Linda Ann Rentschler

1.

The same day Cole Montgomery would meet Jack Hoffman, he had to tell him that his daughter was pregnant.  He had sketched out a two-page script the night before, and Emma, who wasn’t the least bit concerned about her father’s reaction, made endless fun of him.

“You’re over-thinking this,” she said.  And though he was silent, she knew he was thinking, “sustained.” It felt totally natural to be able to predict Cole’s reactions even though they had only been a couple for five months. 

Emma continued patiently.  “We’ll have small talk first, you’ll meet the cows, and then we’ll announce our engagement over dinner.” She emphasized both syllables of dinner as if to make her point stronger.

Cole shook his head in disagreement.

 Emma pretended to bang her head in frustration, bouncing her thick, blonde hair upon her shoulders.

“I should speak to your father alone.  I can officially ask for your hand—“

“No, you will not,” she said definitively with her head now cupped in her hands.  “I’m thirty, not sixteen.  You don’t need to ask for anything from anyone but me.  So, how about it?” she asked with a wink.  “What do you want from me?”  Her blue eyes twinkled seductively.

Cole remained in problem-solving mode.  “If you’ll just take a look at my notes—“

Emma balled up Cole’s script and tossed it at his head. 

 “I can print another copy,” Cole responded, squinting though his dark-framed glasses remained in place.  She was on the verge of distracting him again, and he was determined to prepare for this important conversation.  “Look, it’s a matter of respect--”

“Cole, honey, no matter what you say, he’ll want to kill you. You’re just kidding yourself if you think that part is avoidable.  I keep telling you we don’t even have to tell them I’m pregnant.  We can get married first.”

“Lie?  You want me to lie?”

Emma knew better.

Cole and Emma departed from her apartment in Montclair, New Jersey in the cold, dark morning and crossed the Delaware Water Gap as the river reflected off the pale metallic dawn.  Three hours later, Cole consulted his highlighted map as Emma used the rest room in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, and went into the convenience store to buy crackers, soda, and water. 

After they stretched and hugged a moment, they resumed their trip to Emma’s family farm in Port Allegany.  As the car wound up the narrow Bucktail Trail, Cole was treated to panoramic views of thickly forested hills, mountains capped with snow, and valleys with curving seams of water.  Except for the occasional cabin or railroad station, it was one breathtaking scene after the next, something you would expect in Montana or Colorado, certainly not within a day’s drive of New York City. 

Cole knew Center City Philadelphia from business trips. He knew the Pocono Mountains from ski weekends.  He frequented the restaurants and craft shops of New Hope when he was enrolled at Princeton, but had never ventured this deeply into northwestern Pennsylvania.  This trip was having a physical effect on him.  His ears popped.  His eyes watered.  He could swear he was experiencing the equivalent of a runner’s high, endorphins multiplying, joy, peace, an inexplicable thrill knowing his life with Emma was beginning.  

He began to imagine the sort of activities taking place at the houses they passed. Farmers collecting eggs. Children playing on tire swings. Cows chewing their cud.

Cole was pleased his new SUV was handling the drive so well.  He had bought this silver Mercedes 350 M Class less than twenty-four hours after he learned about the pregnancy. It was never too early to protect his family.

Emma’s golden hair spilled over the side of her lowered leather seat. She had curled up with one leg tucked under the other so she was facing Cole as they talked.  Cole had covered her with his blue Giants sweatshirt, and she joked that they shouldn’t have taken it across the Delaware into Eagles territory.

As he slowed to round another hairpin turn, suddenly Cole was looking down and out for miles, the bright, white clouds near enough to squeeze, shimmering peaks jutting out alongside them, a creek between pine trees jetting below.

“Wow,” he sighed.

“Is it how I described it?”

“It’s better.  I know you said hilltops, but I didn’t expect postcards.  There’s so much open space.  And no wires at all.”

“I told you it was pastoral,” she reminded him.  “Not a single billboard like on Route 3.  You can see through the water right down to the river stones,” she said, trying to call his attention to the beauty without criticizing the metropolitan area where Cole had spent his entire life.

As he began the final leg of the journey, Cole was suddenly aware that any tension in his body had dissipated.   The scenery had calmed him completely.  There was still some snow clinging to the road, shielded by the overhanging rock in places where the sun couldn’t melt it. At every plateau, the view was abundant with lush trees.  Cole was trying to comprehend how Emma could ever have left such a beautiful, unpopulated place.  Either impending fatherhood or the Pennsylvania countryside was making his heart beat a little faster. 

The rolling hills soon gave way to intermittent flat patches where occasional white horse fences framed the fields.   Livestock appeared with curious faces.  They were getting closer.

“Were you comfortable?”  Cole couldn’t help asking.  He hoped Emma would drive this car everywhere, even just to a convenience store.  He took the bus to work in and out of New York City, stopping less and less frequently at his apartment on the Upper East Side because he usually couldn’t drag himself away from Emma’s apartment.  It just seemed brighter there, more friendly.  The windows were longer and let in more sunlight.  The homes were older and occupied by actual families.  And Emma had a supernatural hold on him.

“I fell asleep if that means anything.  But I guess that’s nothing new lately.”  Emma eased the seat up and drew Cole’s sweatshirt around her neck.  “I love the back warmers.  It’s like having an electric blanket on the road.”

“I did my research,” Cole said with a nod.

“Now there’s a surprise.”

The road inclined again, the car climbed effortlessly, and Cole’s ears popped once more as he stretched open his jaw.

 “I miss Pennsylvania,” Emma accidentally admitted as she bit into a large Wheat Thin.  “I mean, it’s just a different life entirely,” she tried to cover.  “You’ll see when we get to the farm.” 

