The Quiet Man

THANKS ONCE AGAIN TO MY EXCELLENT EDITOR BLACKRANDI1958 FOR HER HELP MAKING THIS ONE A BETTER READ.

Sam Drucker watched the well-built neatly groomed young man once again trudge past his small grocery store. Well, trudge wasn't really the word for the movement. The young man was on foot, true, but he was moving at a right smart clip, Sam thought. He moved with purpose, as if he had a mission that was time sensitive. It was already hot this mid-July morning, and the sweat was rolling off the man Sam was watching. He and his friends were sweating slightly, just sittin' and whittlin'. Sam could imagine how much worse the young man was perspiring. Of course, he didn't really have to imagine because he would see the large wet spots on his shirt as he moved past the store. Sam shook his head in consternation. He couldn't remember when anyone in Hooterville walked as much as that man did and moved with his speed.

Sam, and three of his friends and customers, were sitting on the rickety wooden porch watching the hot sun beat down on the already too dry grass growing up through the cracks in the wooden sidewalk. It was only 9:00 AM, and the heat was shimmering up off the dusty street. It was sure going to be a scorcher. Occasionally, one of the men would say something or spit his chew into the dust before returning their attention to their whittlin' or the dusty street.

When the young man came into view, they transferred their attention to him. The darkly tanned leathery-skinned young man seemed not to notice the heat or much else, but all four of the men sitting in the rickety old chairs knew better. At one time or another each had seen the man react to some stimulus or another and when he reacted, he moved wicked fast. They had all been in the service during wartime and knew all about situational awareness. That young man had it in spades. He missed nothing and they were reasonably sure he would not put up with any crap from anybody. He hadn't made many friends in town, but that was mostly because he was a loner. When he came to town on business he was always polite and well mannered. No one had one thing against him. They didn't know him well enough for that. Those who knew him best, like Sam, liked him just fine.

The young man showed up out of the blue one hot summer day the year before and moved into the vacant Simmons house just past the edge of town. No one seemed to know where he came from or why he was there. Since property transfers were a public matter, the town soon found out the man's name was Thomas (Tom) Porter, and he paid cash for the old farm. The place had been for sale nigh-onto six years and no one locally could afford it. No one from out of town wanted to move to the small community and live in such a shack. In truth, most of the town folk at one time or another wondered why some high-roller didn't purchase the small thirty-acre plot, tear the house down, then build a mansion or another hotel. There were several hotels a little farther along the Tennessee River where the businessmen and well-to-do from Chattanooga stayed. They surrounded a large marina and beautiful golf course on the lake. What none of them knew was the land sold with restrictions in the deed preventing commercial development for the next fifty years. The old couple who owned the land didn't want it ruined and commercialized until they were safely in their grave. They kept ten acres of the original forty and built a small retirement home on it. They wanted to see their old farm the way they remembered it and wouldn't budge on the restrictions, so the land remained on the market for those many years.

In fact, the old stone building overlooking the river on the back of the property was probably in better shape than the house when Tom bought the place. From time to time, someone would notice that Tom did some repair work on the old farmhouse. It was slowly being brought back to better shape. Tom was still a mystery to most, however. He walked everywhere he went around the area, but he owned an older Ford Ranger Super Cab FX4 that appeared to be in excellent shape. Excellent shape hell, the damn truck looked showroom new.

There were times when Tom was not seen or heard from for two or three weeks at a time, then all at once, he would be seen moving around his property once again or trudging around town. He was gone many weekends, or at least out of sight. When someone saw him outside and stopped to visit he would talk to them, but they got the impression his heart really wasn't in the conversation. Now, more often than not, neighbors only waved when they saw him. He seemed to like it that way.

On this day, the men watched as Tom walked, almost trotted, past the small store and into the Post Office. He reappeared a few moments later carrying a hand full of mail and walked back toward the store. His next observed stop was the small bank. They could see him through the window as he talked to the teller, Mrs. Peters. She watched him fill out a withdrawal slip, then she counted out the requested money to him. None of that modern ATM crap in Hooterville! After Tom took his cash, he put it into his wallet, said something to Mrs. Peters, smiled and left the bank.

