Chapter 5

“Is this heaven?”

“No, it’s Iowa.”

—W.P. Kinsella, Shoeless Joe (Field of Dreams)

The Marshall Family Farm - Midweek

“Ready?” he asked. To his left, Amelia stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, balanced, the butt of a Remington 20-gauge semi-automatic shotgun firmly in the pocket of her right shoulder, pointed in the air. Her head was down, looking along the barrel and sights, ready to track the dayglow orange clay “pigeon” or target on the rail of the tire-mounted trap launcher.

“Pull!” she called, the muzzle of the shotgun already tracking as he stepped on the launcher’s foot pedal.

Swoosh, the launcher’s spring-tensioned arm flung two clay pigeons away from them.

She fired. Boom. Poof, thirty yards out, the clay target shattered into tiny pieces. The ejected shell flipped in the air, the muzzle tracked right to left. Boom again, further out into the field, the target wobbled before breaking up; the last shell bounced in the dirt with dozens of other red and green spent shells.

“Nice job, honey!” he said, his voice and the gunshots muffled by hearing protection.

Amelia made the shotgun safe, holding it in her arms, a grin on her face.

“Thanks, Daddy. I think I beat you,” she said.

Tom nodded, just barely. “Sure, kiddo. You hungry? I am,” he said.

Amelia stored the shotgun in its case in the back of his truck as Tom reached into a cooler for cold drinks and Ziploc bags that held their sandwiches. They’d been out here for an hour, enjoying daddy-daughter time.

They sat in camp chairs by the old fishing pond that was also the family’s shooting spot. The pond is located in a small clump of bur oaks and shagbark hickories that had grown up around a natural geological feature: big pink-gray granite boulders dropped by the last glacier thousands of years ago, too massive for any farm tractor to move.

They drank Gatorade. The day was humid but pushing into the low 70s. They wore the farmers’ uniform, t-shirts, denim pants, boots, and ball caps with logos like John Deere and Carhartt.

Tom eyed Amelia. He thought she was in her element on the farm. No makeup, blonde hair in a tight braid, relaxed, and beautiful. He’d had a few days to think about his visit to The House. He tried to come to grips with the Riley problem and who was pulling the strings from several angles as he made plans for this weekend.

He’d made progress with Tatum, meeting for lunch and texting more, inviting her to share with him. Amelia’s situation rapidly came to a head because of the fluke intervention of Mother Nature.

“Did you tell anyone about dancing in the strip club? Think hard,” he said, before biting into his roast beef sandwich. An open bag of Doritos on top of the cooler between them.

Amelia looked in the direction of the two farmhouses, old and new, in the distance. She shook her head at first, not eating, thinking.

“I didn’t tell anyone, at first,” she said. “Back in February, I told Riley. A customer came in that I thought knew me,” she said, then explained.

While giving lap dances to an older farmer-type gentleman, he’d used her real name, Amelia. She didn’t say anything, just smiled, since she was going by Rose and didn’t know him. He left later that night, but it bothered her; maybe he would tell someone back home. So, she told Riley that she was working in a gentlemen’s club in Sioux City a couple of days a week, that’s all. She never heard anything after that.

Tom nodded, thinking, and ate some Doritos while she ate turkey and Swiss on wheat bread. He tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together, the who and why. Who held all the information? The person obviously knew Tom well enough to know his family life hadn’t been great the past couple of years. The why was clearer, he thought, connecting him with his kids again. Even getting him and Debbie to talk.

He didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, so he was going on the offensive, a counterattack, like in the infantry when responding to an ambush. Ranchers herded cattle by prodding and pushing until the cattle found themselves in a pen, destined to be steaks. He had no plan to be someone’s steak. Watching Riley be abused in the BDSM club had been kinky, wrong, and exciting, yet he was going to be there this weekend, for Riley. Tatum on cam, an addiction that needed correcting. Amelia, being there for her when she needed him, that felt like Gods work.

“Honey, I’m glad you did. Trusting your big sister with your secret, in case something had happened,” he said, squeezing her knee.

He took a deep breath. He’d held onto this for a long time and was the reason he brought her out here, alone. “I have something to tell you,” he said. He’d kept this secret for nearly thirty years.

“Okay, Daddy,” Amelia turned her chair, a glance around. They were alone, hidden by the boulders and the trees. The tractors on the far side of the farm were miles away. Tom watched, amused, as she pulled her shirt over her head. Green sports bra underneath. She smiled, unhooked it, and turned to face the sun. Her perfect pale, pink-tipped breasts caught in the sunlight, within arm’s reach.

