Upstairs were guest and owner lodgings. I was shown guest rooms that were outfitted with a single-sized bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a writing table with a single chair. There was no TV and no other distractions. There was also only a single lamp in the room and a men and women’s communal bathroom, each having two showers and two toilet stalls. Everything felt so comfortable and quaint. I just couldn’t get over the constant feeling of belonging and relaxation despite my never-ending workload.
The longer I stayed at the farm, the more changes I noticed in myself. I had gotten stronger, or perhaps I had become strong for the first time in my life. I could feel my arms becoming toned and my belly becoming firm and flat. My butt started to fill out Anna’s pants a bit better, too. My hair lightened even more than it was when I had initially arrived, the sun bleaching it more and more every day. Some days Anna would even spray some lemon juice in my hair to make sunny highlights.
I also felt myself change as a person, too. I became more patient.
My work was simple but tedious and sometimes frustrating, and patience was required to make sure I could get through my day. I was more reflective and quiet. I did much more listening than talking, which allowed me to see I was actually missing out on in a lot of my interactions. I enjoyed listening to my friends and felt I got more from each conversation than I would have before. That made my heart soar, but something seemed just out of my reach.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Was it my own property rather than living on the farm? Sure, that would be nice. It was my dream for later in life, but not yet. When explaining the feeling to Anna, my friend couldn’t help me. No suggestions seemed to hit the nail on the head. I often became frustrated if I lingered on the thought for too long, so I frequently pushed it to the back of my mind and attempted to focus on something else when it came up.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel that something was out there meant for me, and each day made me feel like it was closer than the last. I made plenty of friends at Rosemary Farm and eventually considered Mr. and Mrs. Frey like parents of my own despite my very short stay. I hadn’t even heard from my own family in about a month or so. Since I left, no one had bothered to contact me.
Did I care? Well, I tried not to, but I couldn’t help feeling abandoned despite being the one to leave. How little could my own family care about me that they would be all right with my disappearing into the night, stating that I would never return? Had Mom and Dad realized I was gone? They were always so busy with work that they rarely noticed the kids, even when we were young. I had known my nanny better than either of my parents. When my mother overheard me accidentally call the nanny “mommy” as a toddler, the nanny was blamed for an expensive piece of jewelry that went missing and was supposedly run out of town. William told me that story before he changed into who he was… Back then, he cared about others. Now he was as heartless as our parents.
So, if I wasn’t missing friends or family, what could it be? One evening after finishing my chores particularly early, I escaped to house 20. I sat under the lilac roof on the front porch in one of the little chairs. I watched everyone move around, bustling about to get chores done. I watched all the little birds clamoring for seeds and nibbles on the sidewalk. I watched bugs and bees, and butterflies scoot from one flower to another, filling my view with colors and my ears with pleasant sounds, but still, I couldn’t put my finger on the issue. Despite loving my place in life, my heart didn’t feel entirely full.
5
Andre
The sun was just coming up over the white and red farmhouse as my car roared up the gravel path toward the farm. A moment later, my Valkyrie, black as night without any shine to the paint, pulled into the parking lot of Rosemary Farm. I stopped sharply in a parking spot, the gravel crunching uncomfortably under its tires. For a moment, I sat in the driver’s seat without moving.
Is this really what I want to be doing?
I had dressed in some fashionable jeans and a white button-down with sandals. In the mirror on my downward-facing visor, I looked into my own eyes, even if they were covered by sunglasses. I felt silly.
Who paid to come to a farm to do work?
“Me,” I said to the reflection, and with that, I exited my vehicle.
I was greeted by a staff member who came out to help me with my bags. "Mornin'. Welcome to Rosemary. I'll get those bags for ya."
While the employee loaded my many suitcases and duffel bags onto the dolly, I took in the property a bit and approached the house. Admittedly it was charming, very similar to what it had looked like on the card and website. People were everywhere, everyone with a different bucket, shovel, or tool in their hand. I flinched as a bumblebee abruptly headbutted my arm and flailed to get it away from me, disgusted. Thankfully, the employee was ready with my things and took me to the room on the house's second floor.
Aghast. That was probably the only word I could use to describe the situation and my initial reaction.
“What is this?” I asked the worker who was stacking my mountain of stuff against the wall in the 14x10 bedroom.
“It’s your room, sir? Number 34 just as registered on your itinerary.” The boy handed me the slip of paper for the check-in. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s so small; that’s what’s wrong, no one told me I would be living in a closet!” I held my arms out to either side. “Where am I supposed to set up my computer for work? Where am I supposed to lounge?”
I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier, an unfortunate trait that had gotten me into trouble in the past.
“We pride ourselves on simplicity here. Your room should only be for resting and storing your things. Once you get settled, you will have your first meal with the group this evening, and then tomorrow, work starts. You won’t have much time to be in here once you get your schedule and into the nitty-gritty of it all. I promise you won't regret it!”
With that, the guy exited the room, closing the door after himself and leaving me to my thoughts, which I didn't like.
I tried to find a Wi-Fi signal on my phone. Maybe I could at least scroll some social media to take my mind off of things, but there wasn't even a signal for cell service, let alone Wi-Fi. I threw the phone onto the neatly made gingham bed in a huff of rage and rubbed my hands down my face.
“This was a mistake, and now I am stuck here for a month. Greg really led me in the wrong direction.”
After I spent an embarrassingly long time pouting in my room, staring at the ceiling like some kind of spoiled teenager being grounded for fabled wrongdoing, I finally left in an attempt to get some fresh air. Descending the elegantly detailed wooden staircase, I was greeted by the house's lady, Mrs. Frey, who was getting things ready for a knitting circle that afternoon. She introduced herself with a musical tone in her voice—no one in the city ever sounded that cheery.
“Welcome to the farm, sweetheart!” she announced, her cheeks round and rosy, and her face covered in delicate little lines. “Boy, aren't we lucky to have someone as strapping as you here to help keep things running! Dinner is at seven this evening; don’t be late, got it?”
She lowered an eyebrow and wagged a finger at me in a faux discipline before giving me a wave and heading into the sunroom. There was a group of women and a child or two waiting for her.