AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
Believe it or not, a good bit of research has gone into this fic (and will continue to go into the details). I've learned quite a few things that I didn't know. However, I'm sure there are some things that are not 100% accurate since I'm no expert. I ask that you kindly suspend disbelief for those few things.
I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!
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The wagon was loaded down and it was the second load they were taking to sell. Hershel's crops had gone out first—mostly for him to get a good idea of the market and what the buyers he usually worked with were offering—but now the wagon mostly held what Daryl had to sell. Daryl had never so much as ridden with Hershel to do any of the business-end work of farming. He'd always helped on the farm, and he'd helped to load the wagon, but he really only had a loose idea of what happened once everything was loaded up and on its way.
They set out early in the morning and Daryl left Carol to tend the farm. He knew that she'd spend most of the day busy, as she always did, and he'd already told her that he'd be home in time for supper—if he didn't manage to make it home earlier. Hershel drove the wagon—since it was his wagon and he knew where they were going—and Daryl rode along beside him and watched as they went farther out than Daryl had been in years. They very nearly made it to the next town before Hershel stopped at a place that looked like a cross between the freight business he'd seen in town and a market.
"This man had some pretty fair prices," Hershel said, keeping his voice low so that only Daryl could hear him. "And he was lookin' to pick up a good bit more because he ships it himself."
"He's gonna buy all this?" Daryl asked.
"He might," Hershel said. "If he don't? There's a place about five miles from here that's likely to buy it. They're not offering quite as good on everything, but a sell is better than letting anything go to waste."
Hershel tied the reins so that they wouldn't get lost and hopped down off the wagon. Daryl followed suit and followed the old man as he set the wheels to keep the wagon from shifting in any direction.
"What if I don't get it all sold, Hershel?" Daryl asked.
Hershel laughed to himself.
"You'll sell it all," Hershel said. "Every bit. If it doesn't sell here? It'll sell in town. There are at least a dozen people within a ten mile radius that I know who are lookin' to feed operations, Daryl. If we have to, which we won't, we'll sell door to door." He shook his head at Daryl. "But we won't have to."
The man with whom Daryl supposed they were to have dealings stepped out of the market-freight building set on the side of the road and threw a hand up to greet them. Hershel returned the gesture and Daryl followed suit.
"You keep quiet, son," Hershel said. "Let me do the dealin' this round. Next yield? It's all yours."
Daryl nodded his understanding and kept close to Hershel as the old man closed the gap between them and the man they hoped would buy their wagon full of crops. Daryl wasn't offended—not in the slightest –that Hershel wanted him to remain quiet while he handled the deal. He didn't know what he was doing and Hershel did. Hershel knew what the crop was worth and he knew how to negotiate a good deal for it. Daryl didn't know either—but he could learn. And watching Hershel handle the deal was how he was going to learn.
Daryl watched as Hershel and the other man—who introduced himself as George T. Wiles, without specifying what the "T" stood for or why it was particularly important—exchanged some quick chatting about the weather, the winter to come, and the freight business. Daryl listened as George T. Wiles told them about wagons that had been going in and out all day—none of which Daryl had seen while they were on the road—carrying crops to places where he did business. George T. Wiles, as Daryl could see it, must be a hell of a businessman.
And then, the conversation turning to such crops as the wheat and other goods that Daryl had to offer, Hershel brought up the business that they'd come there to do. He took George T. Wiles over to have a look in the back of the wagon and to see what he might want from what Daryl had to offer. He assured George that the wheat, especially, was of the highest quality—since that was what seemed to have the greatest interest of the man at the moment—and George seemed to agree.
Daryl's throat almost went entirely dry when George offered him forty cents on the bushel for the wheat—and his heart nearly stopped when Hershel not only refused the offer, but looked downright offended by it.
"I know a man not five miles from here offering twice that much," Hershel said.
George laughed and shook his head.
"Lotta crops changin' hands right now," George said. "Lotta prices goin' down. Supply an' demand—you heard? More we got headin' outta here, the less it's worth."
"You keep your forty cents on the bushel," Hershel said. "'Cause I know we can get a better price five miles down."
"You won't get no better'n that," George warned. "And—by the time you get down there and get back? It's liable to have changed again. The prices ain't steady right now. Changing constantly. Another wagon come in here while you're gone and I might not even be seeking no wheat from you."
Daryl felt hot panic rise up in him. Forty cents on the bushel wouldn't make him rich, but it would buy horses. It would buy seeds. It would buy enough that he could expand the farm by another fifty acres, maybe. And, clearing those fifty acres for wood that he'd sell and split with Hershel, he could buy another fifty acres and the seed to plant it. It could buy canning jars for Carol and it could start to pay back some of the loan that Daryl felt he owed to Hershel for building materials—materials that he'd need more of if they were to have a bigger and better house for their future.
