Bought the Farm Read online

  “I—” she began to say but stepped in a hole and fell down again. She put her chin on her hand, bit down on her lip, stared into the night, and nodded her head. “I’m going to kill myself, that’s what I’m going to do,” she said and finally forced her way back up into a standing position.

  <<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>

  As Mary began working her way through the backfield, Emma Charron poured Mitch a glass of milk. “The woman, you gave her my briefcase, yes?” she asked. “My ears heard you tell your friends this, yes?”

  Mitch took the glass of milk and looked down at his hands. Sure, he had told his friends Mary had ownership of the briefcase, but that was a lie…kinda. Mary knew where the briefcase was, but she didn’t physically have the briefcase. Mitch had lied to his friends just in case any of them turned yellow and snitched. If that happened, the bad guys would go after Mary and leave his folks alone. He sure hated himself for being so mean to Mary. After all, the woman had been really nice to him. But golly, he had his folks to think about. Farmer Griffith was dead, and Mitch knew death was serious business.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mitch told Emma. He took a sip of his milk. “Please don’t hurt my folks.”

  Emma patted Mitch’s shoulder. “I am not a bad person, little boy. My mission is to fight evil, not be evil, yes?” Emma wiped her blond hair away from her eyes, straightened out the black dress she was wearing, and looked around the kitchen. She was very tired but knew the night was still young. “Little boy, there is a great evil in this place,” she said in a scared voice. “The evil is pretending to be someone it is not.”

  Mitch looked up at Emma. “Golly, are you talking about Agent Green?”

  Emma nodded. “Little boy, I will live when I have completed my mission,” she told Mitch and sat down. “Please, little boy, do not try to run. I am very tired.”

  Mitch glanced at the back door. He sure could make a run for it, but he decided not to. He kinda liked the funny-talking woman and even felt safe with her. “I won’t run,” he promised and worked on his milk.

  Emma nodded her head and began to think.

  Mary sneaked up behind a tall oak tree. She looked at the back of the farmhouse and spotted the motorcycle parked near the back door. The farmhouse was dark except for the kitchen.

  “I’m wet. I’m covered with ant bites. My dress is ripped. But I made it,” Mary said in a voice that didn’t exactly sound enthusiastic. She gripped the briefcase with her right hand and blew her bangs out away from her eyes. “Okay, composure, calmness, intelligence, and honesty. Those are the tools to utilize. Those are the tools that John taught me to always carry in my bag.”

  Mary stepped out from behind the oak tree and more or less limped up to the back door. She knocked and called out: “This is Mary Holland. I have the briefcase. I’m alone.”

  Mary stepped away from the back door. Silence fell. Crickets hummed. Stars glittered. The night winds played. And then Emma opened the back door and pointed a gun at Mary. “Inside,” she said in a stern voice.

  Mary nodded and walked into the kitchen. She saw Mitch sitting at the kitchen table and let out a tired breath. “I kinda figured you would be here.”

  Mitch kicked at the kitchen floor. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, of course not,” Mary promised Mitch. She turned around and faced Emma. “You can put away the gun. I’m not here to hurt you or cause you any problems.”

  Emma stared at Mary. “I ordered you to wait. Why did you not listen?” she demanded.

  “My friend, the one you tied up and put in the trunk of my car, said you were not a mean person,” Mary explained. She held up the briefcase. “I was hoping we could talk and come to an agreement.”

  “An agreement?” Emma asked in a confused voice. “Mrs. Holland, my duty is to secure information against the enemy. I do not make agreements, yes?”

  “I’m not your enemy, and neither is America.”

  Emma lowered the gun in her hand. It was clear to her that Mary Holland was not a threat. The woman was wet, dirty, and looked in need of a hot bath and a warm meal. “You have had a very difficult day, yes?”

  “Oh yes,” Mary assured Emma. “I’m tired and hungry, and I want a hot shower and my soft bed. But those things can wait.” Mary patted the briefcase. “This belongs to you.”

  “Yes, it does,” Emma said. She took the briefcase, placed it down on the kitchen table, and opened it. The briefcase was empty. “My papers, where are they?” she demanded.