From inside his shooting vest, he took out a white envelope, the type printed pictures came in back when people did such things and stored them. Amelia settled a pair of Oakley sunglasses over her eyes.

He handed her the envelope as he talked. “I have not told anyone this, not even your mom,” he said.

Amelia opened the envelope, Germany 1993, that contained a dozen photographs. “I was fifteen, turning sixteen that July. My mom and I took a side trip during a family vacation in Germany.” He closed his eyes. The warm sun felt good on his face; he could picture the Alps and lush green countryside.

“That’s Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, we’ve been there.” Amelia was smiling as she showed him the picture of Tom and his mom posing, the castle behind them. His mom wore a white tank top pulled tight over her generous chest. Tom wore a Scorpions concert t-shirt. The whole family had seen the German rock band over in Ames back in ‘91, the North American “Crazy World” tour. A good memory.

Her face changed when she came to the next one. “Is that Grandma? She’s naked! Who took the picture?” Amelia said, looking at the color photo of a thirty-something Hilde lying naked on a Gästehaus bed, sheets rumpled, smiling.

Tom grinned, seeing her reaction. “Me. I lost my virginity on that trip,” he said, then waited for her reaction. Three nights with Mom in the summer of ‘93, touring around Bavaria, Dad with his sister and brother elsewhere. People thought he and Mom were a couple as he was tall for his age, she was blonde and busty, youthful looking, with good, healthy German genes.

“To Grandma?!” she said, leaning closer.

“Yes, I did,” he said, suddenly feeling lighter as he rested a hand on his daughter’s knee.

Amelia flipped through the pictures, “Dad, you do look like a couple, and you took your shirts off, in front of the Castle! Oh, is that Mom’s sister and cousin Heidi? You all took your shirts off. Tell me!” His daughter was smiling, excited.

They were done shooting. Tom took two cans of Heineken beer out of the cooler and handed one to his daughter. Admitting to incest with his mom that he’d enjoyed it. For years, he’d felt lucky and ashamed, with no one he felt he could tell.

He told Amelia everything about those three nights. She acted as his confessor, nodding, asking a point of clarification here or there. Yes, they had sex. Mom’s sister and his pretty cousin joined for the last night in Munich. Amelia’s nipples grew visibly hard, her hand resting on his thigh as he talked. His cock grew hard in his Levi’s as he remembered, even after all these years, a glance at the old farmhouse in the distance where his parents lived.

Thomas and Hilde - 1993

The Spider

From her second-floor bedroom window, using German-made 8x56 Steiner binoculars, she’d watched the white Ford F250 with two people in it kicking up dust on the dirt road as it headed for the old pond near the trees. It needed restocking and some love. Choosing her clothes, she soon heard in the distance the familiar bangs of gunshots. Not alarmed, this was a farm.

Her plan had worked so far, reports from her daughter in law and granddaughters of their dad taking a new interest in them, listening and sharing. The Minden tornado a kink, but her plan still working, she thought. She nudged and pushed and let things happen. This next weekend key.

She looked at the two outfits she’d laid out on the bed. Both black. They always were. Her loving husband, her best friend understood her needs. Hopefully, he’d understand her motives for the good of the family. Last Saturday had been delightful at the club. Her granddaughter is exceptional, ready to take the next step this weekend. Now it was up to her son to discover the truth of it all.

Perhaps a coffee, then a trip over to Greenfield.

They sat in silence, enjoying the warm sun on their skin. Tom slipped off his shirt while telling his story, the air humid. He was done talking, waiting for Amelia to speak.

Amelia drank the last of her beer. “I don’t know what to say, Dad,” she said. “I bet it was a fun time.” Her voice wistful, a little grin, he couldn’t read her eyes.

“Are you surprised?” he prompted.

Amelia sat up. “Yes, sure. So, nothing happened here when you were home, still in high school?” she asked.

Good question, nothing happened during high school. “No, your grandma made it clear. She felt what we did was sex education. It was better I should learn about sex from her than in a book or health class. She left a box of condoms next to my bed, and we agreed on some rules,” he said. He was lucky he had parents who let him bring girls home and have parties in the barn. Footloose and Dirty Dancing were still popular movies back then.

Amelia was looking at him. “Dad, if you had offered, I might have said yes,” she said, serious. “Things with Danny were awkward, we didn’t have much time to get good at it.”