Authors: Susan Juby

Republic of Dirt (33 page)

BOOK: Republic of Dirt

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Prudence

S
ara moved back to the farm a few days before Christmas Eve, and we decided to celebrate the occasion by renaming Lucky, even though I’m starting to think his name is actually perfect. We were also having an open house to celebrate Sara’s return and our first Christmas all together.

Seth said that whoever came up with the winning name wouldn’t have to taste the beans and kale dish I was preparing.

Earl said he didn’t give a goddamn what the mule was named, so long as it didn’t try to bite him anymore.

Sara organized the naming session, handing out small slips of paper for people to write their suggestions on. She tried to get T to read out the suggestions, but he shook his head shyly. I liked the way he let Esme, his foster mom, put her arm around him.

“Okay,” said Sara, happily. “I can read them.”

How I have missed that girl.

“According to the papers Werner gave me,” I said from where I
stood at the kitchen sink, trying to chip burned beans off the bottom of the pot, “his full name is Lucky Ginger Sprite SSH.”

“What does SSH stand for?” asked Sara.

“Stubborn Shit Head?” asked Portia, who brings her cynicism to open houses as well as writing groups.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Sara began to read the suggestions.

“Kicker,” she said. “That’s Earl’s.”

Everyone clapped.

“Guacamule,” she read. “That’s Brady’s.”

More clapping and I felt a strong relief that Brady was able to write at least one thing that wasn’t erotica-related.

The names kept coming.

Elrod, Zebediah, Pox.

Sara’s father, displaying a surprising bit of whimsy, suggested Pepperpot. Everyone agreed it was a strong contender.

The names kept coming.

Chuck, Jimmie Rodgers.

Eustace suggested Haywire.

I grinned at him. The night before, we had had another good talk about boundaries. That is turning into one of our favorite topics. We have agreed that if one of us is sick or otherwise indisposed, we will accept more help from the other, and that we cannot allow things to fall apart due to pride. Other than that, we will respect each other’s decisions. That usually lasts about two days and then Eustace tries to tell me how to do things. Then he apologizes and I enjoy his apologies. We really are a good match. But back to the mule renaming session.

Sara’s mother suggested Tecumseh Sherman and we all stared.

“He was the general who gave each freed slave forty acres and a
mule,” she said. The award for continuing to be the most surprising person in Cedar goes to Sara’s mother.

Jeb and Stirpot, Blind Crake and Catbrain were all put forth.

Spot and Splat, suggested Pete the social worker, who had stopped by to check in.

Neddy and Nod. The last was via text from Tamara, Seth’s editor, who apparently has a drug history and who is back in Montreal but hopes to visit again soon. I think she must have slept with Seth, because he is glowing brighter than any of our holiday displays.

My suggestion was Buckley.

Seth’s was Secretariass. Everyone loved that.

Then Sara read her own: Stan of Green Stables.

We had a winner.

“We can call him Lucky Stan at first,” said Sara, beaming at her success. “So he doesn’t get confused.”

Her father patted her on the back, awkwardly but with obvious pride, and her mom squeezed her hand. The fact that the two of them were able to sit so close together, with only Sara between them, was a testament to the powerful healing powers of Woefield Farm.

We put the Christmas lights on at six-thirty, after first making sure the generator was full, and people started to arrive as they had in increasing numbers each night since the dinner party. We really had become a local attraction. Earl went out to meet some music students and his brother, and soon the sounds of bluegrass music floated across the field. The sound engineer from Merle’s label was there with his recording equipment. Every part of the farm sparkled and twinkled erratically.

“We still don’t really know how to operate him,” I said to Dean Spratt as he pulled on his boots. “Stan, I mean.”

“I’ll be back in April. Just keep catching him and brushing him. Stay away from the road and I’ll teach you how to work with him when I get back. You got yourself a real nice mule there.”

I nodded. We did.

Mrs. Spratt was on her way home to finish packing.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” she asked, looking toward the field where Sara was pointing out things about her chicken coop to T and his foster family.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“I have been a terrible parent the last while. It’s the writing. It just took over everything. My behavior is a little hard to look at.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? She
had
been a lousy parent. Mr. Spratt had been a terrible father. There was nothing to do about it now except move forward. I wasn’t very proud of my actions while I was sick, either.

“She knows you love her,” I said.

Mrs. Spratt gestured over to the living room where the Mighty Pens were sitting and laughing over something. “Do you know why my book is so good?” she asked.

I shook my head. It was a complete mystery to me.

