Even as a child her tiny hands had picked and shucked these precious ears of corn; also garnering many precious memories in the company of the two dear friends who—as an added bonus—had brought her into the world. Mighty nice of them, she thought.
“I do believe, dear daughter, that you may have set some sort of record this morning for most ears of corn consecutively shucked,” her mother, a petite brunette with wide brown eyes, graced a grinning Abigail with a playful nudge as she added, “Congratulations!”
Standing upright at the center of the field, the tall, sturdy Abigail straightened her straw hat atop her dark haired head as she considered this curious praise.
“Well I must say it, Mother,” she said finally, “If that is the most exalted accomplishment that I can achieve throughout the course of my young life, then—well—that makes me feel pretty darned sad and pathetic, to be truthful. Thanks for that, Mum.”
Chuckling as they exchanged looks that reflected their keen amusement, Ray and Sandra turned as one to fix their 21-year-old daughter with a warm, affectionate smile.
“Make no mistake, Daughter. You accomplish every bit as much as we do on this ranch—more so, on some days,” Ray Tompkins assured her, adding as he reached forward to grace her sturdy shoulder with a loving pat, “And especially since both of your younger sisters abandoned us this year to marry their ever adoring beaux, we can’t tell you how much we appreciate you staying on with us—helping us build the Diamond T into something special.”
Abigail nodded.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she acknowledged his compliment, adding as she made a broad gesture across the heather strewn fields around them, “The Diamond T is my home—not to mention my business. I’d far rather shuck corn than birth babies or clean up after some man, any day of the week.” She paused here, adding as she thrust a sturdy finger square at the center of her own denim clad chest, “This is my job, and I do it well. And I never have even the slightest desire to be anywhere else.”
Ray nodded.
“Well your Ma and I can’t be any prouder,” he affirmed, adding as he graced his daughter with a warm, loving smile, “As you well know, Girl, your grandparents were the settlers who claimed this land. And now that they’ve passed, your ma and I have every intention of doing them proud. But we can’t do it without our dear lady farmer.”
Striking a deep bow in response to his words, Abigail tipped her straw hat in her parents’ direction before stepping sidewalks down their row of planted corn; soon leaning forward to continue her work as she whistled absently to herself. It would only be an hour or two; she mused, until she and her folks would retire to their ranch house to enjoy a hearty noon meal made from home grown—and handpicked--ingredients.
“And before we come back to the fields, I do believe I’ll encourage Pa to take a good long nap,” she thought, adding with a slight frown, “He has been looking a bit weary as of late. He perhaps needs to take a bit of rest—that is, if Ma and I can hog tie him into staying out of the fields for five darned minutes.”
The joyful peace of a quiet Texas morning was shattered seconds later, as she heard a harsh, ragged cry rent the air around her; drawing her gaze toward the source of the sound.
She gasped outright as she saw her father’s wiry body collapse outright on the ground beneath him; clutching his heart as he let loose with a single pained moan and his eyes snapped shut.
Kneeling immediately beside her husband, a distraught Sandra grabbed her husband’s hands and screamed, “Ray!”
Running to join her parents at the center of the field, a stone-faced Abigail struggled to stay composed as she too knelt beside the motionless body of the man who lay still and silent between his own corn rows.
“Pa,” she breathed, shaking her head from side to side as she leaned forward to put her ear to his chest.
Her eyes flew wide as she heard no sign of a heart beat; and as she saw an aura of eerie stillness overtake her father’s body. His eyes remained closed, his lips relaxed, his tanned, robust face drained of all color, and his chest felt as hard and hollow as a jagged edge rock in the Texas desert.
“Pa,” she repeated, this time with a rough sob as she wrapped her arms tight around his limp shoulders. “No!”
Sandra said nothing, only wrapped her husband and her daughter in two loving arms as—true to her nature—she tried to love the hurt away.
“This time, though,” she said aloud, adding as she strove to wipe the tears that flew free down her daughter’s face, “I simply can’t do it.”