  “I hid them,” Mary explained. “Not from you, but from Agent Green. Agent Green is attempting to kill you, isn’t he?”

  Emma closed the briefcase. “Yes,” she confessed. She sat down, picked up a cup of coffee, and took a sip. “Agent Green is evil.”

  “Tell me about him, please,” Mary asked. “Let me help you.” Mary sat down across from Emma. “First, tell me, what is your name?”

  Emma looked into Mary’s caring eyes. She saw warmth, love, and honesty. “My name is Emma,” she told Mary, deciding to speak her real name. “I am an undercover agent for the French Underground Military Movement.”

  “Golly, wow,” Mitch exclaimed. “A real spy.”

  “Little boy,” Emma told Mitch, “my duty is not, as they say, glamorous.” Emma focused back on Mary. “Your government is sneaking German scientists into this country. These scientists are evil people, yes. My people fear that the Americans may assist the Germans in winning the war. There are rumors that a planned invasion against the Germans is simply a rumor in itself and that the Americans have no intention of fighting the Germans.”

  “Emma, my husband is a pilot in the Army Air Force. He is flying bombing missions over Europe. I assure you we have every intention to fight and win this war, both in Europe and against Japan.”

  Emma shook her head. “My people are not so sure,” she told Mary. “It is true that the Americans are flying bombing missions and causing damage to the Germans. Yet, the Germans still maintain control.” Emma looked down at her coffee. “The Germans marched into Paris and forced my family to surrender their lives. Mon pere was badly beaten and taken away to a horrible prison camp. Ma mere was caught trying to protect a Jewish family and was taken away in the middle of the night. I have not seen her since.” Emma kept her eyes low. “The Germans have taken everything from me and yet the Americans are sneaking their scientists into your country. I am here to find out why.”

  Mary stared into Emma’s hurt face. The young woman was so beautiful, so lovely, so elegant, yet she was scarred with anger and tormented by grief. “Emma, how long have you been in America?”

  “Not very long, no,” Emma confessed. She finally looked up at Mary. Tears were in her sweet blue eyes. “Farmer Griffith is a distant cousin to ma mere, yes. Ma mere began communicating with Farmer Griffith after mon pere was taken away. Ma mere was attempting to smuggle me out of France to American shores, but I refused.” Emma took a sip of her coffee. “I joined the French Underground and became part of the resistance. I was brave, yes.” Emma lowered her coffee. She looked at the back door. “I will not go into detail, but I was approached with a very important mission and asked to come to America. This was after my mother was taken. I wrote to Farmer Griffith and asked him could I come and visit him.”

  Mary listened with fascination and sadness. “Farmer Griffith didn’t know you were a spy?”

  Emma shook her head. “I’m afraid I was very deceitful toward him.” Emma sighed. “But he was a very smart man, no? His mind worked out the facts, yes.” Emma looked at the back door again. “Instead of chasing me away he began to help me. He gave me money to travel to Washington, hid me from people, fed me, helped me understand very difficult questions about the operations of your government. He was a wonderful man, yes.”

  “Yes, he was,” Mary agreed. She glanced at Mitch. The young boy was sitting in complete awe of Emma.

  “Mrs. Holland, I was not trained to be a spy. I spent much time firing bullets at German soldiers, pl
anting bombs, stealing supplies, hiding Jews, and teaching other women how to fight. I did not want to come to America but because ma mere had a contact, I was chosen. My duty now is to take what information I have managed to find and go back to France. But there is a great evil among us, Mrs. Holland. An evil that is wearing a disguise.”

  “Agent Green?” Mary asked.

  Emma nodded her head. “Agent Green is not a real FBI agent,” Emma explained. She took another sip of coffee. “Agent Green is a German intelligence officer working for the FBI. Of course, your government is not aware of this. Your government believes Eberhart Kruger is really Agent Vince Green.”

  “Wow,” Mitch exclaimed. “Two spies in one day. Golly, Chuck is going to turn green!”

  Mary slowly folded her arms. “How did you find this information out?” she asked Emma.

