Known by Its Fruit
by James Hanna
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
And so there grew great tracks of wilderness,
Wherein the beast was ever more and more,
But man was less and less...
— Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Molly Groot tipped the cab driver, dabbed on some lipstick and, taking a firm grip on her Samsonite boarding bag, waddled towards the Hoosier Park Casino. As she approached the casino, she saw her cab reflected in the glass doorway. It hadn’t moved. Had she tipped the driver enough? Five dollars seemed plenty.
Or had she made a mistake in mentioning the name of Jeb Judson, the man who had answered her online matrimonial ad? The man who had bought her plane ticket from Iowa to this modest community of Anderson, Indiana. The man she soon might marry. He had told her to meet him in the casino, where he liked to place bets on the horses. He had promised to be there by noon.
Molly did not know that much about Jeb, only that he was a Yale graduate, ruggedly handsome, and had once been a member of Skull and Bones, a very elite fraternity. He also had a PhD in organic chemistry and grew experimental crops for the government on his farm outside of Anderson. But at the mention of his name, the cab driver, a mealy-mouthed little man, had turned into a positive brute. “Jeb Judson,” he had sneered. “We don’t mention that person in these parts, ma’am. Nobody does.”
Surely, that cab driver was nothing but a crank. Jeb Judson seemed the perfect gentleman, having courted her for three months by e-mail before sending her the plane ticket. And he was better-looking than Clint Eastwood, if his photo could be believed. But it was the last of his e-mails that had made her swoon: he had promised her a fancy luncheon on his homestead veranda and then a tour of his twenty-thousand acre farm. And, should they tie the matrimonial knot, a life befitting a manor queen.
And what a wicked sense of humor he had. Yesterday, she had asked him the title of his favorite book, a question she posed to all her online acquaintances. His answer, Frankenstein, had made her laugh out loud. But there was nothing droll about their rendezvous: he was clearly a very lonely man, tiring of bachelorhood and wanting a wife. And he was interested in her, Molly Groot, an overweight librarian pushing forty, a spinster with nothing to fuel her passion but picketing her local Walmart. It was truly ironic that they were meeting in a casino. With a roll of the proverbial dice, her future could well be decided for the better.
Molly paused at the casino door. Looking over her shoulder, she heaved a sigh of relief. The cab had vanished. She was no longer being watched by that ill-tempered man.
What a depressed little town she had come to. On the cab ride from the airport, she had seen weedy sidewalks, barren storefronts, and gangs of hoodlums lurking on almost every corner. But the saddest sight of all was the abandoned General Motors plant and the boarded-up headquarters of the United Auto Workers. The town seemed to exist as a relic, a ghost to better times.
But wasn’t she a bit of a wreck herself? Her push-up bra and wobbly pumps made her feel like a truck driver in drag. Thank God for Jeb Judson. He would carry her off like a bandit on a steed and bring out the real woman in her. A woman she was frantic to release.
Molly looked at her wristwatch and felt her face flush. Her heart began hammering like a rent collector at the door. It was fifteen minutes to noon.
* * *
Entering the casino, Molly suppressed a gasp. The glitter of wall-to-wall slot machines was truly a symphony of color and light, an utter contrast to the decaying town. And yet the casino was no less depressing: the hypnotic stares with which patrons watched the tumblers, as though the single pull of a lever might rescue them from food stamps and unemployment checks, hit a little too close to home. Holding her breath, Molly stood near the doorway and watched nervously for Jeb.
He strode through the door at 12:00 o’clock sharp. And her heart nearly stopped when she saw him. He looked exactly like his picture: a lean, handsome man in his sixties with a shock of silver-white hair, and his tight squint looked positively presidential.
How easy was his stride as he ambled towards her, how snug the fit of his Wrangler jeans. His sun-browned face and sharp, blue eyes, his aura of rugged individualism, all suggested a marshal in a spaghetti western. And the political button on his shirt, “Keep our troops in Afghanistan,” only added to his gunfighter image. There were so many horrible bombings these days. Whatever was the world coming to?
He spotted her immediately. “Molly,” he drawled, “Molly Groot.” When his hand squeezed her fingers, she felt her knees tremble. His palm was warm, dry, and surprisingly smooth for a farmer. His smile was broad but measured, as though he had been saving it only for her. As he patted her hand, she felt a stab of long dormant sexuality.
“J-Jeb,” she stammered, “how funny you were. Of all books, Frankenstein.”
His laugh was deep but controlled, as though it were something he had borrowed. He did not strike her as a man who laughed often, and yet he was laughing for her. “You came anyhow, darlin’,” he murmured. “I must have done something right.”
“Against my better judgment,” she teased. “Really, Jeb. Frankenstein?! That book is positively baroque.”
He swallowed then looked at his boots. “I shouldn’t have tried to impress a librarian. Not with the trash I read.”
She folded her arms as though cross with him. But she was trying hard not to smile; how long had it been since she had flirted with a man? “Well, you have impressed me, Jeb Judson,” she chirped. “But not with your choice of books. And not” — she looked critically around the casino — “with your choice of pastimes.”
He chuckled deeply and gazed across the room. On a giant television screen above the bar, a cluster of harness racers were jockeying for position along the backside of a track. “Suppose I let you reform me,” he said. “Suppose I don’t bet on the nags today?” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and smirked. “There’s nothing but losers in this place, anyhow.”
She looked at him coyly then laughed. “I’m not sure I want you reformed, Jeb Judson.”
He arched his eyebrows. “You sure of that? Give a woman long enough, she’s bound to find fault with a man.”
