Texas Drive by Bill Dugan Page B

else?” He laughed, and it sounded like the joy of a man half his age. His whole body shook, and his face split into a broad grin. “You should try it sometime.”
    “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that, Jacob.”
    “My Ellie thinks you are.”
    “Maybe not anymore.”
    “Trouble? I don’t mean a spat, I mean real trouble?”
    Ted shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess so.”
    “You can work it out.”
    “I’m not so sure we can, Jacob. We’re so different. I don’t know if either one of us can change.”
    “Of course you can. Both of you can. It’s hard work, but nothing worth having comes easy.”
    “We’ll have to see.” He pointed at the seedlings. “What do you want me to do?”
    Jacob turned to look back toward the house. “You see those two buckets, by the well?”
    Ted nodded. “Yeah.”
    “You can water these plants. Not too much. I don’t want them to get used to too much water. But a little, just so the roots take hold.”
    Ted walked toward the house, stepping carefully across the rows of plants. At the well, he snatched the first bucket and hooked it on the well rope. Lowering it down, he listened for the splash as the oak hit the water, then waited a few seconds for it to fill before cranking it back up. He filled the second bucket and lugged them both back toward the garden.
    Water sloshed on his ankles and soaked his pants from the knees down. The pails were large and heavy, but after a half dozen trips, it began tofeel good. He settled into a rhythm. Each row took four pails, and Jacob already had nine planted before Ted even got started.
    Jacob’s work was harder and more time-consuming, and Ted offered to switch off, but the old man shook his head. “This is something you have to grow into, Theodore. Planting things and helping them grow takes patience. It’s not like anything you are used to.”
    “I could learn.”
    “I’m sure you could, but not today. Today, I want to get everything planted. Next spring, I can show you. Time won’t be so precious then. We can go slowly, and make sure it’s done right.”
    “If you change your mind, let me know.”
    “I will.”
    They finished the work without more conversation. Jacob hummed to himself, in a rich baritone that quavered as he hoed, rose and fell as he leaned over to plant. Ted watched Ellie as she moved past the garden. She skirted the far edge of the staked plot without speaking, then walked to the house.
    He wanted to say something, but decided to take a page from Jacob’s book. Patience, as alien to him as to all Cottons, hurt a little, but he bit his tongue and kept on working. When Ellie was gone inside, Jacob stopped for a minute to stretch his back. He groaned as he bent his shoulders back, his hands on his hips.
    “Not so young as I was, Theodore.”
    “You want to switch?”
    “Not so old as that.” He smiled, then got to his feet. “Time to water something besides the seedlings, eh?” He moved toward the well, with Ted right behind him. Both men were sweating, and Ted’s shoulders ached from the constant pull of the heavy pails. He was used to hard work, but he was using muscles he seldom bothered, and they resented it.
    At the well, Jacob lowered a pail, then tugged it back up without using the crank. He took a hammered metal dipper and scooped water into it, rinsed his mouth, and spat. “I guess you are used to dust, the same way I am.”
    Ted nodded.
    “It’s so much drier here than Ohio. I hadn’t expected that.”
    “This is hard country.”
    “I am a hard man, Theodore. I will win, you wait and see.”
    “I hope you do, Jacob. I sure as hell hope somebody around here wins something. And soon.”
    “No need for profanity, son.”
    Ted didn’t answer. He’d spotted something on the horizon, beyond the spring. He took a step toward it, shielding his eyes from the glare.
    Jacob noticed. “What is it?”
    “Not sure, Jacob. A rider, comin’ hard, but I can’t tell who it is.”
    He