Forty cents on the bushel could help to guarantee a yield for the coming year that would hold he and Carol fairly comfortable for the whole year.
But Hershel adamantly refused the price. Daryl stood back, fighting the urge to break in himself and swear that Hershel wasn't in charge anymore, and listened as the two men quarreled back and forth over the price of things. Finally, set on considering the decent price an insult, Hershel headed back toward the wagon and barked at Daryl to go with him. They were headed down the road—just five more miles until this guaranteed "good sale"—and they still had a good deal of business to do in town before the sun went down. They weren't wasting any more time with a man that was out to do nothing more than cheat and swindle them.
With a heavy heart, and a fairly heavy stomach that made Daryl feel like he'd swallowed down hot stones instead of Carol's good biscuits for breakfast, Daryl followed Hershel back to the wagon and got himself situated riding shotgun.
Hershel unblocked the wheels and got on the wagon himself. He untied the reins and made ready to move on a piece.
And then George T. Wiles stopped them. He stopped them to tell them that, maybe, he'd been a little unfair. Maybe he hadn't considered their need. Maybe he could see a way of giving them a bit more—but only if they were willing to make a good deal on some of the assorted produce that came besides the wheat—and then he offered them a full sixty-five cents on the bushel that almost made Daryl go lightheaded.
Daryl was terrified that Hershel, his face set in the anger and offense that he'd felt earlier, would refuse the deal, but he felt his breathing coming easier again when Hershel smiled slightly and nodded his head.
"Sixty-five cents on the bushel for the wheat," Hershel said. "That done? We'll talk about the rest. I got at least a half-dozen other buyers interested in what else we got. So—I'm afraid you're gonna have to match them. Or we can't make it an all at once deal."
"You drive a hard bargain," George T. Wiles expressed from the ground.
"Just lookin' for a fair one," Hershel said. "Lookin' for fair business. After all—have to know who to come to when the next crop comes in."
"Come down off the wagon," George responded. "Let's—get the wheat unloaded. We'll have a drink. Talk about the rest."
Hershel laughed to himself and agreed. He tied the reins again and he looked at Daryl, offering him a wink as he hopped back off the wagon to take care of business.
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So much money in his possession at one time almost made Daryl nervous. He could barely breathe, just thinking about it, as he'd ridden back with Hershel to town. The first stop they made was to buy the seeds that Daryl would need to buy. The seller was someone that Hershel knew—someone he'd done a good bit of business with—and his prices were more than fair. The amount of seed he'd given them was daunting to Daryl, but he intended to plant more—so that meant that he'd need more seed.
Daryl also made the purchase of a few assorted seeds, under Hershel's recommendation, for Carol's garden.
A quick stop by the general store followed and Daryl made the purchase, alongside Hershel's purchase, of some jars for canning. He bought, also under Hershel's assistance, some cloth for making clothes so that Carol could work with Jo to sew some things that they might need as their old clothes wore out.
As soon as they'd left, their numerous purchases acquired and the wagon loaded, Daryl found that he was finally actually ready to speak to Hershel about all that he'd seen and experienced that morning.
"How'd you know, Hershel, that man was gonna buy?" Daryl asked.
Hershel laughed to himself.
"I didn't," Hershel said. "But I had a hunch. You had a good crop. For spring wheat? It was good. Your winter wheat? That's going to be your best harvest, son. It's going to sell better than what you just unloaded."
"That why we bought so much?" Daryl asked.
Hershel hummed at him.
"That land out there? Daryl—I own about three hundred acres all around you. That's in addition to the two hundred that I'm working. Now—you're not set to work it all right now, but eventually you might be. It's best to increase a little with each harvest," Hershel said. "You'll get the feel for it then. You'll figure out what you can expect from yourself. Another fifty acres for planting and clearing that back one hundred for cattle and you'll be ready to keep expanding, little by little."
"I don't know if I can do all that alone," Daryl said.
"You can't," Hershel assured him. "And you won't. You won't expand that much this time. You can probably handle your winter wheat yourself. What you're going to plant this year, at least. The dozen head I'm going to cut for you won't be that much of a problem to get you started. Take Merle to help you get some wind breaks up for 'em. You sell your winter crop, you might find you're ready to expand. Ready to hire. If not then? By the time you're planting next year's winter crop, you'll be ready."
"What if I fail at all this?" Daryl asked. "What if I don't get nothin'? What if I can't raise no cows off the ones you give me?"
"Sell you," Hershel corrected about the cows. "For labor. Paid in advance. I'm not giving you the cows, Daryl. You've earned them. For the amount of money you just put in my pocket? Labor free? The cows are yours as an investment."
"An investment?" Daryl asked.
"On your future," Hershel said. "And on mine."
"And if I run the damn thing in the dirt?" Daryl asked. "If I don't turn no profit?"
