Lonesome Road

Sarah stood at the top of the hill, waiting. For what, she didn’t know, maybe a sign from above. But there aren’t always signs to guide you in a tough decision: what is right and is possible aren’t always aligned. She thought about this while facing the two-lane highway. A lone car whooshed as it went by.

Behind and below her, the farm spread out along the town road bypassed when they cut the highway through. Other farms sprawled along it, with one or two official-looking buildings, the decommissioned chapel, and the defunct post office at the center.

Things didn’t look any busier when you were standing down there, she reflected. Yet, it wasn’t a terrible place to grow up and not an awful place to live either if you wanted a farm and all the care that went along with it to tie you down.

It isn’t what I want, she reminded herself. The problem is when I was ready to take it over, they weren’t prepared to give it up. Now, I have grown past the wanting somehow.

Her brother Ted, two years her junior, managed a large cattle ranch two states away and was settled there with decent pay. He was not up for moving back to a slowly failing farm, and his wife of one year had family in the area they were living in. It was not an economically feasible prospect for them either, with Ted's wife teaching in the local school. Out here, Naomi would have to drive nearly forty minutes to the nearest school, and there were not too many opportunities in the small community.

She was writing, something she always loved. She stayed up at night writing as much as she had when helping to balance the books or tending to sick animals at the farm. The difference was, with a character, you could stay warm while trying to figure out what was wrong with them, and when you got tired, you could go to bed with a good conscience and hope for resolution in the morning. And you could work two jobs, which is what she did to get by. She had one job as an editorial assistant at a publishing house and one fixing coffee for people at the fancy coffee shop around the corner on weekends.

Last year, when her father died, she and Ted closed the business with her mother, leasing the fields to Mr. Johnson, the next-door neighbor. This past spring, her mother passed away.

When Mr. Johnson offered to buy the land, it seemed easier to lighten the shared responsibility of caring for a faraway place for her and Ted, so they decided to sell it together. Sarah came a week ago to finish going through the house and the barns, already emptied in a summer sale of farm machinery, tractors, and the like, all bought by local people. She cleaned out the last of their possessions from the house in a final car load and signed the remaining sale papers this morning.

At least the house won’t stand empty and fade away to grey. At least the farm won’t die like so many others have. Mr. Johnson’s son and his family would start moving in tomorrow, probably glad of the space after living with his parents in two rooms at their small farmhouse.

It really is a lonesome road, she thought. Sarah turned back toward the farm and walked carefully down the hill. When she reached her car, she put one foot in and leaned on the driver's side door for a minute looking. Then she climbed in, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled away for the last time.

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Mesh Toraskar's beautiful photo of Scotland inspired my story for the writing challenge organized by Mackenzie Davis- though I set my story in the western United States. Thanks to both of you for lending your considerable talents and expertise. The rules: write a short fiction piece based on the assigned photo 300-750 words. Thanks for reading! Natalie