Soon, Tom once again was back out on the street trudging along. Trudging, heck, Tom walked with a purpose, rapidly as he usually did; his hawk like gaze missing nothing. After he left the bank, he cut cross the street headed for the store. When he stepped onto the boardwalk it creaked and the boards bowed downward from his weight. He gave the men a quick smile and said, "Morning Mr. Drucker, gentlemen."

Tom didn't slow down his steady pace as he walked past the men and into the slightly cooler store building. It, like most of the other businesses and not a few of the homes locally, was not air-conditioned. Tom was out of sight before the men's return greetings reached his ears. When Sam followed Tom into the building he saw Tom's mail now bulging out one of his front pants pockets and Tom standing just inside the door as his eyes adjusted to the almost dark interior of the building. After his sight adjusted to the darkness (Sam refused to spend money on lights during the day and that was that), Tom wandered around the small store taking items off the shelves. When he got his hands full, he placed the items on the counter then walked back to the shelves for more.

Tom put a load onto the counter and stood looking at Sam. Finally, Sam mentally shook himself and asked, "Will that be all Tom?"

"Yeah, guess so. This ought to be enough for a few more days. Don't know how much I need at a time."

Sam tallied up the purchases and watched as Tom pulled cash from his wallet to pay. After Sam put the groceries into a bag, Tom pulled his mail from his pocket and put it into the bag with the groceries. He shrugged off the backpack he was wearing and put his bag of groceries and mail into it, then put it back on. He turned to leave and said, "See ya later Mr. Drucker."

"You have a good day Tom. Come back when ya can sit a spell. And I done told ya to call me Sam."

"I'll try to do that sir. Thanks."

Sam followed Tom out the door and stood watching as he turned toward his house and began walking rapidly down the side of the road. After he watched for a short time, Sam reclaimed his chair beside his friends. One of the men looked down the road at Tom and said, "There goes a real strange man. He's even stranger than that Douglass feller that bought the old Haney place."

All the men nodded their heads at that comment and one of them said "Yup. That there boy is weird as they come, I'm a thinkin'." The speaker leaned over and spit his chew into the dust beside the porch, then continued, "I had an ole sow droppin' piglets coupla nights ago. I was out in the pen helpin' her out and I heared a slappin and a thumpin' noise out on tha road. Mah dogs begin ta barkin' up a storm and run towards tha road. It was just getting onta daybreak and I stepped out to see what was goin' on. There come that boy runnin' down the road and headin' away lickedy split. Heck, he was already nigh onto three miles from his place and still goin' away. Moved faster than scat, like something was chasin' him. Musta been half hour later I saw him comin' back and let me tell ya, he hadn't slowed down none atall. I watched him tear on down the road headin' back to his place and he wasn't even hardly breathin' hard, far as I could tell."

One of the other men looked down the road at Tom's barely discernable figure and said, "Yep. I been seein' him arunnin 'round most every mornin', too. Most days he has on that same pack he was wearing today and it looks full. He has one a them backpack things filled with water, too."

After about 15 minutes of fast walking, sometimes almost trotting, Tom turned into the driveway of his house. He felt the tenseness draining from his lanky 6-foot frame as he walked down his lane. He could feel the change of temperature as he walked into the shade and down into the lower ground headed toward his house. When he walked into the shade at the road his pace slowed to what was, for him, a slow amble as he soaked up the peacefulness of his home and cooled down from his trip to town. He still had work to do, but he needed groceries and wanted to get them before the day got any hotter, so he made the early trip to town. After he put the groceries away and ate lunch, he planned on working in his garden for a couple of hours. After that, he was going down to the river on the back of his place for a swim and to try to catch some fish. The sun should be setting about then and the fish would be biting better.

