Milk Money (14 page)

She didn’t seem to be too upset, and he didn’t want to interrupt her milking routine. He gestured toward the bovines. “I don’t want to interrupt you. I’ll talk to you when you’re finished.”

He watched her, drinking in her presence like an ice-cold glass of lemonade on a hot day. The joy that radiated from her face was like a ray of sunshine.

Since the milking was done, she sent the teen to feed the cows before she rinsed her milking equipment in the adjoining room. He stood beside her at the sink as she performed the chore.

He touched her shoulder. “Are you ready to talk right now?” he asked, touching the tendrils of her hair that escaped from her ponytail.

“Yes, we can talk now. What’s happened with the audit for my farm? Mom sounded worried.”

He sighed before he repeated the information he’d relayed to Laura the previous day. Emily’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. She backed away, shaking her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I wish it wasn’t true.”

She stormed toward the teenager and told him to finish cleaning the milking equipment after he was finished feeding the cows and the bull. Frank followed her as she walked back to the house. “So, you’re telling me that my father was a dishonest gambler?” She covered her quivering mouth. “That’s not true! There’s no way my father would place our farm in jeopardy.”

Frank remained silent as she plopped onto the porch swing, unsure of how to comfort her.

She turned toward him, glaring. “So you’re telling me that I could lose my farm, too?” Her large eyes filled with tears. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

He ran his fingers over his head. “Yes, but—”

She looked away. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

The cold, hard edge to her voice frightened him. “What do you mean?”

“Were you sober the whole time you were auditing my farm?”

He clamped his mouth shut, shocked she would make such an implication. Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked away, unsure if she was serious or if she just needed an excuse because she didn’t want to believe the truth about her father.

Emily watched Frank return to his car, and her heart pulsed with anger. She almost called him back, shocked at the words that had tumbled from her mouth. Shaking her head, she turned away from the accountant, staring at the corn and silos in the distance.

She wiped her tears away, her head suddenly aching. Rocking the swing in the warm breeze, she tried to digest Frank’s bad news. She jumped when Darren stepped onto the porch. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” The teen gazed at her, his dark eyes full of curiosity. “Hey, are you okay, Miss Emily?”

She sniffed. “There’s so much going on right now.” When he made no attempt to leave, she asked, “Did you need something?”

He nodded, his short braids swinging. “Yes, it’s payday. Remember?”

“Oh, yes.” Once she had given him his pay and he’d left, she sat back on the porch.

Kelly pulled into the driveway and sauntered onto the porch when it started to get dark, still wearing her business suit and high heels. She plopped onto the swing beside Emily. “I was on my way home from work, and I thought I’d stop by.” She peered into Emily’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Emily stared at the porch ceiling. “I can’t even talk about it.”

“You look zonked.” She grabbed Emily’s hand. “Come on inside.”

Kelly fixed some peppermint tea and placed a plate of lemon cookies on the table. “Have something to drink or eat. You look awful.”

Emily’s stomach roiled, and she pushed the tea away.

“Em, drink the tea. Maybe it will help calm you down.” After taking several deep breaths, she sipped the tea as Kelly sat at the table with her. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Frank said some terrible things about my father.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“What did he say?”

Emily could barely speak as she told her friend about Frank’s accusations against her dad. “Have you called Laura?”

“No, not yet. My mom did call me this morning, but I was out milking the cows. She left a message and said Becky and the baby are doing fine.” She blew air through her lips. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe. And do you know what the worst part of it is?”

“What’s that?”

She told her how she asked Frank if he was sober the entire time he was doing the audit.

Kelly gasped, and Emily moaned. “Em, I can’t believe you said that.”

“Frank looked so hurt when I said it.”

“Maybe you should apologize to him,” Kelly suggested.

“I probably should. I just got so mad when he said those things. I was angry, and I said the first thing that came to my mind.”

“Did you know he’s been attending Devon Crandall’s alcoholic support group?”

Emily stared at her friend. “I told him to talk to Devon, and he told me he’d tried to go to a meeting but he chickened out.”

“Well, I heard through the church grapevine that he’s been attending. Maybe he’s trying to give up the alcohol, Em.”

Emily’s mouth quivered. “Oh no. What if my insensitive comment makes him go home and drink?” She closed her eyes. “Kelly, I feel so bad. I just …”

Kelly rushed over to her friend. “Give him some time to cool off. I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Emily sniffed. “All those things he said about Daddy—I just can’t believe them. I just can’t.”

Kelly left and returned with some pills. “I found that prescription you filled for your sleeping pills right after your father died. Here’s two. Why don’t you take them and get a good night’s sleep?”

Emily accepted the pills and took them. She found she just couldn’t talk any longer after Kelly had taken her exit and the medicine settled into her body. Her muscles relaxed, and she soon stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom. For the first time in her whole farming career, she fell asleep wearing the same clothes she wore to milk the cows.

Frank slammed the door to the accounting office building on Pratt Street. He stood on the corner, gazing at the buildings in the distance. Late evening tourists and shoppers walked by, their arms heavy with colorful store bags. He pulled off his tie, hating the managerial meeting that had occurred that day in the main office. His firm required all upper-level managers to wear business attire to these meetings, and he wasn’t in the mood to wear his suit today. His boss had also called him into his office, informing him that he’d appeared irritable and cranky lately and he wondered if something was wrong. Frank couldn’t admit that he needed a drink—badly. Emily’s comment the previous evening had haunted him all night, and he had almost drunk some of his favorite scotch to dull the pain. He’d finally dumped the scotch down the toilet before tossing and turning most of the night.

