Maggie's Farm

I looked down at her hands, again noticing the silver ring on her index finger as she touched the cards.

"It is important that you want me to read your cards. You have to be willing to hear what the Tarot tells you. Do you want me to read for you? I must have your permission."

"Okay, you have my permission, "I said, nodding, becoming more bewildered and fascinated by Maggie.

"Now look at the three piles and with your left hand select a card and that will be your card."

At first I reached for the card in the middle pile and then suddenly changed my mind and picked one from the pile next to it, looked at it and saw a picture that looked like a beggar carrying a pole over his shoulder with a bag tied to the end.

"Ah, yes, the Fool. I'm not surprised that you picked that card," she said, smiling and looking into my eyes.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" I asked.

"Not at all. The Fool is a wonderful card. The Fool has all of his possessions in one pack and travels but does not know where he is. He is filled with visions, questions, wonder and excitement and often doesn't see the cliff where he might fall off. The bag on the staff means that he has all that he needs to do anything he wants. He is on his way to a new beginning. He only has to stop and unpack."

"But why is he called the Fool?

"Because if he is not careful, he could fall and look like he's a fool," she answered. She took the card from me and closed her eyes then held it to her heart. "There's more that I could say but I think I have said enough for now."

"Wait a minute, tell me more," I asked, fascinated, "Do you think I'm a fool?" I repeated.

"Do you really want to know your future?" she asked, placing the card back on the pile, her eyes looking into mine.

"Maybe," I responded, remembering my backpack in the car.

"Did you think about your future when you took off in your car today?" she asked, putting the three piles together, resting her hand on top.

"No, I just wanted to get away and see where I ended up," I said.

"Then that's what you should do," she said. "The important thing is to go where your heart takes you. Don't worry. Don't be afraid of the future, Thom. It's worrying that gets in the way of the good things that can come to you--the magic that can happen." She then took my hand and brought it to her lips and kissed it.

I closed my eyes, feeling her lips on my hand, her words resonating, letting me relax and melt into the present, remembering the words of an old song, "what ever will be will be," forgetting about the possibility of cliffs that might be ahead.

She picked up the bottle of apple wine and poured the last of it into our juice glasses. We sipped and our eyes met but neither of us spoke.

"Let's dance," she said a few minutes later and took my hand and we went into the living room. I hadn't noticed it before, but she went over to a turn table sitting on an amplifier. Next it was a big speaker and on the opposite wall, another speaker. I remembered having a stereo system like that years ago when I was first married in the Sixties. She went over to a pile of record albums on the floor and picked one up. "This is Vivaldi, one of my favorites. I love the Four Seasons and play it every day, especially when I am baking or canning."

"That's one of my favorites too," I said, surprised to see an old record album realizing most people, including me had CDs.

She then picked up another album and showed me the cover. It was a picture of Frank Sinatra wearing a fedora-like hat on the back of his head and a trench coat over his shoulder and I remembered that album.

"It's great that you still have these vinyl records," I said while she put it on the turntable, but before playing it she went into her small office off the living room and I again noticed the old type writer and noticed the manuscript next to it. When she came back with a box of matches, she turned off the lamp and started lighting the candles.

"So are you a writer?" I asked, still surprised to see the typewriter and not a computer or laptop.

"Yes, I've always written but never published. Lots of poetry but I just finished a memoir," she said, while lighting the candles and then went over and carefully put the needle on the record and we started dancing. We put our arms around each other and moved slowly, swaying, holding each other. I couldn't remember the last time I held a woman and danced, but it felt wonderful feeling her breasts against my chest, the smell of her hair, our cheeks touching, the sound of the violins, the words, the dark room with candles glowing felt so warm and romantic. I glanced up and saw our shadows on the wall reflected from the candle light She moved her hands from my shoulders to my ass and I did the same as we swayed, slowly grinding into each other, barely moving and then stopped and kissed, first gently then more passionately. Without saying anything, she went over to the turn table and put the Vivaldi album on, took my hand and we went upstairs to her bedroom. She lit several candles and for a few minutes we stood at her bedroom window and looked out at the farm bathed in moonlight before she turned and we embraced, kissing each other tenderly, then more intensely, our tongues swirling in our mouths. She then lifted my sweater over my head and I took her green flannel shirt from her shoulders and we slowly undressed each other in the pale light of the moon coming through the window.

