My Korean Christmas Prince Ch. 01

Chapter 1: CALEB

As usual, my farmhand, Aaron, is chatting away in the passenger seat of the truck, and, as usual, I'm only half listening. Something about his extended family who have come into town for Christmas, and who gets along with whom, or doesn't get along with whom, and who's bringing what to eat, and who bought what great present for whom, yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm busier concentrating on trying not to jostle the truck around too much, since we're on our way back to the farm from picking up the stud ram for the winter breeding.

Aaron's chatter does remind me that I was going to pick up some more kerosene for the lamps in the barn before the storm hits, and we have to pass through town anyway so it's lucky I remembered before we got back to the farm. About fifteen minutes away from town I notice a strange sight: a sleek red Porsche stopped along the side of the road. It's about as out of place around here in rural Wisconsin as a herd of elephants, or more like a herd of flying pigs, for that matter. Aaron stops his babbling in surprise, and I slow down as we drive by it so we can take a closer look. It's empty, and it looks like it has a flat tire (the back right one), and no wonder considering the state of the roads around here.

Even the sight of the luxury sports car isn't enough to shut Aaron up for very long. Only a couple of seconds elapse before he starts back up again, saying how he's never even seen a car like that in real life before, how much he would love to have one, or even a garage full of them, he'd just drive around to impress the ladies, he could even see himself being a Formula 1 race car driver some day, yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda. I don't mind his chattiness too much, though, as it saves me the trouble from having to say much, and when he's around it provides just enough of a distraction from the thoughts that are always lurking in my head and lying in wait.

We stop by the general store, and I ask Aaron to wait with the ram. The ram isn't currently butting its head against the box that's he been contained in like he was when we first picked him up, but he could start up again at any minute and we would have a hell of a time if he actually escaped.

We call the store "the general store", but in such a tiny town as this it's really the only store. Like the general stores of olden days, it really does sell everything. Groceries, house supplies, clothes, stamps, used books, electronics, and, of course, farm equipment, seed, animal feed, even huge tractors and threshing machines. Basically everything that we would need for our homes or for the farms is either stocked here or comes through the store via special order.

I do my best to ignore the multicolored Christmas lights draped around the front of the building, along with a parade of blow-up figures including Santa and elves and reindeer and snowmen and snow-women and snow children, and the enormous Christmas wreaths that adorn the doors. As I walk into the store, though, past a big blinking neon sign on the wall that says, "Santa stop here", I'm struck by an even more bizarre sight than the abandoned car. An Asian man is having an argument with Johnny, a middle-aged guy who's one of the main workers at the store. The stranger's tall, slim frame, stylish clothes, and sleek hairstyle all clearly indicate that he must be the owner of the abandoned car as much as if his picture had been emblazoned on the front of it (or vice versa). That last thought makes me smile a little inwardly. He forms a stark contrast to Johnny, a typical Midwestern rural type, overweight and red faced, but what in the world is a stranger like this guy doing in a place like Hebron, Wisconsin?

We'll, it's none of my business. Shoving my curiosity to one side, I quickly turn and walk to the back of the store, but it looks like they're out of cans of kerosene, so I'll have to ask someone. No one else seems to be around (not surprising since it's getting past supper time), so I head back to the front, where I can still hear them arguing.

As luck would have it, it looks like Johnny's the only one working the store. I stand patiently near the front counter, trying my best not to listen in on their conversation (which is impossible, of course).

"I still don't understand why you are so sure that no one around here can drive me to Silver Falls. I'm willing to pay generously," the stranger is saying, clearly trying but failing to stay calm. A surprise on top of a surprise: the stranger's English is extremely good, with only slight traces of an accent.

"Well, you see," Johnny drawls slowly, barely hiding a smile, "I'll explain it to you for the third time since maybe you don't understand English too good. Silver Falls is two hours away. The storm is gonna hit in a couple of hours. Ain't no one around here gonna risk gettin' stuck in a winter storm, even in Silver Falls, and especially not right before the holiday. Ain't no amount of money's gonna change that."

Johnny seems to be taking a perverse pleasure in saying no to the stranger. Now that's one thing that doesn't surprise me. He's always been an asshole. His dig at the stranger's obviously excellent English is also typical, and despite myself I'm annoyed with Johnny and sympathizing with the completely clueless stranger.

"So how am I supposed to get to Silver Falls?" the stranger is asking, frustration now obvious in his voice. "I absolutely have to be there by tomorrow."

"Well, now, again, you're askin' the wrong question, buddy," Johnny says. "What you should be askin' is, how am I gonna find a place to stay tonight and wait out the storm?"

