Lord of the Harvest

By Tom Heath

The simple Kansas farm life Sarah Hanson has found with her husband, Cade, after college is turned upside down by a crisis of faith and the recurring vision in her fledgling prayer life. Her family is quickly becoming overwhelmed by unexplainable negative events that threaten their very livelihood. Through the leadership of Pastor Phillip Roberts, God begins a spiritual renewal in the tiny local church, calling people of faith to action, and the full meaning of Sarahs vision finally becomes clear to her. But secrets from the past that have shaped so many relationships in this corner of the heartland keep finding their way to the present, until Sarah and those in her circle are convinced the troubles and dangers are not merely coincidences. Could it really be that someone, or perhaps more than one someone, is trying to run them all out of the area for good?

When there can no longer be any question that the Hanson family is under some kind of attack, Sarah lashes out in anger and frustration at the one man she and Cade are convinced is involved. Her actions set in motion the deadly confrontation that will finally answer all their questions, and change their lives forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490866277

Tom Heath

With his first novel, Tom Heath has been chosen as one of the top thirty writers in the 2014 WestBow Press and The Parable Group Aspiring Authors Writing Contest. He and his wife, Diane, live in Lubbock, Texas.

Book preview

Prologue

F rom the outside it appeared a desolate place, but the inside was not deserted.

Though scrubbed and polished, though flawless in every detail of architecture and decor, the carpeted halls and lovely paneled offices were infested with human vermin—man-slugs—who left an invisible trail of caustic slime wherever they passed.

Such was the very private world of the LOTH Group.

42884.png

Come in, Mr. Smith, the receptionist said as she looked up from her desk at the new arrival. Mr. Jones has been expecting you and will be right with you. He asked if you would please be so kind as to wait just through the doorway to your left. He should not be long.

The man wished everyone here would stop all this Smith and Jones business. The woman knew who he was. This wasn’t his first meeting here. After all, he wasn’t a nobody anymore, and she surely knew her own boss’s name.

Ms. Purcell, the visitor started, you don’t—

Excuse me, sir, the attractive young redhead interrupted, please wait where you were instructed.

All the friendliness had vanished from the woman’s face, replaced by a cutting glare the man had gotten on a previous visit when his small talk had been taken as a come-on.

Yes, ma’am, he said sarcastically, and snapping to attention, he offered a halfhearted salute before he paraded to the small familiar waiting chamber, feeling her burning gaze on his back as he exited.

The area to which Mr. Smith had been directed was done completely in light gray, plush and comfortable, but covered in shadows since the only light here was from a few decorative lamps that were not bright enough to completely illuminate even this small waiting room. As he sank into a chair that seemed to swallow him, he felt as though he were sitting in a renovated cavern, waiting for the head spelunker to appear. In fact, this room was as far as he had ever gotten. Still, he could imagine the catacombs of dark and forbidding offices that made up this oddly shaped, poorly lit relic of a building once used, along with the other structures around it, as an air base.

As on previous visits, his appointment was obviously not going to be on time, and he found himself once again studying the lavishly framed oil painting on the opposite wall from where he sat. With so much detail, the seascape was amazingly real yet disturbing to look at. The night skies depicted there were black with rolling clouds that matched the waves fighting to reach the shore, tearing against a weakened dock that jutted out from the beach. There was no peace in the work, only despair.

What do these people have against light? he mumbled as he struggled to free himself from the clutches of the wing-backed chair and approached the coffeepot set up in the corner.

Maybe he should pour himself a cup and then see if he could rile Ms. Purcell again.

Surprised when the door opened abruptly, the waiting man missed the Styrofoam cup he was filling and instead burned his thumb with the scalding liquid. Jerking his hand away, he managed to spill even more over the front of his shirt and down his pants leg, leaving the newcomer to the room with the impression of an experienced and very funny slapstick comedian. Not exactly the image the first man had planned.

Having trouble with your beverage, Mr. Smith? Did you burn yourself?

No, he lied, slamming the pot back down on the hot pad and grabbing for napkins. I guess you surprised me a bit though. I’ve been sitting here waiting long enough!

Patience, Mr. Smith, patience. One mustn’t be too aggressive. All good things come to those who wait.

Yeah, right.