  “How is not important,” Emma told Mary. “I speak the truth and that is all you need to know.” Emma looked deep into Mary’s eyes. “Eberhart Kruger shot Farmer Griffith. I saw the murder take place with my own eyes, yes. I was hiding in the upstairs bedroom.”

  Mary grew silent. She glanced around the kitchen. “Emma, will you help me capture this evil person?”

  “You cannot capture a person like Eberhart,” Emma told Mary in a disappointed voice. “You can only kill him, yes. Eberhart was born in your country and is accepted as an American. He has implanted himself into a very powerful government body, yes? Justice for a person like Eberhart requires a bullet. Nothing else will work.” Emma steadied her mind. “I will destroy Eberhart Kruger, Mrs. Holland, and you will give me my papers.”

  Mary looked confused. “Why haven’t you tried to kill him yet?”

  Emma shook her head. “If I kill him without having my papers I will become trapped.”

  “Trapped?”

  “Yes, trapped,” Emma told Mary. “If you kill one rat, many more may show up, yes? I need to be able to kill a rat and jump ship.”

  “Oh,” Mary said. “You’re afraid if you kill Agent Green the FBI will swarm into Pineville like bees and you won’t be able to escape.”

  “Yes.” Emma nodded. “When I have my papers, I will kill the rat and then jump ship.”

  Mary folded her hands together. “Emma, I…” she began to say but stopped. She looked at Mitch. “Please, let me take Mitch back to his parents. I will come back and help you.”

  Emma studied Mitch’s face. “The boy is innocent,” she said. “We are not safe here. I was foolish to come back to this farm, but my mind could not think of another location. I do not think Eberhart Kruger will come here tonight, but he may visit this farm tomorrow.”

  Mary stood up. “Emma, you can stay at my home. I will take you there and then drive Mitch home. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

  “I can see kindness and bravery in your eyes, Mrs. Holland,” Emma told Mary. “You are not an evil person, and neither am I. I think, yes, that perhaps we can work together to destroy a great evil and then I will leave your country.” Emma stood up. “If I do not destroy Eberhart Kruger before I leave your country, he will continue to harm my people.”

  “How?” Mary asked.

  “Eberhart Kruger is one of many German intelligence agents hidden within your government. Your President is aware of them, yes, and allows them to operate. It is these German agents that are sneaking scientists into your country while sending harmful information to their fellow soldiers. This is why my people are afraid the Americans will not fight the Germans. We fear the attacks taking place now are…how do you say…for decoration only. Only time will tell the truth, yes.”

  Mary wasn’t sure how to respond. “Emma, we’re both very tired. Please, let’s leave this farm.”

  “Yes,” Emma agreed, “this farm has become a very sad place.” Emma looked at Mitch. “Little boy, it is time to leave.”

  Mitch stood up and walked to the back door. “Boy, what a night,” he said, pulling open the back door. “Chuck is going to turn green, yes sir, he sure is.”

  Mary walked outside with Mitch and waited for Emma. When Emma appeared, she pointed toward the far backfield. “My car is parked beside the river. We have a little walk ahead of us.”

  Emma pointed at her motorcycle. “I will drive my motorcycle back into town.”

  “People will hear you,” Mary said in a worried voice.

  Emma looked up at the shining stars, grew silent for a couple of moments, and then looked back at Mary. “Mrs. Holland, I park the motorcycle in a very quiet place and use my legs to carry me where I need to go. No one has seen me, and no one will. As you saw yourself, I can come and go unseen and unheard.” Emma pointed at Mitch. “The little boy is proof of my skill.”

  “Emma, please,” Mary pleaded, “leave the motorcycle here.” Mary wasn’t sure where Emma was parking her motorcycle. All she knew was the night was growing late and a loud motorcycle would surely be heard and seen. “It’s late, and in Pineville the sidewalks are rolled up.”

  Emma shook her head. “Mrs. Holland, tell me the address of your home and I will be waiting in your living room when you return from taking this little boy home.”

  Mary sighed. What was the point in arguing with a woman who was fighting against a dangerous army? She told Emma her address and then took Mitch’s hand. “Okay, Mitch, let’s you and me get to walking. But be careful of ant hills and holes.”

