was still talking about the land sale, about what the influx of construction workers and then tourists would mean for the local economy. Just about everyone asked her what she thought about it. After all, the family diner certainly stood to benefit, and her family lived right near the property. There was plenty of speculation about whether or not the developer would want to buy her family home, too. And also plenty of advice, that as a pretty, young girl, she should stay away from the construction workers once they came. She smiled through most of it, said what was expected of her. \u201cIt would be nice to see the diner really busy,\u201d and \u201cI love our house, but if someone made Mom a really good offer, it would only make sense of her to sell.\u201d These were considered the reasonable and right things to say, and most of the customers smiled back at her. Mr. Timms sat at that counter, nursing his coffee. He did not talk about the land sale. He did watch and listen though, and once the lunch crowd had left, and it was just him and her, he said \u201cBullshit.\u201d She was just a few seats down from him, on the other side of the counter, refilling salt and pepper containers. She jumped, spilling some salt, when he spoke. \u201cExcuse me, Mr. Timms?\u201d \u201cI said, bullshit. You aren\u2019t excited to see that land sold. You would throw a fit that would put the most troublesome three year old to shame if your mother tried to sell the house. You love that land, love it more than any of the Barnows ever have.\u201d Mr. Timms was in his 80s. He had fought in the Second World War- tanks, North African Campaign. He had been part of the group of soldiers who had lost to the Desert Fox himself in Tunisia. \u00a0Because of his age, and preference to talk about the past, it was easy to forget that the man was still sharp. He noticed everything. She shrugged. \u201cYou may be right, Mr. Timms, but there\u2019s nothing I can do about the sale of the river land. And nothing I could do about it if Mom sold our house either, so not much point in arguing with folks here.\u201d She continued filling the salt shakers. Mr. Timms grunted and sat quietly with his coffee. A few minutes later, he gently banged his cup on the counter, signaling he wanted a refill. \u201cYou about ready to switch to unleaded?\u201d \u201cCoffee tastes terrible. Only reason to drink it is the caffeine.\u201d She smiled and got the correct carafe. As she was pouring, her brother\u2019s comment about the letters not being the key came back to her. Mr. Timms was not old enough to have been alive when the letters were written, but he was old enough to have known who they belonged to. \u201cIf the Barnows have never loved that land, who has?\u201d Mr. Timms gave her an odd look. \u201cWhat makes you think anyone ever did?\u201d She carefully considered her answer. \u201cAs far as I know, no one has used that fishing shack since before you went off to the war, but it still stands. Even the roof is still in decent shape. That means someone put a lot of care into building it, and maybe even that someone continued caring for it after it stopped being used. To me, that would seem to indicate that someone loved that piece of land.\u201d Mr. Timms took a drink of his coffee and nodded his head. \u201cI like smart girls.\u201d He seemed to think about his answer.\u00a0 \u201cYour Grandpa bought the land your house is on from Abe Milner, knocked down Abe\u2019s old house and built your place. Abe loved that land. He had permission from the Barnow\u2019s to use the fishing shack. Took good care of it. Course, he spent more time there then he did at home, once his wife died.\u201d She did a quick run through of all the town citizens in her mind. None of them were named Milner. \u201cWhy did he sell to Grandpa? Why not leave the house to his kids?\u201d The question was harmless enough. In this town, most families who had land kept the land, generation to generation. Mr. Timms twisted his coffee mug in his hands. \u201cOld Abe only had one kid, daughter, by the name of Marion.\u201d He smiled at her. \u201cMost beautiful girl in the county. She married Addison Farnum.\u201d He chuckled. \u201cDidn\u2019t exactly need her Daddy\u2019s land now, did she?\u201d Addison Farnum. AF. But that could not be right. Abe would have been the right age to have received the letters. His daughter could not have been the one to write them. But the Farnums had owned the half of the town that had not been owned by the Simon family, at least up until 40 years ago. The excitement welled up in her, but she fought to keep it down. She replaced the carafe and started to make more coffee, just to keep her hands busy. \u201cI never knew any of the Farnums. Why did they sell everything off?\u201d \u201cNever knew any of the Farnums?\u201d Mr. Timms seemed almost angry with her. \u201cHas nobody at the high school been teaching you kids local history? You all know a Farnum, not that that\u2019s her last name anymore. Mrs. Maggie Rickert, she\u2019s a Farnum.\u201d She blinked, surprised. Ms. Maggie, as all the kids knew her, was the kindergarten teacher. She had been for the last 40 plus years. \u201cBut if Ms. Maggie is a Farnum, why did she sell everything off?\u201d Mr. Timms banged his cup on the counter again, and she filled it with the last of the current carafe. \u201cShe didn\u2019t. Her no good brother did. He hated this town. Could not wait to leave. Since he was the oldest son, he inherited everything except the small house Maggie lives in now. He was never one to work. Loved to gamble. As far as I know, all the property, even the family business, got sold off to pay his gambling debts.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[22],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-313","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p75MAh-53","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/313","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=313"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/313\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":314,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/313\/revisions\/314"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=313"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=313"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/erinshanendoah.com\/alienanthros\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=313"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}