Green Thumb

by James C. G. Shirk

part 4 of 5

The screen door slammed open, cracking against the edge of the kitchen counter. “Someone’s out by the garden, looking for you.”

Molly turned away from the sink, where she was peeling a fat potato, and glanced at her fifteen-year old daughter, leaning against the screen door. It was like looking in a mirror — the willowy, blonde-haired teenager even had her mother’s dark-blue eyes. Molly returned to her peeling and asked quietly, “Another agricultural agent or someone needing food?”

“Don’t know, but he said he knew you from college. Name is something like Lemon or Leonard; I didn’t quite catch it.”

Molly leaned forward and looked through the bay window over the sink toward the garden. A man with a large, shaggy head of red hair and thick body stood looking across the rows of vegetables. “Professor Lewis. I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, dropping her knife into the sink.

She ran through the open doorway and rushed across the yard. He turned just in time to welcome her with a huge smile and ferocious hug. “Molly, how good to see you. I was in the neighborhood and thought it was time I stopped in for a visit. How have you been?”

Molly hesitated for a brief second. While the professor’s question was innocent enough in nature, the truth was that, over the last several years, Molly had become increasingly concerned about herself. She was sleeping less and working more than ever around the house and in the fields — sometimes until late in the evening.

Her late mother’s frenetic activities frequently crossed her mind, and she worried if sometime in the future she might succumb to an equally bad end. Of course, for now, she had to keep it together... for Samantha’s sake.

Molly finally answered. “Fine, just fine. My God, professor, it’s been too long.”

“Molly, would you please stop calling me ‘professor’,” he said, pulling back from her and looking into her eyes. “I told you years ago to call me Aaron.”

“Oops, sorry. Forgot. It’s been a while — Aaron.” She put her arm through his and motioned toward the house. “Can you stay for supper? I’m just fixing up a new batch of potato soup. It was always one of your favorites.”

“Sure, I’d love to. I’ve got an evening meeting over at the university, but it doesn’t start until sevenish.” He glanced at the garden, “I admired your fields on the way in; the corn looks wonderful, and then, I spotted the garden. I see you still have the knack for growing things.”

“Yeah, the food comes in handy, especially since--.” Her voice caught for a second. “Jori died a couple of years back... it’s been tough keeping the farm going without him.”

“I heard about your husband,” he said softly. “It’s one of the reasons I stopped by, but let’s discuss that over a bowl of your to-die-for soup.”

Smiling, they strode across the lawn, the lush grass imprinting beneath their feet as they walked. When they reached the concrete walkway leading up to the house, Molly spotted Samantha watching them from the steps outside the back door.

“Who’s this?” Sam said with a hint of concern in her voice.

“This is Professor Lewis,” Molly answered, stopping. “He’s an old, old friend of mine from my college days. I told you about him before, but you probably forgot.” She grinned and then added, “He’s going to stay for supper.”

“Oh, okay,” Samantha replied lightly. “I thought maybe he was one of those government guys.”

“Government guys?” Professor Lewis asked.

Molly shrugged her shoulders. “As if things aren’t tough enough, every now and then, one of them stops by asking to pull samples from the field or garden. They say they’re from the University Agriculture Department, but I don’t think so. They act like the government... if you know what I mean.”

He smiled. “I do, and to be frank, I’ve seen their reports.”

“What?”

He looked into her eyes, his own reflecting an unspoken concern. “I wasn’t going to discuss this with you until later, but--.” He glanced around furtively, “Can we go someplace more private to talk?”

She grabbed his hand and led him to a wooden picnic table, sitting beneath a huge elm tree in the side yard, out of sight of the main road. They sat down on the creaking boards, and she looked at him expectantly, “Well?”

The professor wiped his hand across his thick lips. “Let me start by saying: when I left the university to work for the government, it was for an assignment with a multi-national scientific task force, operating under a NATO charter.” He raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you were aware of that.”

Molly tilted her head. “I wasn’t.”

“Our assignment was to monitor the rising incidence of worldwide crop losses and determine appropriate responses. After a decade of research, we believed the best answer lay in the use of newly developed, genetically-enhanced seeds, capable of compensating for soil nutrient deficiencies and on-going climate changes. The precursors to these varieties were the same ones you evaluated when we were together at the university.”

“I remember.”

“Thing is, that while many showed promise when you worked with them, the field results didn’t turn out the same. Instead, the number of crop failures actually increased.” He grabbed her hand, “Molly, the world is teetering on the brink of a food calamity of mega-proportions.”

She nodded and looked away.

“You don’t act surprised,” the professor said.

Molly wasn’t much for discussing her problems with others. But, in this case, she felt different; after all, it was Aaron she was talking to. “I’m not surprised. I’ve seen it myself. When I said things here have been difficult, I wasn’t just talking about running a farm and being a single mother.”

“Talk to me.”

She sighed. Why not? “It’s just that when hard times hit, you’d like to think that everyone would pull together and help each other out. I mean, I’ve sent many a person home with a trunk full of produce out of our garden, and you’d think at least once in a while that would be appreciated.”

“I’m not following you.”