I don't know what it is, but at that moment something inside of me snaps. Now, I'm a pretty quiet guy. I've been living back here for, I guess, more than five years now, and I don't get involved in other people's business. I just prefer to do my own thing, mind my own business, leave them alone and they'll leave me alone, and that's worked out so far more or less.

But that little smirk of Johnny's just pisses me off, and that's the simple truth of it. It says, "Good luck gettin' anyone around here to help you, rich guy. Fat chance." It says, "You're a stranger. You don't belong here, with your nice clothes and your fancy car." And it says, "Even though you speak English, you're a foreigner, and you're not white. And that's even worse than everything else combined." I would feel sorry for a stranger in this kind of situation anyway, but all of this hits too close to home. It reminds me too much of the close-minded small town bullshit I wanted to leave in the first place, and all the other prejudiced shit I've seen over the years everywhere else I've ever lived.

"He can stay with me," I hear myself blurting out suddenly, out of nowhere.

The two have turned to look at me, and it's only then that I realize I'd said it out loud, and a little too loudly at that.

"Howdy, Caleb," Johnny says, nodding.

"Heya, Johnny," I say in response, steadying my voice and making it sound more neutral. I look up at the stranger, who's a little taller than I am. I'm 5'9, which means the stranger's probably around 5'10, at least a good four inches taller than Johnny, which must have annoyed Johnny on top of everything else -- imagine, a tall Asian! But one thing I'm noticing just now as the stranger has turned around is that he's not just well dressed and all that, but he's also stunningly good looking. Well-defined, strong features, straight eyebrows, full lips, intelligent eyes, currently with a surprised and questioning look in them. I immediately feel shabby in my standard farmer's uniform (plaid shirt, jeans, baseball cap, heavy brown jacket, and heavy boots to go with my longish straight brown hair and beard), but I shrug that off. He looks oddly kind of familiar. Maybe he's someone I might have seen at work at some point in the distant past? That seems highly unlikely, but I almost immediately think he might be Korean for some reason. I have a fleeting moment of doubt that I'm just being a backwards hick who thinks all Asians look the same, so I forget about wasting any more time trying to dig through my memories and speak out loud into the waiting silence.

"Johnny's right. You're not going to find anyone to drive you to Silver Falls tonight. No one can afford to get stranded away from their farms for even a few days, even during the winter. Even I wouldn't risk it."

The stranger listens to my explanation, and, I guess since he's hearing the same thing from the both of us, he starts to seem more resigned to the situation.

"Pretty much everyone else around here is busy with family and the holidays and all that, but I live alone so there wouldn't be anyone bothering you. It wouldn't be any trouble."

I speak matter-of-factly, and to be honest I'm starting to hope that he'll actually say no. But in reality he really doesn't have a choice since there aren't any motels let alone any hotels anywhere nearby, and probably the only other person around here who would take him in would be the preacher, and even that old racist bastard would be doing so unwillingly. I still can never understand how people who claim they're Christian can be so damn unfriendly, self-centered, tight-fisted, and just plain bigoted.

The stranger gives me a piercing look, and annoyingly I'm uncomfortable at the unexpected scrutiny. None of us are much used to strangers around here, and it's like his eyes are probing below the surface to find truths that I may have hidden deep inside. Well, I don't blame him. I'd be suspicious of help offered by a stranger too.

I meet his gaze and keep my expression open but noncommittal. My attitude is that I'm just doing what I think is right and that I don't have any ulterior motives, and he can just take it or leave it, makes no big difference to me. His eyes study me with a look that reveals nothing, and continues just a few seconds past "regular uncomfortable" moving towards "creepily uncomfortable" territory.

But at last he nods, smiles a small polite smile, and says, "Thank you very much." He reaches out with both hands to shake mine, and I shake his and give a small polite smile in return.

"Well, that's settled then. Johnny, you got any kerosene in storage? Thought I'd pick some up for the lights in the barn before the storm hits."

"Sure thing, Caleb, sure thing. I'll be right back." Johnny walks off a little sulkily, probably more than a little disappointed that his enjoyment at the stranger's predicament has been thwarted.

"I'm Caleb," I say, introducing myself more formally to the stranger.

"I'm Yeong-soo," the stranger says, bowing his head slightly. "I'm pleased to meet you. Thank you again for your help."

"Nice to meet you, Yeong-soo," I say politely back.

His smile, his real smile, comes out then suddenly, warm and friendly. If the combination of his good looks and nice clothes was a one-two sucker punch to the gut, then his dazzling smile is like an uppercut to the jaw added on for good measure. Seeing this stranger, it's like he's from another world, a world I left behind long ago. It shifts things inside me that I hadn't thought about for years, and I push them back down again annoyed. No point in unburying ancient history. Just have to put up with him for one night, and he'll be gone by tomorrow, and I can forget all about it.

Or so I thought.