"You already turned a profit," Hershel offered. "And that's just the start."
"But if I don't turn no more?" Daryl asked.
"You will," Hershel said. He sucked in a breath. "Daryl—you remember how much faith you had that Carol would marry you?"
Daryl hummed and nodded his head.
"Yeah. Of course," Daryl responded.
"And how'd that work out for you?" Hershel asked.
"We married," Daryl said. "Happy."
"Have that kind of faith in yourself, Daryl," Hershel said. "Have that kind of faith in your ability to build the future that you had in mind when you first came to talk to me."
"It's a whole lot harder to have faith in somethin' that nature can take away from me," Daryl said.
Hershel laughed to himself.
"Nature can take anything away from us," Hershel said. "At any time. Still—even if you don't have that much faith. Can you have a little? Because I've got faith in you. And I know—it may take a while? But you're gonna turn that farm into something you can be proud of, Daryl. Something your children can be proud of."
Daryl felt a warm rush in his belly. He swallowed and nodded his head.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I guess I can have some faith. I guess I got some. Even if it ain't quite as much as I had before—about Carol an' all."
Hershel laughed to himself.
"Well, they say that all it takes is the faith of a mustard seed," Hershel said. "So you oughta have just about enough."
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Daryl was a little worried that they surely weren't going to make it home by supper when the light was starting to grow dim and they were still looking at horses. Hershel had already picked out, paying with the money that he'd gotten from the wheat, four good horses for his farm.
Daryl had one sorrel that he'd picked out, but he wasn't sure what else he should take, so Hershel was doing his best to help him out. The man that was helping them—who went by the name of Eaton, which Daryl assumed to be his surname—was more than eager to show them anything that they might be looking at.
"That sorrel gelding is nice," Hershel said. "But this young man's gonna need another. Good for work but also good for riding."
"If you can put your hand on it," Eaton offered, "it's good for both. Guaranteed by my name. Everything not in that field over there is broke damn near good enough for someone still green."
Hershel nodded his head.
"Good mount for a lady," Hershel said. "That's what we're lookin' for. You hear? Good mount for a lady to handle. Smooth ride. Calm under the saddle. Doesn't spook."
Eaton nodded his head and scratched at the back of his neck. He'd been digging there long enough that Daryl figured the man had fleas. He'd gotten fleas really bad once and he knew that they could make you itch something miserable. Eaton looked, though, like he'd come to terms with the suffering they were causing him.
"I got one," Eaton said. "Mare, though. You lookin' for a mare? Or you just want geldings?"
"Don't matter," Daryl said.
"Mare," Hershel said. "And—we're gonna want a stallion too."
He turned his head quickly and Daryl caught the wink he got from him.
"Don't got no broke stallions right now," Eaton said, shaking his head. "Got some started. Lead broke, but they ain't saddle ready by no means."
"That's alright," Hershel said. "I'll take the stallion. I got someone looking for a mount of his own. He oughta earn him by breaking him. But let's see that mare you got in mind."
Eaton disappeared and Daryl started to argue with Hershel about the stallion, but he stopped himself. Along with cattle, Hershel tried his hand a little at breeding horses. He usually got two or three foals a year out of his horses. He sold them sometimes, but others he simply traded here and there for jobs that he needed done by hands that he knew needed mounts. If Daryl were to cover his mare with the stallion—or Carol's mare with the stallion—then it would simply be an extra job that the horse had to do to earn his feed.
When Eaton returned, he was leading a paint.
"This here paint's a good mare," Eaton assured them, bringing the mare closer to them for inspection. "Would keep her myself, but I don't need no more stock right now."
Hershel walked over and inspected the horse before he waved Daryl over to look over the animal. Daryl checked her from one end to the other and hummed his satisfaction over the horse.
"Don't know how she rides," Daryl said. "But she looks good."
"Eaton here's an honest man," Hershel said. "If he says she rides good? She rides good." He directed his attention, then, to the man that was standing and holding the rope halter to the mare. "We'll take her. Paint stallion, too, if you got one. With the rest of 'em. We'll split them when we're home."
"You gonna ride one or lead 'em all?" Eaton asked.
"They'll follow well enough tied to the wagon," Hershel said. "Until we get where we're going."
Daryl paid the man for his two mounts, leaving Hershel to make up the difference on the stallion, and then he stood by to watch as Eaton tied all the horses so that they would follow along behind the wagon. Leading them all back would require a little attention, but Daryl had seen it done before, so he had no doubt they'd make it.
When the business was done and hands had been shook, Daryl got back in his place beside Hershel on the wagon and he sat quietly for the first length of the journey. Too quietly, maybe, because Hershel—who kept looking over at Daryl—finally broke the silence between them.
"You had a problem with the horses?" Hershel asked.
Daryl hummed at him and the old man repeated the question once more.