“It’s like this. My farm is smaller than most around here, by a lot in some cases, but my yields are good — real good. Over the last couple of years, there’s been resentment building from other farmers in the area who aren’t doing so well, and I guess... well, I guess it hurts my feelings.”

Aaron shook his big head. “Molly, some people are just the jealous type; you can’t be bothered with them.”

“It’s not just that. Even when I’m in town, I’m getting ‘looks’ from people. It’s like they are... I don’t know.”

In truth, Molly did know; she just never said it out loud, couldn’t say it out loud — even to the professor. What she saw in people’s eyes was anger; people were angry that she could do what they couldn’t. Everyone else in the county was struggling to bring in even a marginal crop, while hers were record-setting year after year. It wasn’t her fault though; she was just trying to make a living. She wasn’t using her power to get an advantage; she wasn’t trying to show anyone up or make them angry at her.

But, they were, and she felt it.

The professor knew it too. “They’re angry, right?”

“Y... Yes. How did you know?”

“Molly, the reason I’m here is, because I’m concerned about you and Samantha. You’re... in danger.”

“Danger? What on earth are you talking about?’

The professor nodded at her garden. “That anger you’re talking about is really about fear. Some people fear what they don’t understand, especially when it’s thrown in their face.”

Molly looked toward the road, winding past her neighbor’s failing farm. She knew that her fields must appear like a cornucopia of excess to anyone passing by. “You think someone might harm us just because they’re afraid of... of what I can do?”

He pulled his thick frame from the spruce seat. Mulling over his thoughts, he stared once again at the bountiful garden before turning to her. “It’s not jealous people that need concern you. It’s the men in powerful positions that you should be concerned about.”

“Those in power? Who?”

“Molly, you have a gift — not one that can be qualified or explained but a gift nonetheless. Your ability to grow things where others can’t is a mystery. Ever since your time at the university, your methods have been documented, segmented, dissected, replicated, pondered, debated, and discussed by agricultural scientists and others more than you can possibly imagine, and they all come up with the same answer: nothing.”

“Fine. I understand they can’t figure it out, but why is that dangerous for me?”

“Two reasons: First, some of these people have a substantial financial interest in companies producing genetically-modified seeds. They’re making fortunes from even marginally better outputs for their newest offerings. If someone figured out how you do it, without the use of their product, their empires would crash overnight.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly said, unconvinced.

“Second, the government considers the burgeoning food problem as serious as an attack by a foreign country; however, they’ve exhausted all their scientific research avenues. They’re at a dead end, but believe me, they know about you, Molly... and they know what you can do.”

That got Molly’s attention. Every second-rate ‘B’ movie, dealing with governmental intrigue, flashed through her mind. “So, I’m a threat to one of them and a hope to the other, and you think that someone might come after me for either reason. Great!”

This turn of events stumped her. She’d consciously guarded against using her gift to grow things, taking great pains to learn what she needed in order to produce results, and her reward for that? Her neighbors hated her, evidently powerful companies thought she was competition, and now the government was watching her.

“They’re about to declare you as someone of national security importance,” Aaron said, his eyes more serious than she’d ever seen.

“Meaning... what?”

“Molly, with or without your permission, they’re going to ship you off to a lab somewhere to find out what there is about you that produces the results you get. Believe me; you don’t want that to happen.”

“Oh, my God! They can’t do that, can they? Not without my permission, I have rights.” Molly felt a panic writhing deep in her chest — something she hadn’t felt since Jori died.

“They can do exactly that under NEPA, the National Ecological Powers Act. You won’t have a say in it.”

She focused on the kitchen window, watching her daughter peel potatoes inside. “But, what about, Sam? How would I take care of her?”

The professor grabbed her shoulders. “You wouldn’t, that’s part of the issue. They’d show up at your door, someday, and you’d be sent away. Sam would likely end up in a foster home. Chances are you’d never see her again; people are getting desperate.”

She slumped down on the picnic bench and cradled her head in her hands. “Oh Aaron, what am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry, kiddo, that’s why I’m here. I’ll help you.”

* * *

It turned out that the idyllic existence Molly had hoped for after she married Jori was all too short, but in her wildest dreams, she could never imagine where life eventually took her: Professor Lewis’s great-grandmother’s cabin in rural southern Georgia.

The professor arranged for a friend of his to drive them, with what baggage they could carry, that very next night. They left the house in Minnesota as it was, and when federal agents showed up two days later, they were gone without a trace.

Rural Georgia was perfect for them; the few people living in a nearby town were not too inquisitive about where the mother and girl came from; they were just glad to have new folks in the area when so many had left for better vistas. Officially, they presented themselves as cousins of the Lewis family and settled in.

Periodic missives from the professor (who kept his distance) told her when the government eventually stopped looking for her, and the seed companies were just glad she disappeared.

And so the years passed....

Molly grew older, and Sam blossomed into a lovely young lady with a husband and child of her own. The black cloud hanging over Molly’s family life didn’t exactly leave them alone, but in general, life there was good for them — until the fateful day when Molly felt the frantic stirrings deep inside her were beyond her ability to control any longer, and she went to see a doctor. She assumed he would prescribe Prozac or some other anxiety-relieving medication, but he didn’t... he couldn’t... it wouldn’t do any good.

* * *

Proceed to part 5...