  Mitch raised his eyes and looked at Emma. “You sure are a neat lady,” he said in a respectful voice. “I’m sure sorry your folks were taken away from you. It’s real mean of those Germans to do such a thing. My daddy says Jesus wants us to love each other…and golly, I can’t see a thing in the world wrong with that. Sure, me and Chuck get after each other sometimes and come home looking like we were fighting with a lion, but we always make up and shake hands.” Mitch kicked at the ground. “It ain’t right for people to be mean to each other.”

  Emma bent down, touched Mitch’s face with her hand, and actually smiled. “May your heart, little boy, lead the tomorrows of this world,” she said and kissed Mitch on his cheek. “Now, go home to your family and please tell them I am sorry for causing so much worry on their hearts.”

  Mitch smiled. “I sure will.”

  Mary stared at Emma. “Make a pot of coffee, okay?”

  “Yes, coffee sounds nice,” Emma said. She climbed onto the motorcycle, brought it to life, and sped away.

  “Let’s go,” Mary told Mitch. She walked him to the backfield and managed to get back to her car in one piece. Later she pulled up in front of the Andersons’ home and parked. Dave Anderson was standing outside smoking a Lucky Strike. When he saw his son climb out of Mary’s car, he called for his wife, ran to Mitch, and picked the boy up into his arms.

  “Home at last,” Mary told Dave. “Now, take Mitch and leave town.”

  Marla came running out the front door. When she spotted Mitch, she burst into tears and ran to her son. “Mitch!”

  Mary eased back to her car and began to leave. Then she remembered Betty. “Oh, Betty, I seem to be forgetting about you a lot tonight.”

  Betty was inside on the couch sound asleep dreaming of walking down a back country road eating blackberries even though she didn’t care for blackberries anymore. Dreams sure were strange. Why, just last week Betty dreamed about riding a giraffe even though she had never seen a giraffe in her life. Why she dreamed of riding a giraffe sure was a mystery, but Betty figured a dream was a dream so why bother worrying. After all, she wasn’t likely to ever ride a giraffe in real life—life was confusing enough to worry about making silly dreams a reality.

  Good ol’ Betty.

  Chapter 8

  Mary drove Betty back to her house, hugged her goodnight, and then finally aimed her tired car toward her own house. A few minutes later, the headlights on the car splashed onto a blue and white Victorian house sitting at the end of a long street by itself. Large, lush, beautiful trees stood around the house like secret whispers holding strange paintbrushes. A dark
green yard filled with lovely flowerbeds stood around the house, tossing a sense of normality into an otherwise mysterious atmosphere.

  Mary loved her house, but she always found it a bit…out of the ordinary. The house once belonged to a woman named Maureen MacAbe, a writer and poet who came to America in the mid-nineteenth century. Maureen had lived a long life, dying at the age of ninety-four, carrying out a sixty-two-year marriage before her husband passed away at the age of eighty-seven. Maureen had only one son, who eventually moved to California and made the works of his mother famous. And it was the works of Maureen MacAbe that somewhat spooked Mary’s heart: They were…sad, depressing…dark…and filled with constant tragedy. Why John insisted on buying the house of a woman who obviously didn’t understand that sunshine was full of life was beyond her. The house had sat empty for many years, collecting dust and rumors, before her husband bought it shortly before they married. What could Mary do?

  “Be thankful.” Mary yawned and doused the headlights on her car and opened the driver’s side door. All the lights in the house were off except a single light casting a glow onto the backyard. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Mary walked around to the back of the house, enjoying a warm night breeze playing in the branches of the large trees, and stepped up onto the wonderful wraparound porch. She ran her hand over the old rocking chair John had built in his workshop and smiled. Memories of seeing her husband standing in his workshop situated in the far corner of the yard filled her heart. Mary saw a man whistling while he sawed this piece of wood, measured that piece of wood, sanded another piece of wood, and somehow made all the pieces fit into a perfect form of art.

  “John, come home,” she begged just as the back door opened. Emma appeared holding a cup. “Oh, you startled me.”