We fell to the bed, holding each other, kissing, our passion rising, my body on hers then her body on mine, moving slowly together as if we were still dancing. For a moment we stopped and looked into each others eyes. I was on top between her legs. She said, "I don't want this to end." I smiled and nodded and then she said, "Thom, make love to me, make love to me," and I entered her slowly, moving deeper, her legs and arms embracing me, holding me in her warm wetness, both of us moving as one, the exquisite sensation growing as the music of Vivaldi came up the stairs, building to a crescendo, urging us to move faster and harder. I felt her body tensing, trembling and suddenly exploding as a huge orgasm swept over her, the sound of her screaming filling the room followed by the ecstatic intensity of my whole body writhing as I filled her and she held me, her legs holding me deep and I couldn't budge but could only lay there panting with her under me. When I finally moved onto my back, she rolled onto me, laying her head on my shoulder. We didn't speak. The room was quiet, the music had stopped and there we were feeling the warmth of our bodies in the dim light of the candles.

The next morning when I woke up, she was gone. I leaped out of bed and went to the window and saw her coming back from the barn carrying a bucket in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other. I put on my jeans, went into the bathroom, peed, looked at myself in the mirror, splashed water on my face, gulping a drink in the cup of my hand and then went down to the kitchen just as the screen door slammed.

"Hi there, sleepy head," she said, placing the bucket on the floor next to the sink and the basket of eggs on the counter. She then opened the oven and with a thick pot holder pulled out a batch of muffins. "How about an apple cinnamon muffin, some strong coffee and a batch of Maggie's special scrambled eggs," she said then went to the refrigerator, placing a plate on the table, "and some homemade butter."

I was dazzled by her energy and efficiency. "Maggie, you're amazing," I said, unable to take my eyes off of her.

"You're right. I am amazing," she said, chuckling and started pouring the milk from the bucket through a filter into a big gallon jar then efficiently made the scrambled eggs and within ten minutes we clicked our coffee mugs and had a delicious breakfast.

While putting things in the sink, she turned to me sitting at the table. She looked so beautiful standing there, her long auburn hair halfway down her back, her faded jeans and baggy flannel shirt, those green eyes now looking at me with a serious expression before speaking.

"I want you to stay here, Thom."

"Wow," I said, "this is so sudden. We just met."

"We belong together. I know that," she said, looking into my eyes. "And I'm never wrong."

Her words took my breath away. I was stunned and suddenly felt my heart swell. I got up and went over to her and we hugged, holding each other, I couldn't believe what was happening to me.

"I think I'd like to stay. I've never met anyone like you and I've always wanted to be a farmer. I would love nothing more than to be here with you."

"That would make me so happy," she said.

"I'd have to go back to my cabin, close things up, get my things and I could come back here tonight or tomorrow," I said, "that is if I can find my way back. I have no idea where I am."

"Well, I have an old map and you can find out and figure out a route. I know you just took off and didn't know where you were going."

"Well, it looks like I ended up in a pretty magical place," I said, looking around the kitchen then into her eyes, feeling a huge smile on my face.

She opened up the big road map book of Maine, turning a few pages and pointed to the spot on the map. "Here we are in Birch Run."

I looked down at the map and turned the page to see if I could find another section that showed where I lived and when I did, traced the roads, looking at the route numbers and saw that I was not as far away as I originally thought and was certain I could find my way back. I was anxious to leave so that if all went well, I could do what I had to and come back as soon as possible.

"I've got a lot to do back at my cabin, but I don't need that much and I can be back here tomorrow, I bet."

"See, the Tarot cards were right. You are definitely the Fool and that's good."

"I guess," I said, still thinking about her definition of the Fool but wondering if I was also being foolish to suddenly pick up my life and move it to this farm in the middle of nowhere to be with someone I had just met. "I can't believe I'm going to do this," I said.

"You're pretty amazing, too," she said and put her arms around me, kissing, our lips opening the others mouths, our tongues, moving. We kissed and just as we started getting aroused, I stopped.

"I think I better get on the road and if we keep kissing, I'm not sure when I'd leave."

"Well, okay, you might be right," she laughed but stole a quick kiss.

She walked me out to my car parked in front of the Farm Stand. I glanced over at her old truck, then at the sign Maggie's Farm, looked up at the house where I would soon be living and again, we hugged and I said, "See you tomorrow, my love," and drove back down the road, over the old wooden bridge, remembering how it caught my eye as I drove past it the day before then turned around to come down the narrow road, suddenly remembering the blinding sunlight that made me almost lose control of the car. After about twenty minutes, I stopped at Hinkley's General Store and asked the old grey haired guy at the counter if he knew the best way to find Route 195 which was a more direct way to my cabin then the winding, haphazard way I ended up at Maggie's.