“Oh really?” she teased. “It seems the whole town has found fault with you, Jeb. Just what are you up to on that farm of yours?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Let’s just say it’s a big hustle. Let’s just say it’ll make me a rich man.”
“And me a manor queen,” she joked. “Or will you make me Frankenstein’s bride instead?”
Was he blushing beneath that deep tan? she wondered. How easy it was to flirt with him. And how delicious that they now had their own private joke. But why were his eyes avoiding hers? And why did his smile seem so out of place? He must not be used to courtship, she thought. He must want me to put him at ease.
She rolled her eyes coquettishly and planted her hands on her hips. “Just why are you stalling, Jeb Judson?” she asked. “Didn’t you invite me to lunch?”
He smiled and held out an elbow. “A lunch befitting a queen,” he drawled. “Let’s take a little drive, honey. Whaddya say?”
She hooked her hand on the crook of his arm. “I’d say you’re a mighty big talker, Jeb. But I am rather famished, it’s been a long trip. I hope you’ve prepared a big meal.”
* * *
An hour later, she was sitting on the veranda of a rustic Italian-style farmhouse. Looking out on Jeb’s estate, Molly felt deeply content. But her surroundings did not seem to merit her mood. Just how lonely was she to be moved by a place like this?
The estate, if one could call it that, consisted of half a dozen enormous silver barns, the kind that existed on factory farms where swine were force-fed in tight crowded pens, never to see the light of day. Close to the barns were several massive waste lagoons, gulches so discolored and septic that they looked like huge open wounds. And what was that smell that tugged at her lungs like an infant demanding attention? It smelled like a ripe diaper.
But at least they were sitting upwind from the scent. And the lunch, a thick stew that tasted like veal, was positively delicious. She was starting to feel tipsy from her third glass of wine and Jeb, dear dear Jeb, was gazing at her with his clear blue eyes, eyes the color of robin eggs. What a magnificent hunk he was. And didn’t he say he was going to be rich? But how?
“Jeb,” she whispered, her voice thick with wine, “what is going on out here?”
Slowly, as though performing surgery, Jeb topped off her glass. “If I told you,” he joked, “I could never let you leave. But that might be best for us both.”
A man with a mystery, Molly thought. What more could a woman ask for? She took a deep sip of wine. “Jeb, you’re such a tease,” she said. “I feel like a heroine in a Charlotte Brontë novel.”
Jeb shrugged and burped. “I don’t read that women’s stuff much,” he said. “Brave New World, that’s more to my liking. And 1984.”
“Oh really?” she scoffed. “Such political tastes. No wonder you’re working for the government.”
He frowned and topped off his own glass of wine. “A lot of folks work for the government, darlin’. Gardeners, chemists, animal trainers. Some of ’em work right here.” He gestured towards the barns, where a handful of Mexican laborers were ambling around, toting shovels and hoes. To Molly, they looked as charming as Snow White’s seven dwarves.
“Let me guess,” Molly teased. “You’re growing an army of mutants. You’ll use them to take over the country next year. Is that what you’re up to, Jeb Judson?”
“No, darlin’,” Jeb murmured, his voice rich with mirth. “Next month.”
Is he serious? Molly wondered, a thought she could not totally dismiss. She remembered the words of the cab driver: “We don’t mention that person in these parts, ma’am,” and a tremor invaded her spine. Had she come to the home of an eccentric? Had she thrown too much caution to the wind? Was the Internet really the best of places to seek the love of her life? But what did she have waiting for her back in Iowa? A studio apartment, a couple of cats, and a job that barely paid her rent. And how she ached for the touch of a man; her nipples were as hard as bullets.
As she looked at Jeb’s strong handsome face, a warmth crept into her heart. He needs me to nurture him, she thought. He needs me to take his hand.
But what was that curious sound she now heard? It was coming from one of the barns, a series of shrieks that sounded like a woman making love.
“J-Jeb,” she stammered. “what’s happening in there? Is somebody butchering a pig for our dinner?”
Jeb answered her firmly. “We don’t kill creatures here,” he said. “Not if we can help it. We think of them like family.”
Creatures? Family? Her foolish panic awoke once again. Was he cloning animals? Was he tinkering about with genetics? Was he working with a hunchback named Igor who dug up graves at night? She put down her wine glass and drew a deep breath. What nonsense I’m thinking. What crazy thoughts. Thank God I can blame them on the wine.
Jeb smiled at her and her palms began to sweat. His eyes were so clear, so wise and embracing. How boorish of her to have doubted him.
“Darlin’,” he said, “you came out here for a reason. Let’s not lose sight of that.”
“What reason might that be, Jeb Judson?”
“I’m guessing you came for an adventure, maybe the first adventure of your life.”
“Do I really seem so desperate?” she snapped. She pretended to frown, but the effort was useless. Her eyes were now glittery with tears.
Jeb looked at her reassuringly then cupped her chin with his fingers and thumb. “Yes, darlin’, you do,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why do you think I sent for you? Desperate women don’t judge their men.”
“Oh, really?” she said. She turned her head away from him. “With you one might make an exception, Jeb Judson. Did you bring me all this way because you thought I might be desperate?”
“Times are tough, folks are upset. A man needs to take comfort where he can find it.”
“Even from desperate librarians?” she muttered. “You must have a rather dark side to you, Jeb, if frumps are the best you can do.”
He shook his head sadly and patted her cheek. “Do I scare you that much, honey?”
“You scare me a little bit, Jeb. But you intrigue me even more.” She placed the palm of her hand on his wrist. “And I have been alone such a very long time.”
Jeb laughed and rose slowly from his chair. “Come on then,” he said. “It’s time you met the family.”
* * *
Copyright © 2024 by James Hanna