Chapter 1

T he fields of green circles seemed to go on forever, interrupted only by the county roads and power lines connecting the small neat farms scattered across the plains of southeastern Kansas. Soon the fields would be full of bright blue and red combines, but for now it was a time to enjoy the warmer days assuring that summer had come and dream of ways to spend the money not yet made.

The corn at the southern edge of the homestead held particular interest for Cade Hanson. He had named it Stormy’s Field in honor of his young daughter because if his plan worked, she would most certainly reap a better future from it.

Though much of the previous year’s crop had been damaged by too much rain right at the end of the growing season, Cade and his wife, Sarah, had hand-selected replacement seed from those plants that had produced the largest ears. To some farmers in the area, it seemed like a time-consuming exercise, but Cade had the idea of producing a higher-yield strain of corn that would increase his bushel count and his profits. From all the land he had in cultivation, Cade found enough seed to prepare a small acreage, and if he again became selective in Stormy’s Field, eventually it could actually produce all his needed replacement seed from just the right plants.

Almost daily he would walk this one area—usually with Stormy riding piggyback on his shoulders—to check the growth and moisture content of the crop.

This is your field, little girl, he would say, and then holding to her ankles, he would feign dropping her behind him, much to Stormy’s delight. Soon the corn would reach such a height that Cade would practically be hidden and the little girl would appear to be bobbing along on the tops of the stalks.

Sarah had teased him about the amount of time he spent there. "My husband, Cade, is just outstanding in his field."

Fine—she could laugh, but Cade knew. The other fields would pay the bills. This field held their future.

42886.png

The family of three had spent Saturday morning in town, and both parents knew the ball of nerves squirming in the car seat between them had had enough of grocery carts and fitting rooms for one day and needed out of the truck soon.

The area harvest seemed just around the corner, at least for the silage cutting. The seed corn had a ways to go yet, but already the anticipation was growing. If the weather held, it would be a bumper-crop year, and finally some much-needed changes would be made. Cade wanted to hide and think. Dreaming was serious business, and he didn’t need distractions. Even with Stormy’s pleading, he had refused to take her to the barn after lunch. The disappointment had been all too obvious on her face; however, her energy would be too much for him as he planned their future, and no would have to be accepted.

Alone at last, he had buried himself in his thoughts. The former owners had not left the greatest equipment behind. Tools needed to be bought, and the poor truck—in which Cade had driven to and returned from Texas A&M—needed to be put to rest. He thought of the ten Cadillac vehicles sticking out of the ground on Interstate 40 just west of Amarillo, Texas, known as the hood ornament of Route 66. Maybe that’s what Cade would do with Ole Betsy.

From this year he could spring on to his plan of a seed-cleaning business where he could make even more money from providing service to the other local farmers. Well, that one might have to wait, he told himself.

Sarah was busy daydreaming as well, spending the unearned money in her mind. She and Stormy had gone to the backyard to hang out some clothes. The wind was strong enough to do the trick in no time, and if things went Sarah’s way, she would not need the wind much longer on laundry day. As she finished, Sarah put Stormy in the laundry basket and carried the giggling little girl into the mudroom. Still mentally calculating how far Cade’s projected profits would take them, Sarah kicked off her outside shoes and headed into the kitchen.

Seeing the floors reminded the young mother how it had hurt to watch Stormy crawl and play as an infant on the old tile and ripped carpets, and this would be the year Sarah did something about it—maybe even add some new drapes. If Cade could dream, so could she.

It was midafternoon, and Sarah realized she had not seen or heard from her daughter for several minutes. Stormy spent lots of time on her own, doing whatever a twenty-month-old child did, but there had been no screaming cats, no breaking glass, nothing. Peace and quiet were so rare around the house, and it had been the lack of chaos that had first caused Sarah to notice the little girl’s absence. A futile search of the house brought the first anxious feelings. Surely Stormy had wandered down to the barn to be with her dad. She wasn’t used to being left behind when Cade went to the barn, and it wouldn’t be the first time the toddler had pushed her luck just a bit.

Sarah cut through the den, past the little girl’s room, and through the master bedroom to the side porch. Looking out over Stormy’s Field, she expected to see the familiar sight of dad and daughter, but they weren’t there. At least Cade has the good sense to keep her out of the growing wind, Sarah thought.

