Second Harvest

"Stanly and I served in the war and he died during one of our battles. When his mother Mrs. Riddle heard the news, the shock was too much, and her heart quit."

"Oh, how awful. I'm so sorry Roy."

Sara studied Roy. The pain was evident on his face. She watched Roy hiding to dab his eyes with his sleeve.

"You miss your friend Stanley, don't you?"

Roy just nodded his head. He didn't like exploring emotional feelings, especially with a stranger. Roy jumped to his feet and quickly gathered his things. He changed the subject.

"I'll come by tomorrow and get the filly. I'll bring the cash."

Roy quickly turned to leave, but Sara reached out and caught Roy's arm.

"Don't bother. We're riding into town tomorrow. We'll swing by your place and drop her off. Is that okay with you?"

Roy gave a quick nod. "Thanks, Sara. See you tomorrow."

Hopping on Sally, Roy hurriedly nudged the mule into a gallop and headed home.

Unmarried, Roy never dated and could only claim limited exposure to females. The women in his family lived brief, but tragic lives. For this reason, Roy easily dismissed any prospect of finding a wife since he was now forty-five years old. Besides, taking into account his remote living conditions, the chances were quite slim Roy would ever meet a woman for marriage. Roy's persuasion was that his current dismal pattern would not change in the anticipated future.

When Roy reflected on past years, the period seemed similar to steam ascending from a boiling kettle-the wispy moist air rising, clouding one's vision, only to disappear moments later. Time, Roy thought, evaporates quickly, leaving nothing behind except painful memories. There were dreams for Roy at one time, but he could no longer remember when or why. His situation didn't leave the man in a state of depression, for his life was uncomplicated. However, pragmatism invaded every aspect of Roy's life as it was difficult enough to live with the demons of his past. For Roy, life was a mere existence managed daily until the end arrived, but deep down he wanted more than what his life had become.

Roy examined the homestead his grandfather endeavored to establish in 1848-the birth year of his father, Thaddeus. For longer than Roy cared to remember, the natural order of things had not been right. Throughout the last several years, the absence of rain in the area made an already inhospitable land unbearable. Usually, monsoon rains visited the region in the summer with regularity. One could also expect an occasional sprinkling of moisture in the winter and spring seasons. In fact, during this extended eleven-year drought, were it not for strategically placed water sources, men like Roy would have ceased to exist. If the rain didn't appear soon, the parched desert would inevitably return to its original wasteland, eradicating any sign of those who struggled to establish residence.