Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(8)

Chapter 6


Jesse


Jesse Keaton checked his watch by the dashboard glow. It was 6:23 a.m. The bakery should be open by now. Of course, he was the only customer parked out front in the dark, so he could be a bit early.

Another fact—he was apparently the only one awake in the whole town of Honey Creek. Didn’t anyone know that the day started before dawn?

Glancing at the back seat, Jesse smiled at his three children. Sunny Lyn, four years old, asleep in her car seat. Danny, curled up with his safety belt holding him upright, and Zak, seven, silently looking out the window.

Jesse could never forget his Beth, his one love, his wife. Her face shone through in all their children.

“Why’d we stop here, Dad?” Zak met his father’s stare. The boy’s blue eyes were always looking for answers.

Jesse sometimes thought there were two kinds of people in the world. Seekers and settlers. The seekers never stop wandering, growing, experimenting. The settlers, like him, build their nest and stay in one spot.

He answered his son’s latest question. “Thought I’d pick up donuts for Granny May.”

“And us.” Zak grinned. “Granny May won’t eat them. She says she is too fat to eat anything sweet.”

“You guys can eat all of them then, but you have to eat half of your breakfast first.”

Zak frowned. “Dad, you know Granny May feeds us oatmeal. Grandma George lectures us while we eat at her house on Tuesday and Thursday, but at least we get pancakes with fruit on top. By Friday it’s a toss-up which we get, the oats or the lecture.”

“I know, but, son, that’s the way it has to be. Grandma George was a teacher; she can’t just turn off lecturing because she retired, and Granny May can’t cook. When I was in school, I was always the skinniest kid in class. Your mother used to say that having a mother-in-law who can’t cook was a great blessing.”

Zak didn’t smile. He was the only one who remembered his mother, and Jesse knew he didn’t want to talk about her dying, but Zak liked it when Jesse told the good stories.

“It’s not fair we have to drive all the way to town to eat. Why can’t you feed us breakfast at home and take us to school?” Zak complained.

“You know why. I lose half the morning’s work. This way I can be in the field by sunup. Plus both your grandmothers love doing this. You three are the only grandkids either will ever have. Since your grandpas passed on, they’d be lonely without you guys.”

Zak turned back to the window. “I guess the donut holes will help this morning. I’ll take one bite of oatmeal then pop a donut in.”

Jesse smiled at his oldest child, but he wanted to roar all the way to Heaven that nothing was fair. Nothing in the world. He had to get up an hour early to drive his kids to Honey Creek so one of their grandmothers could feed them and see the boys got to school on time. His daughter would spend the day alone with a grandmother watching over her. At five he’d stop work and drive back into town to pick them up. By the time they sat down to supper it was dark, almost time for bed.

But it was worth it. He was raising his own kids and keeping the farm going. Sunny Lyn had a playroom at both houses, but no one to play with most days. And since his mother and Beth’s mother, Grandma George, lived three doors apart, his youngest was often shifted from one house to the other.

6:26 a.m.

The front lights in the bakery finally blinked on. He could almost smell those pumpkin scones baking. Jesse’s life seemed mapped out in routine, but now and then a smell or a touch made him remember what it was like to be aware. Last week it was like the scones woke him up and he breathed for a short time.

Nothing usually changed in his routine, except once a week he made the farmers’ meeting at the grain co-op. It started at eight, but most of the men came in early to drink coffee and talk. He’d learned more from the old guys than he’d ever learned in Ag classes.

Jesse fought down a string of swear words. He’d turn forty-one tomorrow and his only social activity was drinking coffee with a bunch of farmers.

One week ago he walked into the bakery to pick up a box of donuts for the guys and smelled pumpkin scones. He changed his mind and ordered the scones.

Jesse had heard the rumor that the baker and her little sister were witches. A cowhand told him the oldest, the baker, put glitter in her hair and had a tattoo.

Jesse knew ninety-year-old women who glittered their hair for fun, and tattoos were common. He didn’t believe the witch handle any more than he believed in ghosts. After all, he was an educated man. He had two years at the junior college over in Clifton Bend and a year at Texas A&M before he started working the farm. Though he didn’t finish a degree, he’d always thought of himself as smart. He read. Watched the news when he had time. He even took a few classes online before Danny came along.

But last week one bite of the baker’s scones led to another, and before he realized it, he’d eaten three on his way to the weekly meeting. The scones were addictive. Maybe that pretty baker had mixed a spell in with the flour and sugar.

That afternoon, on his way home, he’d swung by the bakery for a dozen more. The kids were only interested in the donut holes he brought home. The scones were all his. Jesse rationed himself to two scones a day.

It was a miracle he could remember back a week. He hadn’t had one for twenty-four hours and Jesse was sure he was going into withdrawal after eating them every day for a week.