When they’d first moved in, Cade had set up an intercom from the barn office to the house so his wife could reach him at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t much, and the reception reminded them both of the childhood game involving two cans connected by a long piece of waxed string. Cade had been like a kid with a new toy, and out of desperation Sarah had hung a small cross-stitch plaque over the barn-office intercom that read, This had better be an emergency! All she could think now was, Why hadn’t Cade used it to tell me Stormy was with him?

Cade, are you both down there?

There was nothing but silence.

"Cade, have you seen Stormy? Hello!"

Yeah, Cade sounded irritated. No, she’s not down here. I told her she couldn’t come. What’s the deal?

Panic! This cannot be happening!

Okay … be calm. Somehow Cade’s words were not quite calm enough, not reassuring. I’ll check around down here and look out at the truck. Would she be playin’ with us? Go through the house again and try out in the front yard. Be calm! I made her mad, and she’s prolly hidin’ somewhere, poutin’.

In what seemed like only an instant, Cade was in the house. Stormy! He was shouting now. This isn’t funny, little girl.

Nothing.

Upstairs … downstairs … nothing.

The young parents stood out of breath and stared down the one-lane driveway that went for almost half a mile before it finally turned west.

Nothing.

Then without another word, they both knew. Stormy was in the corn.

42533.png

The spring had been a perfect mixture of rain and sun, and it seemed certain in everyone’s mind that the heartaches of last year’s late storms would be forgotten in the coming bounty. Four families in the area had finally surrendered to the land the previous year, and when the muck had dried up enough to move, they had left with nothing more than what could be loaded in their pickup trucks or pulled behind in converted stock trailers, leaving what was left of the crop in the fields and huge debts at the bank. But most of the farmers had stayed. The harvest had come before, and it would certainly come again.

It was a bittersweet blessing that one of the families that had given up and left had been Bert and Rachel Caddler. Their fields had adjoined Virgil and Maggie Hanson’s place, and the families had done everything together—from birthdays to 4–H competitions—for the last twenty-seven years.

Cade had grown up with the Caddlers’s boy, Sean, and the two had certainly had their share of fun and fights; however, Sean had just never seemed to belong to the land. He had quietly gone about his chores and rarely gotten into any serious trouble. But he was always restless with his eyes on the horizon, and college had become his ticket out of this humdrum life. He had plans to join the fast-track world of commercial real estate, and that was just not going to happen driving a broken-down John Deere tractor back and forth over the same dusty acres year after year. As the true prodigal, Sean Caddler had demanded what he felt he had coming, and with a hug and a handshake he was gone.

With their hopes gone of one day passing on the family farm, his parents had seemed to lose interest, and the ill-timed rains and hail of last year had washed away any remaining roots the family had put down through all the years. The sun had come out, but not soon enough for the Caddlers. When the neighbors had pulled stake and left even before the harvest, Cade and Sarah had moved out of his parents’ home and into the vacant farm next door.

Virgil and Maggie Hanson had been very gracious and patient with the newlyweds when the young couple had come home from college with little more than a lava lamp and an eight-track player. Originally Cade’s old room had been the honeymoon suite. But then the men had renovated the attic, and it had served very well as a first home for the young couple. Cade had certainly done his share of the work in the fields, and all in all the extended family had been doing fine. But things had become strained between them and Cade’s parents since the baby had come, and they all knew it was time for a change. With Virgil’s reputation, the bank seemed willing to take a chance on the young man, so with his parents’ endorsement, Cade got a house, used equipment, and a damaged crop in one fell swoop.

On the whole the Caddler farm was laid out very well with an ample barn, several sheds, and four metal silos connected to the homestead by a narrow gravel road, but these were far enough away to give the house a peaceful, secluded appearance. The yards were of course very small since every inch possible was put into cultivation each year. Room had been left for a small vegetable garden that had been very poorly kept, and though there were clearly marked beds around the house for flowers, it was just as clear that Rachel Caddler had not possessed a green thumb.

A single row of alternating peach and apple trees had been planted several years prior to break the view of the barns from the back porch, but the two in the middle had died from borers and had never been replaced, the four-foot high stumps now serving as stands for a chipped concrete birdbath and empty feeder. Their condition really didn’t matter anyway.

Songbirds were scarce.

The lawn turf had survived in spite of the lack of care for the past few years as if to deny the corn the chance of coming any closer and eventually swallowing the house.

