Chapter 1

Kevin Butcher:

I’m watching Pale Rider, one of my favorite westerns when I receive an email. My handler, at the agency I contracted from, has a new job for me. “Mr. Kevin Butcher, we have a temporary assignment...” I tapped the screen to open it. They want me to take a six-month contract, and set up a data center, over in Berks County. Berks is about two hours east and that is going to suck.

If a job is distant enough, I use my customized travel trailer. Compared to the cost of a hotel, a camping spot with utility hookups cost less and I pocketed the difference. I had not expected to need my trailer this soon and I stripped out the interior for an entertainment system upgrade. If I took this contract, I’d be in a hotel.

I’m not sure why, but I decided to take the contract. I believe that I can do good work there.

The hotel was comfortable and clean, and expensive. I grumbled about it at lunch and a local tradesman suggested I consider renting a room. I called to ask about several rooms listed in the local paper, and then drove by to check them out. The first two houses were unsuitable. The third house, an older Victorian home on a dairy farm, stood about a hundred yards down a private lane. I parked, got out and took in the view. Everything was tidy. The out buildings showed some wear. Well-tended flower beds surrounded the front of the house. This farm belonged to a family that cared.

A woman came onto the porch and asked if I phoned about the room. I walked up to the porch and we introduced ourselves. Mrs. Schmidt is an attractive woman in her thirties. She wore an ankle-length, patterned dress, and she kept her blonde hair tucked under a small white Mennonite-style prayer cap. She told me her husband was out on his tractor but she would call him. Two kids, a boy around twelve and an older girl, came out of the house. The boy was unremarkable, but the girl was striking. Slender with blonde hair and incredible cornflower blue eyes. She dressed the same as Mrs. Schmidt, a long patterned dress, and a small white prayer cap.

Mr. Schmidt arrived a few minutes later. I stood to meet him. His weathered features made him seem much older than his wife. We shook hands and I could feel his strength. We sat down and he asked me about my work and I explained that I was setting up the data center. He nodded and asked how long I would need the room.

I must have passed muster as he offered to show me the room.

Their extra room was on the upper floor. It had a private bathroom, and access to a balcony across the back of the house. The room’s furnishings included a bed, desk, and dresser. The price for the room included breakfast, lunch on the weekends and dinner. Meals would be on the farmer’s schedule and not to order. I paid for three months in advance and arranged to move in the next day.

Moving took little effort and I arrived in time for dinner. As we sat at their kitchen table, the Schmidts introduced me to their son Tommy and daughter Rebecca.

Their farm seemed huge with make-shift dirt roads connecting the fields. Mr. Schmidt gave me free access to his roads and I established a circuit for running. My frequent long work days made regular exercise difficult. But, when I did manage a normal quitting time, I often exercised before dinner.

Interlude: Schmidt Farm, Kitchen

When Mrs. Schmidt entered the kitchen, she noticed her daughter looking out of the window. Rebecca was so focused; she didn’t notice it when her mom walked over to peek over her shoulder. In the yard, Mr. Butcher was doing a martial arts exercise. He had taken off his t-shirt and was wearing just a pair of shorts and running shoes. Sweat was running down his well-defined chest and abdomen. It was so fascinating ... Shaking her head, Mrs. Schmidt said, “Doesn’t Mr. Butcher look interesting?” Rebecca jumped as soon as her mother started to speak. She started to turn but her mother stopped her and asked. “He’s caught your attention, hasn’t he?”

Rebecca’s face flushed and she lowered her eyes. “Yes Momma.”

Mrs. Schmidt mused aloud, “I suppose your father could ask Mr. Butcher to be more modest.”

She and her daughter peered back out of the window. Mr. Butcher started to do pull-ups from a tree branch. “However, your father is a busy man; it would be a disservice to take him away from his work. We don’t need to bother him with this.”

Kevin Butcher:

At the start, the data center job needed a lot of late nights and I missed dinner. Mrs. Schmidt felt sorry for me and on those nights would ask her daughter to heat something up for me. On those nights, I sat in the kitchen and studied while eating. After a few nights of heating up my dinner, Rebecca and I started talking. She asked me if my wife minded me being on the road so much and I told her I never married. She seemed surprised and wanted to know why not. I guess it seemed strange that I was single. I gave her an honest answer and told her, “I haven’t met a girl interesting enough.”