As he walked he thought about the trail he was on. He loved the way it looked and all, but he was contemplating trimming back some of the brush and trees. When he took his truck out the limbs would slap the windshield from each side and he really, really didn't want to take a chance of scratching up the paint job on it. He had paid cash for it after saving almost all of his take home pay from his first two years in the army. Damn, that had been over fourteen, shit, nearly fifteen years ago now. It and his little plot of ground was almost all he owned to his name. At least they were all paid for. He was better off than most people his age: shit, he would be 35 his next birthday, even if he didn't have any furniture or a wife.

When he rounded a corner in the trail he slowed down even more and looked at his little house. It was a typical older farmhouse built in the late 1920's or early 1930's, what was called a shotgun house, because it was a long rectangular shape with two bedrooms on one side and the living area and kitchen on the other. If you stepped in the front or back door and fired a shotgun you could take out everyone in the building. It wasn't typical of the old shotgun houses, though, because it was built into the side of a hill and had a half-basement that exited on the downhill side of the house. At some time, the owner built a covered deck over the long side of the house and over the exit and windows for the basement. The deck overlooked a small stream or large spring rolling down the little valley toward the mighty Tennessee River that was the southern boundary of his farm. In the winter, he could see the river and one of the many TVA lakes glinting through the leafless trees, but not so much in the summer.

When he stepped into the yard he was facing the end of the house with a covered porch, the deck side of the house to the left and his garage to the right of his house. The yard was neatly mowed and there were some old lilac, crepe-myrtle and japonica bushes scattered around, but no flowers. A large garden could be seen downhill along the small stream. His driveway continued past the house and along the stream, eventually ending up at the bank of the river. It passed an old stone building on a small bluff overlooking the river, then meandered down a gulley to the end. It was the remains of a road that existed in old times, but was now closed and returned to the landowners.

Tom walked up onto the still rickety wooden porch, opened his door and walked into the house. He never bothered locking the door. He had nothing to steal except a nice notebook computer, and he kept it in a safe when he wasn't using it because he used it for work. Other than that, he had one old recliner and side table, a bookcase, dinette table and two mismatched chairs in the kitchen (along with an old, old cook stove and refrigerator) and his old bed and dresser in the bedroom. No other furniture graced the house, unless you counted the two old home-made chairs on the deck. He had sprung for an ungodly expensive mattress for the bed, but who would steal a man's mattress? He felt it was justified because a man needed a good night's sleep to function to his potential.

Tom quickly put his purchases away and poured himself a large glass of unsweetened iced tea. He didn't care if he was in the south. He hated the sickly sweet tea commonly offered as a drink by (it seemed) everyone who served tea. After drinking several large swallows of the tea he sighed contentedly, refilled his glass and walked out onto the deck to rest a moment and read his mail before he made his lunch and began his work in the garden.

Tom sorted the mail and opened the most important envelope first. The return address was from the Department of the Army, although he knew it was from the National Guard. When got the envelope opened he saw it contained what he thought it would. It was another set of orders to Active Duty. This time it was for a month of duty assisting a unit preparing for mobilization for a tour in "the sandbox". He was to report a week from this coming Tuesday. Tom sat contemplating his career. He really liked most of the men in the Guard and Reserve as well as most of those he met in the army, but he was sure getting tired of the stresses of his position and the deployments. He had been deployed, personally, to three tours in the Global War on Terrorism, and had an unfathomable number of shorter tours like the one coming up. Of course, the money was good and the retirement would be better when he was 60 or if he managed to add up more than twenty years active duty. Right now his total active time stood at slightly over 9 years and he still had three years to go before he got his 20 years Guard time. In today's dollars, the retirement for him as a CW4 (Chief Warrant Officer 4) with his active time would be in the neighborhood of $2,400 per month with all his credits considered. Then, at 62 he could cash in on Social Security. His retirement would be sweet with plenty of money and good health care.