At the peak of the roof on the free standing carport, the rooster on the weather vane was missing several tail feathers, now a constant reminder to Cade of his boyhood friend, Sean Caddler, and the joint whipping and two-week grounding they had received for using Bert Caddler’s .22 rifle without asking. The two friends sure had some times.

The house was Austin-cut stone two stories high with a covered porch that stretched across the front, wound around the south side, and stopped at the back door. On the south porch just outside the double French doors from the master bedroom hung a swing, and there was a break in the railing for porch steps to drop off into the yard.

Inside the house had shown the same lack of care as the grounds. It was obvious that the kitchen had been the center of activity by design with the living area and stairwell, hallway to the lower bedrooms, and back porch all coming to a hub at the dinner table. It was a cozy room with plenty of counters and cabinets but with worn floor tile and antiquated appliances. Sarah’s parents had given them a microwave the previous Christmas, but the appliance seemed somehow out of place, shiny and new among dull and old. Between the back porch and kitchen was a small screened alcove used for years as a mudroom with a deep cast-iron sink for washing dirty hands and an old church pew for sitting to remove muddy boots and shoes before entering the kitchen.

All the images and promises Cade had shared with Sarah in an effort to win her heart were not exactly turning out as she had expected, but his bright eyes had never dimmed. His stories of life on the farm had seemed so romantic, and the dreamer she had come to love in college still turned her head. They had seemed so different at first, coming from two different worlds, yet even against her friends’ initial objections, Sarah knew she had found Mr. Right.

Cade still could not believe that anyone as pretty and popular as Sarah Cooper would ever see him as more than a dirt farmer’s boy. Sarah would never know it, but his stories of Kansas were all Cade could think of to talk about in his shyness around girls. He wasn’t plain or clumsy, just a regular guy. He wasn’t into sports, and the only school activity he had been involved with had been the local chapter of the Block and Bridle Club. Somehow he had mustered enough courage to ask Sarah out, and to his disbelief she had gone. It wasn’t very long until Cade discovered what it was that made everyone in the area love her. Sarah was strong.

People could count on her, and in the three years since Sarah had come to this community with Cade, the other wives in the area had come to do just that. She didn’t complain about the heat, about the cold, about the wind, about anything. She would take food or clothes or just sunshine to anyone, anytime, anywhere.

Sarah had been a music major in school, and she did not just play the piano. She was an artist, but she wasn’t the typical moody or self-centered egotist. Hers was not a talent. It was a gift, and though it had been torture as a young boy to sit with Sean Caddler through worship services between their parents on Easter Sundays, Cade found himself perched regularly on the front pew in the little church where Sarah had played each Sunday during school in Bryan/College Station. After a while he had actually begun to enjoy it. People had always treated him well there, and no self-respecting college student could turn down the free eats at all the covered dish luncheons, but he had left it at that, no commitment, no real involvement. And now, though Sarah was the pianist at the little town’s community church, Cade rarely attended.

To his family, the church had always been a place to get married and buried, and while Cade had come to accept Sarah’s relationship with her God, he would leave the spiritual matters to his wife.

The best thing that had happened to them both since their marriage had been the birth of their first child, a daughter. It had seemed very natural to name her Stormy since all the area ladies had said it was the change in the weather that had brought on Sarah’s labor, and since Stormy’s birth things had been different. She was a beautiful baby with her father’s olive complexion and her mother’s blonde curls and blue eyes, but no one was quite sure from where the adventurous spirit had come.

If something did not move or moved too slowly, that something was grabbed. If it was small enough, that something was tasted. It became impossible for either parent to say just how many objects had not been retrieved in time and simply had to run the course through the little girl. The bugs had been bitter, and the grass had made her sick; however, Stormy had gotten it all down, and so far was none the worse for her voracious appetite.

Since the crawling stage, Stormy had learned to make her own fun, and considering how infrequently she was around other children her age, it was a good thing. She liked her mom or dad to be around, but Stormy could definitely entertain herself. Pulling up on things had been frustrating since she had to rely on some thing besides herself, but it did expand her world of objects to touch and taste, so she endured. It was also the time when the damage had really begun.

Maggie Hanson had cried at all the broken baubles and shattered memories knocked from tables and shelves, and Stormy had cried at the swift punishment of hand slaps and scolding from her mother; however, it was totally futile to try to keep things from the child’s reach, and so the three of them had come up with a plan. Stormy and her grandmother would cry, and Sarah would scold.