"No," Daryl said. "I ain't got no problem with 'em. They'll be good, I reckon."
"Then what's troubling you, son?" Hershel asked.
"Ain't gonna make it home by supper," Daryl offered. "Told Carol we was gonna be home by supper."
Hershel laughed to himself.
"You think she's gonna be mad about that?" Hershel asked. He hummed at Daryl. "On days you go to sell what you got and make purchases you need—it's best that she don't have too much expectation."
Daryl hummed in half-hearted agreement.
"But I didn't know that," Daryl said. "And she don't neither. So I told her to expect me home for supper. And now I ain't gonna be there."
"You don't suppose it'll soothe things over that you're bringing her some things?" Hershel asked.
"I don't think she's gonna be too pissy about it," Daryl offered. "Just—that I told her I was gonna be home."
"First harvest," Hershel said. "For the both of you. She'll learn. Same as you."
Daryl hummed in response, not really feeling too much like he agreed with the sentiment at the moment.
"I reckon," he offered, hoping to make it sound like he wasn't too pissy, himself, about how long the whole excursion had taken.
Hershel guarded silence between them for a little while, but then he spoke to Daryl again.
"How's Carol workin' out for you, Daryl?" Hershel asked. "Everything you wanted her to be? Married life—it's everything you wanted it to be?"
Daryl was a little struck by the question.
"Of course she's what I wanted her to be," Daryl responded. "She's my wife."
Hershel laughed, apparently finding Daryl's response to his question amusing.
"I know she's your wife, Daryl," Hershel responded. "I married you myself. I meant—is having a wife what you thought it would be?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders, even though Hershel wasn't looking at him and, more than likely, wouldn't be able to see him with the failing light.
"I didn't have no big ideas," Daryl said. "Not about what it would be. But—she's everything I thought she would be."
"So she's a good wife, Daryl?" Hershel asked. His tone of voice suggested that, maybe, he was as surprised by this possibility as Merle was every time he had to come by the farm for something and rediscovered that Carol was there, acting just like a wife should act and doing the things that a wife should do.
"She's the best kinda wife," Daryl responded. Hershel laughed again. "Best I could have," Daryl corrected, worrying that Hershel's laughter meant that he'd said something wrong.
"And are you a good husband?" Hershel asked.
Daryl was even more struck by that question. Even though it was one that he'd asked himself several times—and one that he'd asked Carol more than once—he had never been asked that by anyone else. Everyone else seemed to have their concerns about Carol's ability to be a good wife, but nobody ever seemed to turn it around on Daryl and question his abilities.
Daryl hummed at Hershel in response.
"Best kinda husband I can be," Daryl said. "She says I am. When I ask her."
"Then it must be so," Hershel mused. "Or she wouldn't say it."
"Do what I can for her," Daryl said. "Give her what I can. And I don't hit her. Not never."
"Good rule of thumb to live by," Hershel said. "Though surely not every man can say that, Daryl."
"Never wanted to," Daryl said. "Never thought about it. Ain't like—it's no big effort on my part."
"Are you happy, Daryl?" Hershel asked.
"Happiest I ever been," Daryl said.
"And is Carol happy?" Hershel asked.
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't never see her cryin' none," Daryl said. "'Cept..."
"Except?" Hershel asked.
"Well..." Daryl said. "A couple of her lil' chicks didn't make it. Just up an' died in the coop overnight. She was cryin' over them chickens somethin' desperate for a while."
Hershel sighed deeply.
"Those are the kinda things that can make women cry," Hershel said. "But you didn't kill her chicks, did you?"
"The hell would I do that for?" Daryl asked. "Them chickens was gonna grow for us."
"Then it doesn't make you a bad husband," Hershel said. "And chicks we've got a-plenty. Take her three or four more tomorrow when you come to the farm to get what you need. To get what you got here that I'll keep for the night."
Daryl offered a thanks for the chickens and Hershel waved it away with a sweep of his hand.
"It's you doing me the favor," Hershel said. "Miss Jo always hatches more than she needs. And even when we get overrun with the chickens, she just doesn't have the heart to sell them. Eat them, she can do, because that's what she figures the good Lord intended them for. But she doesn't have the heart to sell them. She'll be pleased to know they're going to a good home." He laughed to himself. "The kinda home where a woman cries when her chicks don't make it overnight."
Daryl hummed and nodded his head. Chickens, he knew, could be real serious business. After all, between the food they brought and the promise of more to come, they were some of the most productive animals on the farm.
"Carol'll be pleased with the chicks," Daryl said. "She's gonna like that mare, too."
"Pleased enough to give you a pass for missing supper?" Hershel asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I reckon she might let it slide," Daryl said. "Since it was the first time and all."
"If a half-dozen chicks can buy peace in a marriage," Hershel offered with a chuckle, "then it's well-worth it to me."