Another evening Rebecca sat across the table from me and asked about my homework. I told her that I was studying electrical engineering. She wanted to know how I managed school when I worked so much, and how I paid for it. I told her that all the classes were online and that the G.I. Bill paid for some of it.

“What, you were in the army?” she asked.

I shook my head, “No, I was in the Marine Corps.”

“What’s the difference?” “Well, marines are tougher and much better looking,” I said with a grin.

Rebecca giggled, “You don’t look that tough.”

“We could go outside and wrestle.” I offered.

“Right—if my parents catch us—you’d have to wrestle Daddy.”

Sitting at the Schmidt’s kitchen table and talking with Rebecca became a usual thing. I worked at my studies while Rebecca cleaned. When finished with cleaning, she sat across from me and we talked. She always wanted to know about me; the places I had been and the things I had done. It was difficult to get Rebecca to talk about herself. At a lull in our conversation, I said, “Tell me about Rebecca.”

She didn’t say anything at first, and then she lowered her eyes. In a subdued voice she said, “There isn’t much to say, I’m not interesting.”

I leaned forward, touched the back of her hand and matched her lowered voice. “That’s not right at all, Becky. I think you are very interesting.”

She glanced up at me and I met her eyes. We both smiled and I didn’t want to move my hand away from hers. Then we heard her father stand up from his family room chair. Rebecca jumped up and started drying dishes. From that night on, Rebecca and I spent more time together and I didn’t mind it at all.

If I came down to breakfast before her father, Rebecca would greet me, “Good morning, Mr. Butcher.” I would reply with equal cheerfulness, “Good morning, Miss Schmidt.” Mrs. Schmidt watched us with equal measures of restrained amusement and wariness.

Some evenings Rebecca would be busy with chores and I sat on the porch with Mr. Schmidt. He asked me about my homework. I told him that I was working towards a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering.

“How close are you to that degree?”

“I only need three more credits. I should finish about the same time as I finish this job.”

Rebecca and I became more comfortable with each other. Tonight she was taking a break from washing the dishes and I was taking a break from homework. Rebecca pointed at my textbook on antenna systems. “How hard is it to learn about antennas?”

“Antennas? They can be crazy, but the basics are easy.”

She raised one eyebrow and asked, “Easy?”

I glanced out the window. Hmm, it might be dark enough to see the lights from one of the local AM radio tower arrays. I stood, “Come on, let me show you.” We went out in front of her house. I spun, scanning for the red lights on the antenna towers. “There, this way.” I reached and took her hand and pulled her with me. There was a better view over by the lane and I stopped there. With my free hand, I pointed out the line of antenna towers and explained how they worked together to direct the radio signals. As I talked, I became aware of how soft and warm her hand felt. My talk started to falter. I turned towards her, “You see, antennas are simple.”

Rebecca squeezed my hand and said. “Some things are complicated though. I better go back.” She released my hand and we walked back.

Back in the kitchen, Rebecca went back to the dishes and I picked up a towel and started drying. While I worked, I thought about complicated things. After we finished the dishes I went back to my homework.

All the late nights paid off and my team was ahead of schedule. Our manager decided to let us go home early. This worked in my favor as I had homework to do. I arrived at the farmhouse and Mrs. Schmidt told me her husband was out looking for a tractor part. She asked if I would take her and Rebecca to the grocery store. I tried to hold the truck doors for her and Rebecca, but Mrs. Schmidt looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Rebecca and I can manage car doors just fine, Mr. Butcher.”

I scurried around and got in. As I buckled my seat belt, I made eye contact with Rebecca, who was in the back, and she waved.

On the way to the store, Mrs. Schmidt asked me questions about my family. Sometimes, when I glanced in the rearview mirror, I would make eye contact with Rebecca. At the store, I offered to push the shopping cart. Sure, I wanted to be helpful, but I was more interested in watching Rebecca walk around. Mrs. Schmidt told me to stay in the truck. After dropping them at the door, I found a convenient parking spot close to the store’s exit.

Something unusual happened when Mrs. Smith and Rebecca came out of the store pushing their cart. A young man wearing Mennonite style plain clothing, but with long hair, approached them. He ignored Mrs. Schmidt and focused entirely on Rebecca. Rebecca shied away from him, but he seemed insistent and grabbed her arm. Before I knew it, I was out of my truck and walking towards them.