Finally the day came when Stormy turned loose and took off. Mobility had to be the very thing for which the little girl had been born.

Now the two house cats could not so easily escape. Now the yard became even larger, and though the corn was taller than she was and grew to the very edge of her world, Stormy found a new freedom in being on her own just a few yards from the ever-watchful eyes of Cade and Sarah.

An expedition alone to the barn had gotten her bottom spanked as had a journey down the graded road leading from the farm to forever. Both parents had felt that trip would be made all too soon anyway.

42535.png

When was the last time you saw her?

I don’t know. We came in over three hours ago—

Sarah’s voice trailed off as she tried to remember if Stormy had ever come in the house from the mudroom since she had hung out the laundry. The shadows were getting longer by the minute, and the wind continued to pick up even as any warmth this day in early June might have had was long gone, giving way to a cool evening.

Oh, Cade, she’s got on shorts and a T-shirt, Sarah said loudly. The temperature is really dropping, and there’s a windstorm coming up.

Already the two found it hard to hear each other with the wind singing in the corn. Always before they had both loved to hear the song, and it had become a game in the last few weeks to put words with the music to make Stormy laugh. Tonight the wind had become the enemy. Both parents wondered if the music had drawn the little girl into the grain in the first place.

Cade’s mind was racing out of control in search of the best options to find Stormy quickly before dark.

Call Mom ’n Dad, Sarah. Have ’em start from their house. Then call the Harrisons’ place … and even Bill Landers. He’s not our favorite person, but we need him, honey. Have him come up the road real slow from his house, and if she’s still on it or in the side ditches, he’ll have t’ see her. Oh, and have him stop and check the tail-water pits at the turn. There’s no standin’ water now, but the bottoms are low enough that he’ll miss her from the truck unless he takes a look.

Cade could sense that Sarah had not moved, and as he turned to see why, he found her on her knees, praying right in the front yard. There was no hysteria on her face, though he could not hear her prayer. In fact, in the last few minutes Sarah had become much more composed than he was, and once again he saw her strength.

Sarah, come on, he said in a whisper. You can pray, just pray walkin’, okay?

She stood and without a word or a look headed quickly into the house.

The call to Cade’s parents was going to be hard. Neither Sarah nor Cade had blamed the other partner for allowing this to happen. Neither had been all that interested in watching over Stormy as there had been much more important matters to think about. Now feeling the rush of emotion in telling the child’s grandparents that Stormy was lost, Sarah could not even recall what she had been thinking about. This was reality, and Stormy was all that mattered. Any guilt or blame would just have to wait.

"Maggie, we need you … now! Stormy has wandered off, and the only place left she could be is in the corn. No, we’re not sure which direction or … even for how long. It’s a long story, Mom, okay? Sarah felt tears. Maybe later. Is Virgil there? We need you to come toward us … right through the fields, Mom. Yes, call them. Oh, and Maggie, would you call the pastor, too? Come!"

Hello, is this Billy or Bobby? Is your mom or dad there? Let me talk to her please. This is Sarah Hanson. There were a few seconds of silence. Jodi— Sarah’s throat caught. Jodi, Stormy’s lost. We think she’s in the corn. Yes, please, and can you bring both your boys? Thanks. Okay. You can have them start there, but would you come here and—

Jodi didn’t need any more explanation.

I’m on the way, Sarah. Hang on!

Hello, Mr. Landers?

Sarah remembered how much she detested this man. He had eyed her, pawed her, and yet she had never had the courage to tell Cade the whole story for fear of what her husband might have done. Now she needed Landers, and the past just didn’t seem all that important.

This is Sarah Hanson, Mr. Landers, Cade’s wife. We need your help. She could hear the TV in the background, and she knew he was there. But he said nothing. Please, Mr. Landers, our little girl, Stormy, has wandered off and—

What do ya want me t’ do? Bill Landers butted in.

Well, Cade thinks if she has stayed on or near the road, she will be coming right at your farm and—

Click.

The phone went dead, and at first Sarah didn’t even know what had happened. Then she remembered she had not told Landers to check the tail-water pits. She dialed again, but this time there was no answer. Had he already left, or was he just not going to help? Could he just sit there and let this happen?

Sarah ran to the porch, and Cade was already in the corn several hundred yards out in Stormy’s Field. It was a smaller crop circle, but growing well and shoulder high. She yelled to