Once he got into the car, he dropped his head back on the seat, groaning. “Oh, God, I feel so bad right now.” He started his car and pulled out of the lot. Forty minutes later, he pulled into a parking space at Monkton Christian Church, feeling a desperate need to meet with the alcoholic support group. He gazed at his Bible, still sitting on the passenger side of the car. Questions about God, life, and salvation filled his mind like unwanted weeds in a garden.

After walking into the practically deserted building, he entered the meeting room for the support group. During the meeting, he spoke of Emily’s comment the previous evening and about how it had filled him with shame.

“Why were you ashamed?” asked one of the female attendees.

“Even though I was sober the whole time I was doing the audit, I could see myself getting to the point where I could have been drinking during the day.” He went on to say that since he’d started drinking after his wife died, he noticed the amount of alcohol he consumed nightly had increased. “I’ve been waking up with bad headaches; sometimes I vomit.”

Once the rest of the attendees had sprinkled in their words of wisdom and told of their weekly trials, Devon invited everybody to stand and join hands as they closed with a prayer. When the meeting was over, Frank pulled Devon aside. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” said Frank.

Devon invited him to return to his seat. “You look upset,” Devon observed. His wise, kind eyes bored into Frank.

“My addiction is really starting to bother me.”

“I know it is. You’re feeling guilty right now. I can tell.” Devon’s voice softened. “You know what you need to do. You need to surrender yourself to God.”

“But that’s so hard to do! My wife surrendered her life to God, but now she’s dead.”

“Her body is dead, but her spirit lives on. She’s with Jesus right now, and you need to stop focusing on earthly life so much.” He looked at Frank for a few seconds. “You know, Frank, I never did tell you my testimony. There’s so much about me that I haven’t had the chance to tell you yet.” He checked his watch. “Are you in a hurry to leave?”

Frank dreaded the return to his empty apartment where thoughts of drinking continued to consume him. “No, I’m in no hurry.”

They sat back down, and Devon began his testimony. “I grew up in a home where alcohol flowed like water.”

Frank frowned. “Do you mean both of your parents drank?”

Devon nodded. “My brother and I knew how wine and beer tasted before we even started kindergarten.”

Frank gasped, shocked. “Your parents gave you booze?”

“No, they didn’t give it to us directly. They were just irresponsible about how they left it around the house. My brother and I could get into the alcohol and drink it. We hated the taste but discovered we could water it down and drink it. It made us feel grown up.”

“Your parents never knew what you did?”

“Since both of my parents drank so frequently, they didn’t realize what was happening. Steve—that’s my brother—and I grew up thinking it was okay to drink and get sloshed. Although our father was an alcoholic, he was always quoting scripture, saying Jesus died for our sins and that it was okay that he was getting drunk every night because God had already forgiven him for that. Steve and I grew up with the philosophy that we could do what we wanted as far as drinking was concerned because it was what we’d been hearing all our lives.”

“So what changed your mind?” Frank asked.

“Steve and I were in the car with our father, and he was very drunk. He almost fell asleep at the wheel, and the car swerved into a ditch.” He looked at the wall for a few seconds. “None of us were hurt, but at that point, I could see my dad’s philosophy about being drunk was skewed. However, I was almost sixteen, and I was used to drinking whenever I wanted.”

“Did your father continue drinking after the accident?”

“Not right away. He sobered up for a month or so, but before long, he was hitting the bottle as hard as ever. My mother’s drinking was just as bad, and as I got ready to graduate from high school, I found that I wasn’t happy unless I was drinking. From the type of household I was raised in, I thought the way I felt and handled things was normal. What really made me change my life was when my brother died from a drunk driving accident.” He wiped his eyes. “Losing my brother was the hardest thing I’d ever been through, and his death spurred me to look at myself emotionally and spiritually.”

“What did you do?” asked Frank.

“Although I’d been raised by a father who quoted scripture all the time, I realized that I’d never really studied the Bible for myself, word for word, to see what God really said we should do to live a life that was pleasing to Him. I was twenty years old at the time, and I searched around until I found a small church where I felt comfortable. I began studying the scriptures with other believers until I finally proclaimed Christ as my Savior. My father died of liver disease because of his heavy drinking when I was twenty-five, but he’d learned to control his drinking after Steve died. My mom, dad, and I all found the Lord after Steve’s death, and I make sure when I convince people to accept Christ that they hear about what I went through as I searched for the Lord.”

Devon’s testimony sank deeply into Frank’s heart, and he still thought about Devon Crandall’s words as he drove home that night.

The following Saturday, Frank opened his eyes, blinking and feeling lousy. He swallowed, thinking about his tormented night. Emily’s accusation still felt like a punch in the gut. He’d actually made it through the day without a drink, and he’d been on the phone with Devon last night for a whole hour. The urge for a drink consumed him, and he shuffled over to the coffee pot, making a large pot of the steaming brew. He sipped the coffee, recalling Devon’s advice. “Son, you need to accept the Lord. Fall down on your knees and accept Him. Surrender your life to Him. That’s the only way you can give up the drink.”