Smells Like Money

The Upper Basin Chronicles

Chapter 7

Smells Like Money

Alexander Murphy realized by mid-Monday afternoon just how much he had enjoyed the company of his daughter’s teacher yesterday. He climbed into his pickup cab for afternoon lunch, and pulled the coffee thermos from its usual spot.

Seeing Laura yesterday had also made him realize that Ellen’s illness and death had driven him into an emotional cave. He knew he’d struggled to be present for the kids. He had tried hard to fill the empty aching from their mother’s absence. Without Grandma Teresa and his dad, it would have been really tough.

He clicked the dash radio to KUNI, hoping for Thistle and Shamrock, but got weather, instead. The truck cab, in the lee of the machine shed’s south side, was warm, though the sun after a brilliant morning now looked thin through cloud.

Last night, when the house was still except for creaking and humming, he had listened to the sudden quiet of the white pine song. He had said his prayers like always, thankful for the kids, Michael, Rose, and Lucy, and for Owen and Teresa, for the time he’d had with Ellen, for being able to work outside, to be free to make his way as a farmer on the land. Hail, Mary...thank you, Lord...amen. Then without really noticing it at first, Ellen had just seemed to be there. “Hey, babe,” he had whispered, and fell asleep.

Alexander opened his afternoon lunchbox where he knew one of Teresa’s “champion chippers” waited, a chocolate chip cookie so fine and substantial that he could run all afternoon on its promise. With a napkin to shield the cookie from a tractor-greasy hand, he chewed slowly and sipped the pleasingly hot coffee. He thought again of Laura. He wondered how she and Ellen would have gotten on. Teachers were among his wife’s favorite people. One who took such clear interest in Rose would have suited Ellen enormously. He set the coffee and cookie on the dash and closed his eyes. An old-time fiddle tune, just audible, floated with the mid-afternoon dust inside the pickup.

Alexander Murphy saw himself standing on the rise above the prairie wetland, his conservation project baby. He was looking north toward a large machine rapidly approaching. Dust blew from its dual-dual wheels and articulating frame. The enclosed cab flashed yellow with caution lamps. The hump of a huge manure slurry sprayer tank lurched behind the tractor. As it neared, Alexander could see Harold Mundt at the controls, standing in the cab as if a stocky captain at the helm, gesturing for Alex to step aside. Alexander saw himself raise both arms, and run toward the oncoming machinery. “Wait, Harold, wait! Not now! Test it first! Wait ‘til summer or fall to spread!” he yelled. The big sprayer rig seemed to go faster. Harold stopped waving and turned the machine away from Alexander so abruptly that the tank tipped dangerously toward him. It tight-roped a fine equilibrium until its sloshing contents rolled it off its wheels. As the tank crashed on its side the top hatch blew open in a wild spray. Its hitch point twisted 90 degrees while Harold drove on. Alexander felt the cold blast of manure slurry hit him, knocking him off his feet. The manure river swept him down slope with its deluge flowing into the wetland. The big machine dragged the tank out of sight.

“What the...what was that?” Alexander started and hit the steering wheel with the back of his right hand. “Mercy!” he exclaimed at the vivid dream. He looked at his clothes, expecting to be covered with liquid manure. He was sweating and breathing fast.

“Ho, Harold, smells like money! Settle down, will you!” laughed Alexander aloud. Where did this come from? He reached for his coffee still hot in the thermos cup.

Wait a minute. The wetland! What about the prairie, what is this? Alexander opened the pickup door. He walked around to the north side of the machine shed to where he could look toward Harold’s place over on the next hill. Everything seemed normal in that direction.

He walked back to the truck, looked at his watch. Just 15 minutes had passed, but something was different. He pulled his cell phone off its clip on the visor. He dialed a number.

“Ding Darling Elementary!” said a cheery voice.

“Hi, Mary. This is Alex Murphy. May I speak with Ms. Paruzzi, please?”

“One moment, please, Mr. Murphy.” Alex thought that the yellow buses would be on the road by now. She should be free.

“Hello, this is Laura Paruzzi.”

“Laura, hi! This is Alex Murphy. This will sound kind of funny, but I’ve just had the strangest dream.”

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Next week..."Upstream, Downstream," Chapter 8.

The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 7 was written and edited by John Gabbert.

Comments? Email feedback to The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 7

Thistle & Shamrock® is a registered trademark of Fiona Richie Productions.

The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.