“Me neither. It started as a journal. I’ve always kept a diary. But then one night, the real estate agent was showing the house late, so I took us to a campsite. I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake Sara. I went into the picnic shelter and started writing. Something about writing in that dark hut cracked me wide open. The story just came pouring out. I felt like I had a fever. I made us stay in that campground for nights on end. Sara caught a cold because we were sleeping in the car. Well, she was. I was in the hut. Writing in my journal. And every evening, I’d make her spend hours in the library while I typed up the manuscript.”

“I know,” I said.

She blinked. “You do?”

“Sara told Earl. She was scared when you left her. So Earl and Seth took turns sitting with her. While you were away.”

Mrs. Spratt’s eyes filled. “Oh my god,” she said. “That makes me feel awful.”

I didn’t reply. I’d thought about not telling her, but maybe Mrs. Spratt needed to feel awful, at least for a while.

At least she didn’t get defensive or try to justify her behavior. Instead, we agreed that she’d be in touch when she was settled in New York and I’d make sure Sara had her passport ready when it was time for her to visit. I thought the visit probably wouldn’t happen, but we’d cross that bridge later. I’d given Mrs. Spratt the names and numbers of my friends in the city. I wondered what they’d make of her.

I was left standing on the porch, watching people walk around the property in little groups. Laughing. Listening to music. Behind me, in the house, the writers wrote, badly. Mr. Spratt drove the mule, competently. Eustace came up behind me and I leaned against him. Around us, people made their own entertainment as we waited for the growing season to start.

Acknowledgments

T
hank you to Bill Juby and Andrew Gray and Susin Nielsen and Stephanie Dubinsky for being terrific test readers and advisors; my marvelous editor, Iris Tupholme, Noelle Zitzer, Stacey Cameron, Helen Reeves, Alan Jones, Sarah Wight, Kelly Hope, Jason Pratt, Julia Barrett and everyone at HarperCollins for making it much better; and Hilary McMahon for being a stalwart and elegant advocate (such a great combination!).

Thank you to all those who have embraced the residents of Woefield Farm, particularly all the readers who pitched in with suggestions ranging from brilliant to deranged for mule names and book titles: Emily Olesen, Elena Bonar, Tai Deacon, Linda Boyd, Tony Lapadat, Jen Klassen, Elizabeth Jones, Kelly Oswald, Stu MacDonald, Jade Seabrook, Barbara Zatyko, Jackie Hamilton-Irving (the winner, with Stan of Green Stables!), Leah Isherwood, Mat Snowie, Camille Cavanagh, Heather Clouston, J. Penney Burton, Roz Kromhoff, Jean Anderson, Libby Murphy, Heather Davis, Tim Mcdiarmid, Kevin Storrie, Anne Klein, Michael
Campbell, Lynn A KJ, Kim Martin, Cyndi Freistadt Cunanan, Joe Racanelli, Sunny Taylor, Leslie Milligan, Vicki Grant, Paul Forster, Diane McIntosh, Susie Sovereign, Trevor Boytinck, Lisa Karuna, Karen Rivers, Suzanne Crawford, Ros Davies, Mj Mcgee, Megan Bailey, Theresa Moleski, Ross Murray, Karlin Creed, Andy Sibbald, Sheree Fitch, Colleen Purcell, Lee Anne Smith, Dian Borek, Valerie Sherrard, Maggie L. Wood, Jody Kihara, Jocelyn Reekie, Jodey Wilson, Susin Nielsen, Sherry Conly, Lisa McGregor, Judy Millar, Myranda Jayne Bolstad, Pattie Turcotte, Stephanie Dubinsky, Charlotte Gray and Jenny Gibb.

Finally, thank you to my boys, Jimmy and Rodeo.

About the Author

SUSAN JUBY
is the author of the critically acclaimed novels
Getting the Girl
and
Another Kind of Cowboy
as well as the bestselling Alice series (
Alice, I Think; Miss Smithers
; and
Alice MacLeod, Realist at Last
) and her most recent book for adults,
The Woefield Poultry Collective
. After dropping out of fashion college and getting a degree in English literature, Susan went to work in the book industry. She holds a master’s degree in publishing. She currently lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, James, and their dog, who enjoys shenanigans.

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www.AuthorTracker.com
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Credits

Cover image: Swim Ink 2, LLC/CORBIS

Copyright

Republic of Dirt
Copyright © 2015 by Susan Juby

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPUB Edition January 2015 ISBN 9781443423984

Published by Harper Avenue, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

FIRST EDITION

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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available upon request

ISBN
978-1-44342-395-3 (original trade paperback)
ISBN
978-1-44342-396-0 (library hardcover)

RRD
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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