The man pulled Rebecca away with him. Mrs. Schmidt tried to force herself between the long-haired man and Rebecca. “Mr. Hanslein, stop this at once!”

Rebecca struggled, “Klaus, let me go!”

The man faced Rebecca and he never saw me coming. I slapped him, hard, across the back of his head. He startled and dropped Rebecca’s arm like it burned him. He spun to face the new and unexpected threat. As his right hand came into range, I took it and put him in a thumb lock. His left hand was still free, so I stayed a little behind him to make it difficult for him to hit me. He tried punching and kicking; I just increased the pressure on his thumb and wrist until he stilled.

“Apologize to the ladies and I’ll let you keep your thumb.” I applied some pressure to his wrist when he seemed to hesitate.

The pain from the wrist lock caused his voice to rise in pitch. “I apologize, Mrs. Schmidt, Rebecca.”

Nodding towards my truck, “Ma’am, if you and Rebecca would get in my truck. Lock the doors too. I’ll bring the groceries along in a minute.” As soon as Mrs. Schmidt and Rebecca got into my truck. I released Klaus’ thumb and stepped back. I told him, “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to learn better manners.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, should I?”

Klaus stood there holding his strained wrist and thumb. His eyes studied me as he evaluated his chances. He tried, but couldn’t meet my eyes and I knew he lost this round.

“This ain’t over,” he mumbled and walked away cradling his strained hand and wrist.

On the way back to the farmhouse. Mrs. Schmidt expressed her displeasure with me. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, and I shouldn’t have resorted to violence. I stayed unrepentant. “I’m sorry ma’am but I will not stand by and see Rebecca manhandled.” In the rear view mirror, Rebecca smiled at me, I didn’t think she minded my intervention at all. In fact, if we were alone, I might have tried to claim a reward for defending her. After dinner, Mr. Schmidt and I went out on the porch and he filled in some details. Klaus Hanslein junior was a spurned suitor. Klaus had asked for permission to court Rebecca and Mr. Schmidt rejected him as being unsuitable. Mr. Schmidt wouldn’t go into what made Klaus unsuitable, but I gathered that the two families had problems.

Thursday night, Rebecca and her mom were busy with chores in the kitchen so I went upstairs to do some homework. It was a warm night and I propped the bedroom door open for the increased ventilation. Rebecca stopped by and knocked. “Mom wanted to know if you could check our computer. It isn’t working right.”

“Sure.” I saved my homework and followed her downstairs.

The family PC, an old Dell OptiPlex, sat on an antique roll top desk. Mrs. Schmidt told me it would start, run for a bit, and shut down. I pressed the power button and held down the keys to enter the bios. The CPU temperature rose too fast. I pressed and held down the power button forcing the PC to shut off. Mrs. Schmidt and her daughter looked over my shoulder as I popped the case open. Pointing at the clogged up cooling duct, “I think your CPU is having a cooling problem. Is there a workbench and a vacuum with a hose I can use?”

Mrs. Schmidt turned to her daughter, “Take Mr. Butcher out to your father’s workshop. Show him where the vacuum and tools are.” After unplugging the cables from the PC, I picked it up and asked Rebecca to show me the way. To the north of the house was a detached garage. We went in through a side door. Rebecca turned on the lights and led me over to the work bench. Mr. Schmidt’s shop was well equipped and organized. New, old, and antique Craftsman brand tools hung from silhouetted pegboard. I sat the case on its side and pulled off the door.” Could you get the vacuum, Becky?” Rebecca rolled over an ancient Sears brand tank vacuum. “You’re the only person who calls me Becky.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“I don’t mind it, but Daddy would.”

I plugged in the tank vacuum, grinned at Rebecca, and said, “I’ll try to not let him catch me.”

Rebecca stepped next to me and peered into the case, “It’s all full of dust.”

I decided to treat Becky as my apprentice and gave her the nozzle. She didn’t need any directions about vacuuming. We had fun identifying components as she removed the dust. Sometimes we bumped into each other and neither of us was in a hurry to move apart. We talked for about fifteen minutes while cleaning out the dust. I just enjoyed her company. We were standing close and I caught a whiff of wild flowers. Unfortunately, we ran out of dust and had to reassemble the computer.

After we finished cleaning up, I suggested her school may offer computer classes. Rebecca shook her head, “Not at my school. Boys go to the smart classes. They teach girls to keep house and to raise babies.”