At present, the work was such a chore he had to force himself to continue. He planned to retire as soon as he got his good 20 years in. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he would do at that point. His only income now was his pay from the Military and the short tours he took, and a little interest. He was able to live off his take home from the Guard and the interest he earned from the remainder of the small inheritance he received when his parents died. He had almost $93,000 in long-term bonds paying about $6000 per year interest. He lived well, but he had to figure out something to do in three years when he retired. He would only be 38, so would have 21 or 22 years before his pension would start.

Tom let his mind rest and sat looking over his deck railing at the garden. He enjoyed the beautiful view and quietness for a moment, then his mind began thinking about the Guard once more. This month of Active Duty was not coming at the best possible time, but he knew that when he agreed to take it. Much of his garden crop would be ready to pick while he was gone. He supposed he would see if the Dawson's wanted to pick the vegetables. They were nice people and could probably use the produce. Their only income was their small Social Security checks. They had used the entire amount he paid for the 30 acres to pay off their retirement house on the ten acres they kept. At least they were debt free and could probably live on their small checks if they had to. Since he moved in he made sure he took extra produce to them, when he picked more than he could use. He did wish he could raise some chickens and maybe a steer or two and some hogs. Meat and dairy products really killed his budget, and he was getting tired of fish and the occasional wild game he shot. It was cheap eating though.

That evening after he finished his work in the garden, Tom walked down the trail through the woods to the Dawson's new home instead of heading right to the river to fish. He was carrying a small bag of tomatoes and a few ears of early corn on the cob. Elijah and Carolyn were sitting on their porch enjoying the setting sun with their iced tea.

Tom smiled when he stepped into the yard and started to speak when Elijah yelled, "Howdy there, Tom. Come on up here and sit a spell with me and Carolyn. Ya want some nice cold iced tea?"

"Hello Elijah, Carolyn. Don't mind if I do as long as it's no trouble for you. I brought you some extra tomatoes and fresh corn. It sure has been good this year already."

Carolyn jumped up and took the vegetables from Tom when he got to the porch. She said, "You just sit right down there and I'll put these up when I get your tea. It's sure good to see you again. Where you been the last week?"

"It's good to see you, too, ma'am. I've been around. Working mostly, and getting my exercise in, too. I have to run before it gets light enough to see to beat the heat."

Elijah and Carolyn both laughed and Elijah said, "We already knowed that, son. We see ya trottin' down the road most mornings. How far do ya run now?"

"It varies, but usually about eight or ten miles for sure. Then I do 45 minutes or an hour of exercises and my katas. I'm usually done and ready to have breakfast by 8:30 or 9:00. I work in the garden after breakfast until it gets too hot, then I just loaf the rest of the day."

Elijah laughed and said, "Sure ya do son. I've seen you out clearing brush or doing other work lotsa evenings, too."

Tom looked sheepish and said, "Well, sometimes but that's not really working. I'm just bored or I see something I want to change and I get on it for a while. It's more like a hobby or something."

"Well you call it whatever you want, boy. It sure looks like work to me and you sure have a heavy sweat most times I see you. Now, what brings you around here today? Not that we're not glad to see ya."

"Well I got word today I have to be gone for a month, beginning Tuesday. I was wondering if you would mind watching the place and picking the vegetables that need it while I'm gone."

"Sure, we can do that. Don't have much else to do now we're retired. Just have to keep up our little garden spot and take care of the critters. Sure is nice to only have a couple dozen hens and the one old sow. Think I'm gonna buy a steer to fatten up this summer, though. Won't be no trouble at all to watch over your place. Ya going to be doing anything fun while ya're gone?"

"Oh, I expect I'll enjoy some of the time, but I think it's going to be some long hours and short nights. Pay's good, though."

"You said when you moved in here you worked in logistics, making sure inventories and supplies were available when they were needed and things were stored correctly. What kind of business do you work in that you can come and go like you do if ya don't mind me asking."

"It's no secret I guess, I'm in the Guard and work out of State headquarters. I'm a Chief Warrant Officer. I do everything from inspections to helping units set up and keep their supply records in compliance with Army and National Guard Regulations. I also assist units that are being mobilized for tours of active duty. I have a unit that is being mobilized I have to assist this month."