He told me how I should go. I thanked him and bought a pack of mints. I wasn't hungry after that big breakfast and thought I'd be home in two hours or so and took off in the way he told me, my mind swirling with all that was happening. I turned on the radio to listen to some classical music on public radio but barely listened as I thought about everything that happened to me--how sexy Maggie looked when I drove up and we had wild sex in the hayloft then how I stayed for dinner, got stoned looking up at the stars then dancing in the dark candle lit room then made the most exquisite love I had ever had. I thought about my suddenly just leaving my cabin, not knowing where I was going and, out of the blue, meeting the most amazing woman I had ever known. I couldn't wait to get home and return to her the next day and begin my new life. Again, I thought about Bob Dylan's song, "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm No More" but that's just what I was going to do. The thought made me laugh.

At home, I got busy. I put a lot of straw mulch on my garden, even though I was abandoning it, I put things away, even swept the floor before putting all of my manuscripts in a box and packing up my laptop and printer. I called an old friend and asked if she wanted my plants and that I was leaving and to take the food in the refrigerator. She could just come over and get them when she had time. I never locked my cabin. No one did where I lived and thought, if someone did break in, they can have what ever they want. Where I was going I would have everything I need but figured I come back from time to time and check on things. That night, I had difficulty sleeping. My mind was so full of thoughts: my good luck, how quickly ones life can change and now I had love of my life. I got up early and made my way back to Maggie's farm.

On the way, I listened to the radio and was amazed that public radio was playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons. I turned it up loud and felt the music going through me, my head moving and a few times, I took my hand from the steering wheel as if I was conducting the orchestra.

I drove past Hinkley's General Store, excited that I was getting closer and then found the wooden bridge, drove over the hill, my heart leaping, knowing that around the next bend I would see Maggie's farm stand. When I looked ahead I didn't see the green and yellow umbrella or the table. I kept driving thinking I must have missed it but couldn't imagine how. I turned around and drove back, slowing down then stopped when I noticed a beat up old For Sale sign where I was sure her farm was. I saw the high brown grass, the barn looked like it was falling apart, the roof sinking in and then the dilapidated farm house, the paint peeling, a shutter on the second floor hanging loosely, vines growing up over the roof of the porch, leaves and debris covering the entrance to the house, the old truck had two flat tires and was mostly rust.

I panicked, not knowing what to think, completely confused, in fact, crazed at what I was seeing. I looked at the faded phone number on the For Sale sign, thinking it was the number of the real estate agent. I stood there for several minutes, bewildered, not knowing what to do. I got back in my car and just sat there looking at the overgrown grass and the paint peeling from the old farm house. After about ten minutes, I drove back over the wooden bridge and to Hinkley's General Store. I had the name and number of the real estate office and thought I would call to find out what happened to the farm.

When I went up to the old guy at the counter, he looked up from the magazine he was reading and when I asked if I could use his phone to call the real estate office and showed him the name. He looked at it then back at me, "They ain't around here any more. Why do you want to call them?"

I told him I wanted to know what happened to the old farm on Bridge Road.

He said, "I don't nothin' about that farm. It's been empty for years."

Just then an old woman with a cane came into the store and said, "Hello, Leland," and walked past us to the rear of the store. I glanced at her rounded back, the black long dress she wore, her white hair tied loosely in a bun and thought maybe she knew something. She came back to the counter with a container of ice cream and put it down. "Put this in a bag and add this to my account. I'll get to you at the end of the month."

"Excuse me," I said, "Do you know anything about the old abandoned farm on Bridge Road?"

She looked up at me with a puzzled expression, squinting, nodding as if she was remembering. "You must mean the old Maggie O' Donnell farm," she said. "Sad about that," she added. "Nice woman. Worked hard. I remember they tried having some kind of commune there a long time ago but then it all fell apart. They found her dead about twenty some years ago. Said she was murdered by her husband--seems they were fighting over the farm. He went off to prison and because of what happened, no one wanted the place and there it is falling into the ground."

I was stunned by the story, thanked her and went out to my car and must have sat there for twenty minutes thinking about what I just heard and what had happened to me the day before.

I drove home, not listening to the radio, staring straight ahead, my mind trying to comprehend what I had experienced, but also, feeling how much I loved Maggie, someone who existed in my life yesterday and was now gone and had been for over twenty years.

When I got home, I made myself a cup of tea and stood at the window looking out at the orange, yellow and red leaves falling to the ground, covering the flower beds, the rocks and the path leading up to my front door. I knew I was being foolish feeling I had lost the love of my life, as I stood at the window, tears in my eyes, knowing I would never be the same.