# Rare Earth/Chapter 25

Chapter XXV
A new life had opened up for Linda Joel. It was almost as if she had been born anew. From utter desolation, from an abyss of cold shadows and despair she had been lifted back into the sun again.
Less than a week after Jethro took over the cultivation of the farm he drove a cow into the Joel pasture, a big handsome brindled cow that had been raised on his own farm. Linda was in ecstasies. She could hardly believe that it really belonged to her. For Jethro had turned it over to her with the curt explanation that it was part payment of his rental.
As she worked in her kitchen, churning butter or baking cake, she would abruptly let everything go to walk out into the pasture to ​see if the cow were still there. She doubted her own eyes. What had happened to change her life so completely?
Now financially she had nothing to worry about. Jethro Trent had sent her a load of groceries, canned goods, flour, molasses and even a few Virginia hams. When she tried to protest, he stopped her.
"Leave everything to me," he said. "I'm used to this sort of thing. I'm keeping account of everything. At the end of the year when we make a settlement I'll deduct for all items and you'll see there will still be quite a bit of money due you. You must get rid of the idea that you are being helped. You're not. It's a business proposition and I'm mighty lucky to have been able to enter into this agreement. We will both be benefited."
So Linda at last had given in. Then Enoch had been right. The farm could be made, when properly handled, to yield a good return.
One morning when Jethro arrived at the farm he was accompanied by two painters ​with ladders and scaffolds. While the men were unloading their paraphernalia from the wagon, Jethro talked to Linda.
"Place would look better if the house were painted," he said crisply. "I want to make a show place of this farm. Get better prices for the crop. It'll be good advertising."
"It's what Enoch always wanted," she said breathlessly.
"Green with white window-frames," said Jethro.
"Yes," she whispered, "and a red chimney."
When the house was finished Jethro dug up the garden and sent away for geraniums and rose-bushes.
"Can't wait to raise flowers from seed," he said. "Next summer we may."
Thus gradually all the dreams which Enoch had for his mother were coming true. Before the painters left they went over every room in the house, fixed the cracks in the walls, painted the ceilings, varnished the woodwork and even the floors.
"Might as well fix everything while they ​are here," said Jethro. "It'll only cost a few cents more."
Every night after the men had gone Linda sat alone on her porch slowly rocking. How peaceful everything had grown to be. All her problems were fading as though they never existed. Perhaps some day even Enoch would come home again. She refused to believe that he was gone from the farm forever. And she would sing snatches of childhood songs.
"Hush-a-bye, my Honey, Close yo' li'l' eyes, Even stars are sleepin' In the soft blue skies. All the birds are restin' In the silent trees. Hark! there is a lullaby In the gentle breeze. Close yo' eyes, my Honey, Close an' keep them tight, Mammy will watch o'er you Through the summer night."
During those days Samuel Gage came often to the farm. He liked Jethro Trent. ​Sometimes he worked for a few hours in the fields with him. Jethro was doing all the farm work alone. He could easily have spared men from his own farm but he did not wish help. This was work that he wished to do himself. The only exception was Samuel Gage.
Jethro liked to have Samuel with him even though he was not much of a farmer, more of an idler. However he enjoyed life in his easygoing way and after all what greater thing can man attain than that?
He had known Jethro for more than twenty years but it was only now that they had become friends because of a mutual interest. Jethro was not much of a believer in friendship. In fact he had never had a real friend except the soil. They had been inseparable. Otherwise he preferred to live his life unmolested. Friendship, he considered, was overrated. Its value was open to question. It has been eulogized in story, poem and legend but has it truly benefited the world much?
Samuel Gage viewed with amazement the changes which Jethro brought about on the ​farm. The drab, gray buildings were now a pleasing green. The window-frames were white. Even the barn had been painted. All the broken branches and rubbish that littered the grounds had been removed.
Occasionally Jethro had snatched a moment to prune the trees and shrubs. He had wrought wonders. Now before the door there was a pebbled path with borders of flowers growing on either side. The fence had been painted white. The broken gate had been repaired and fitted with new hinges. The farm had grown to look unbelievably cozy and homelike.
"You've made a swell job of it," Samuel Gage said to Jethro. "About the only thing you 'aven't painted over is the cow."
