The Runner

And, in case any of you wanted a bit of a sneak peek of the next The Farmer and his Wife book (The Farmer and his Wife’s Second Year on the Farm, scheduled to be released in May of 2022), may I humbly present to you, the Runner:

The Farmer’s Wife has taken up running, this very day. She’s purchased the shoes and the clothes. See her there as she stretches her arms and legs? That’s how she she’s getting ready.

Wow. She gets ready better than anyone I know. It’s been fifteen minutes and she’s still stretching. Wait a minute. Is she stalling? We better go ask her before she stretches her day away.

Oh. No. There she goes. Down the long drive and out onto the road. Right now she’s still walking. But I’m sure that’s only to start with. I’m sure she’ll start running anytime now.

Anytime now.

Oh, wait. There she goes. She’s…well, I guess that could be called running. Her legs are moving anyway—a little bit faster than they were when she was just walking.

And she’s stopped again. Back to walking. But. Wow. Look at her face—she’s as red as a Tessa! We must’ve missed the part when she exerted herself.

The Farmer’s Wife walks back down the long drive and goes into the house. The phone rings. She picks it up. “H..hello,” she answers, still a little out of breath.

“I hear you’ve been running,” comes the voice on the line. It’s the Farmer’s brother.

She looks this way and that to see how she’s been spotted. “Why, yes, I have,” she replies proudly.

“There is a race through the woods tonight—would you and the Farmer like to come?”

The Farmer’s Wife gulps. “…Sure…we’d love to.”

She slowly sets the phone back in its place.

And so, the Farmer and his Wife head out for the evening and instead of dinner, they’re going to the woods, to meet the Farmer’s brother for a race.

The Farmer’s Wife ties her new sneakers and adjusts her new just-for-racing shirt. The Farmer’s sneakers are well used and worn—running and him are very good friends.

There are many people out for the race, all of them lined up by the starting line, so that’s where the Farmer and his Wife go as well. The Farmer’s brother is up front, where all the people with well-worn sneakers are standing.

The Farmer takes his place by his brother.

“Um…” the Farmer’s Wife begins. “Maybe I should go start more towards the back.” With that she turns and stands at the back of the crowd where all the new sneakers are gathered.

The bell is rung. And all at once people begin running. But it takes a bit for the running to reach the Farmer’s Wife. Those standing to her right and to her left begin jogging in place. So, she does too.

Those in front of her begin moving in a forward motion, so the jogging in place changes to jogging with purpose.

And it stays that way for about a hundred feet.

Do you see her face? As red as a Tessa again.

Please God, she prays. Help me to finish. Help me, please. And please don’t let me be last! 

The woods begin, so it’s hard to keep an eye on both the Farmer and his Wife. Let’s leave her a bit and go check on the Farmer. Ah. There he is. Right up front.

He’s pretty fast. Almost done—not too bad—four miles in a little under thirty minutes.

He runs across the finish line, just a bit behind his brother. He grabs a water and stands by, waiting for his Wife.

He waits. And waits.

Person after person rounds the bend and crosses the line. But where is his Wife? Did she get lost in the woods?

The Farmer frowns. He heads back into the woods to look for her.

Now I’m getting a bit worried myself. We should go look for her, too.

Okay, past the bend…the orchard…Oh! There she is! Oh. My. Well, at least her shoes don’t look brand new anymore. The shirt, either.

The Farmer’s Wife is panting loudly. Her legs are moving, sort of. Her eyes are closed, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

That’s how the Farmer finds her.

“Melanie?” he calls, a long way off.

She stumbles forward, hearing her name.

He runs over to his Wife.

“I can’t. I can’t,” she mumbles.

“Yes, you can,” he answers, wrapping an arm around her. “I will go with you.”

And so, he does. He walks alongside his wife, past the orchard and along the bend.

“Now, when you see the finish line,” he instructs. “Run!”

She nods. She sees it. Her legs lift a bit. The Farmer’s do as well. She breathes in deep and runs, the Farmer right by her side the whole time, matching his pace to hers.

Do you see her? She did it! Everyone is so excited!

Look at them clap for her! Oh. Wait. Where is everyone?

The Farmer’s Wife hangs her head. “I was the very last one,” she moans.

“What makes you think that?” the Farmer asks, gently rubbing her shoulders.

“They’re packing up,” she explains and together they look at the few people who remain, the ones taking down all the equipment.

“Well…” the Farmer begins, but can’t think of anything to say, because, well, they are.

“But you did it,” he continues as he moves on to rubbing her arms. “You didn’t have to, but you did. You finished. You didn’t give up.”

She smiles. He’s right. She didn’t.