Bibliophile, Interrupted

Finally, the hay baling was all done. The Treadways were the last farm family to get their hay harvested. The Coverdales pitched in to help. Often, the farm families of Ranceville worked together to help each other out. Mary Alice (M.A.) and Quinn were the only two women helping with harvesting, while the others worked to get dinner ready for hungry workers. They usually ate outdoors because there were so many people to feed. Quinn took off her glasses, washed her face and hands at the faucet on the side yard and then walked to the picnic table where Aunt M.E. (Mary Elizabeth) and some other ladies had prepared dinner for the workers. It was a nice spread: fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, lima beans, cornbread, biscuits and a peach cobbler for dessert. Everyone had a plate of food and sat around the picnic table, eating and talking.

After Quinn finished eating, she got up, disposed of her plate and walked over the freshly baled hay fields over to her favorite tree. She pulled the Kindle out of the back pocket of her overalls, sat underneath the tree and began to read. Soon, she was engrossed in the story; so engrossed that she didn't see him walk up. He looked at her. She wore a pink tank top under her overalls and brown hiking styled boots. Her long brown hair was parted in the middle and braided in French pigtails. He tried to think of something cool or profound to say, yet all he could come up with was. . .

"Hey."

"Hey." She looked up from her reading to see Dallas McEwen looking at her. He was sweaty, wearing a John Deere baseball cap turned backwards, a what used to be white v neck t-shirt and worn rodeo Wranglers. His build was wiry, yet muscular. He sat down next to her, holding a half full bottle of Coke. She wanted to resume reading, but, she figured if she showed him some attention he'd probably go away sooner.

"Whatcha readin'?"

"Jane Eyre," she replied, without looking at him.

"One of the Bronte sisters."

She was impressed that he was familiar with the Bronte sisters; he even pronounced it correctly. She looked at him and smiled, "Yes, Charlotte."

"I read or I should say, tried to read Wuthering Heights."

"That is a hard one to get into." For what seemed the first time, she saw Dallas's face up close. His skin was rather tan, but, he had a light dusting of freckles across his nose, his eyes were hazel, kind of an interesting mix of brown, green and gold. He had a bit of a five o'clock shadow, a nice smile with deep dimples. With his chocolate colored curls, he bore a more than a passing resemblance to Orlando Bloom.

"It just doesn't make sense. If Catherine loved Heathcliff as much as she said she did, why did she marry Edgar?"

"Edgar was richer."

"True. But what about love?"

"As Tina Turner would say, what's love got to do with it?"

"So, you're saying in a battle of love over money, money wins out?"

"In the case of Catherine Earnshaw, yes; she was a rich girl who wanted to maintain the status quo. If she married Heathcliff, she would lose her status. No matter how much she loved him, she loved that more."

"That's typical trifling female bullshit; if you'll pardon my French."

She chuckled at his assessment. "Agreed. I think if you marry, you should definitely love the person you're marrying. Sad part is Catherine and Heathcliff went to their graves in love with each other. Thankfully, marriages of convenience aren't necessary these days."

"Well, some would argue that marriage itself isn't necessary."

"These are the times we live in." She shrugged.

"Hey, Dallas, c'mon!" Tristan Coverdale called out.

"I'd better go. We should talk more often."

"Yeah, we should."

He got up to walk off, paused, then, looked back. "Are you going to the Harvest Festival?"

"I'll be there."

"Maybe . . .you'll save me a dance?"

"Maybe." She looked at him and smiled.

"Cool," he replied and smiled back.