Jethro smiled. "I will," he drawled, "if you are of the opinion that she needs it."
"Not worth while," chuckled Samuel Gage. "Reckon she'll do for another season."
Frequently Samuel sat on the porch to talk with Linda. Even her clothes had grown to look less threadbare. She usually wore a white shawl over a black dress.
​Once he said to her, "Yo' know, every wish 'at Enoch 'ad fer you 'as come true, 'cept one. I want to fulfill that."
As he spoke he drew a small package from his pocket and handed it to her.
With trembling hand she undid the paper. It contained a pair of brown kid gloves. She could not speak. She put her careworn, large-knuckled hands up to her eyes and wept silently.
Samuel Gage did not say anything. He felt rather uncomfortable. Perhaps he shouldn't have bought her the gloves after all. He was very ill at ease. He coughed several times. His face grew very red.
"'Ang it all," he thought, "why do women 'ave to cry? 'Nough trouble in the world without that."
Why even his own eyes were a bit moist. It was foolish. He was disgusted.
At last Linda got herself under control. "What am I to say?" she asked wistfully. "So much has been done for me. I can't begin to find words to thank you."
​"At least," he said, "don't do that You know it 'ud rather spoil everythin' if yer did. It's been sort o' pleasant stoppin"ere now an' then an' things like that." He was very badly flustered. He was not an adept at finesse. He had no idea how to get out of an awkward conversation. Then abruptly he decided he'd talk about Jethro Trent
"Rather decent sort o' feller, don' yer think?" he said pointing far off toward the field where Jethro was working.
Linda stared off into the distance without speaking. Then she said, "Yes, I don't know what would have become of me if it had not been for him. Guess I'd of had to go off an' live in some almshouse. Then if Enoch came back he'd never find me. But now thanks to him an' you the place is still mine. He's a mighty strange man. For hours he works in the fields. He doesn't even stop to rest in the heat of the noonday sun. Sometimes I carry a bit o' food out to him at lunch time. He never comes in. He wouldn't eat at all I guess if I didn't see to it. He doesn't seem to realize he's ​hungry, so intensely does he work. An' I take a can of milk out to him. He loves milk, he says, that's why he insisted on getting a cow for the place. It's nice to have, too. Now I have fresh cream, butter and cheese. We've also more than a hundred chickens. I tend to them myself. I like to feed them. It's lots of fun. And it's great to have eggs and milk to use in cooking. He's sent over plenty of everything for me. I don't know why he should go to such trouble."
"It's a matter o' business," declared Samuel Gage.
Linda shook her head and smiled. "That's what you both say always. You say it too much. A man doesn't throw his whole heart and soul into a thing that is merely business."
"Well, 'e loves the soil," said Samuel.
"Perhaps so," she mused, "but he doesn't have to work that hard for me. There's plenty of other farms, you know."
"Don't forget," murmured Samuel, "'e knew Enoch. Reckon that 'as a bit to do with his 'thusiasm an' love fer this yere farm."
​"Yes," she said, "Enoch was like that. He'd bring out the best that was in people. He was just a simple colored boy but he was oh, so good." She paused for a moment, then she went on slowly, "Something has happened to this farm, I don't know what For months my nerves were at the breaking point. There wasn't anything for me to live for. The farm had grown to be a desolate place. Then Jethro Trent came and it seemed as though the soil itself ceased to be grim. He has changed everything. Even the house seems more contented. It knows there is someone to look after it. And when I sit alone on the porch in the afternoons and watch his figure working far off there in the fields an unexplainable feeling comes over me. The quietude of the garden is beautiful. The occasional swish of the trees or the cackle of a chicken seems to add to the peace that envelopes everything. And unfamiliar thoughts go floating through my mind. It is hard for me to explain them to you. Why should I feel that life has suddenly grown to be worth living, I who am hundreds of miles ​away from any of my kin, whose husband is dead and whose only boy was lost in the war? It is hard to find a reason. What has happened to change my life so completely? The answer lies in that silent, hard-working, thoughtful man out there in the fields. I don't know who he is, nor had I to my knowledge ever met him before you brought him to my door. You say his name is Jethro Trent. Well, perhaps it is. Names matter little anyway. For hours I sit and ponder over him and sometimes I almost think, he must be God."