Emma immediately regretted her confession.  She had moved to New Jersey to take a job as a speech therapist in a school system that could afford one, and she didn’t want Cole feeling responsible for her not being closer to home. 

“If your father doesn’t throw me out, we’ll visit often,” he promised.

“Pop would never throw you out,” she said cheerfully.  “If anything, he’ll shoot you.”

“Thanks, Emma.  That’s encouraging.”

“Well, aside from farming, he loves to hunt.”

“You’re not helping.”

“There’s still time to turn around and elope.”

“He’d shoot me for sure then,” Cole groaned, shaking his head.  “I want you to have a traditional wedding. Just because we got things a little out of order doesn’t mean we have to get married in secret, like we’re ashamed.”

“You just want to meet the cows.”

“You’re not kidding.”

This was Cole’s first visit to a real farm if you didn’t count commercial pumpkin patches in upstate New York, or Central Jersey apple farms where you could pick your own, buy fresh cider, and treat yourself to fresh, powdered donuts in the fall. 

“You’ll love Pop.  Everyone does,” Emma added, feeling a little guilty for teasing him.

That wasn’t what Cole was worried about.  It was what Emma’s father would think of him that had him concerned.  He remained optimistic, dismissing his strained relationship with his own father for the time being, reminding himself he always managed to make a good first impression.  He realized Emma’s father still might assume the worst. Carelessness. Selfishness.  Even immaturity.  With so much health technology available, you could track your own blood pressure, glucose, and easily predict ovulation.  

“Do I look like I gained any weight?”

“Yes.  You’re enormous,” Cole laughed, taking his turn at teasing her.

Emma was a petite five foot four with very broad square shoulders and striking blue eyes.  She wore a pair of sapphire stud earrings, no lip gloss, and straight bangs across her forehead.  She appeared plain in a way Cole considered rare and beautiful, and he simply loved looking at her.  Today she had dressed in jeans and a white oxford shirt topped by a teal crewneck sweater.  She looked like she just stepped out of an L. L. Bean catalogue. 

Emma had seemed nearly exotic to Cole when they had met in Atlantic City--probably because she wasn’t gelled up for a night on the town.  She had gone to the yearly teachers’ convention to attend some workshops.  Cole had been dragged to the casinos to celebrate a legal win with his friends, Henry and Mark, who quickly fixated on the roulette wheel and forgot about their promise to rent a fishing boat. 

Cole and Emma had been drawn toward the revolving door of the hotel simultaneously, and Cole had stepped back to allow Emma to walk through first. She said a friendly, “Thank you,” and her smile lingered in his mind.  When they crossed paths again, they were purchasing a touristy box of saltwater taffy.  Emma looked as though she was happy to see him.  Cole was surprised how excited he was to see her again, and from that moment on, it was like they were old friends. 

 “I just want to make sure we get the chance to tell them.  I don’t want them guessing,” Emma said as if to warn Cole.

“Then you’d better get rid of that healthy glow in your cheeks,” he warned.

“I don’t glow.  I’m not supposed to glow until the second trimester,” she said, pulling down the visor mirror, hoping to prove him wrong.  “Looks like make-up,” she said, satisfied. 

“It’s better than that,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Cole had never met anyone like Emma.  She would become animated as she described feeding the cows, driving tractors to bring in the hay, taking wagon rides on the farm during snowfalls. He loved her stories of her childhood almost as much as he loved her. 

Cole’s private school upbringing and love of reading had gotten him into the ivy covered walls at Princeton, where, like his father and his grandfather, he had gone to law school.  But something was missing before Emma. 

 “The turnoff is coming,” she announced, pulling his sweatshirt inside out, and tossing it into the back seat.

“Any last minute advice?” Cole asked.

“You willing to lose the tie?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said firmly.  They had discussed all of this in the morning, and Cole had felt it was more respectful to meet her parents with the tie, khakis, and a sport coat. There was no use pretending he was what he wasn’t.  He did buy a pair of Timberland hiking boots because he was a practical guy, but any more than that and he’d have felt like he was a caricature, a city boy dressing for a day in the country.

Cole had visualized the way to this farm so completely, he immediately recognized the tall line of pine trees Emma had described.  He knew the road forked a mile beyond the Heller brothers’ silver bubble trailer with the open shed that contained a beer-tapped refrigerator, tires for sale, and other flea market paraphernalia. 

The road veered to the right and began descending into the valley. There were modest homes along this road belonging to folks who worked shifts at the glass plant, the largest employer in the area.  Cole made a right turn and slowed down on the bumpy way in toward the house. He crossed a tiny wooden bridge under which some low-level water gurgled along gray stones.  He immediately recognized the large red barn Emma had described, noting the “Bless this house” hex sign she told him she had bought at last year’s German festival.  He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have this much property, for even the drive from the outer road to the house seemed endless, like a walk to a city high rise you could see in the distance, but took forever to reach.  It wasn’t property in the sense that he knew, not like the investment real estate his family firm owned.  No, this was actual farmland, something you could interact with, something that vibrated with life.

“Anywhere special I should park?” he asked.  Cole simply wasn’t used to having so much space.  The dirt road changed into a wide gravel circle adjacent to the white farm house, which eventually led to a garage.  Cole had seen Jersey diners with less parking.

“You don’t really have to park.  Just stop the car.”

Cole turned off the engine and watched as Emma sped away.  She waved for him to follow, too excited to wait.  He opened his door and stepped out of the car, feeling a strange tingling at his hairline. He took a deep breath of the country air hoping he would feel less peculiar.  It reminded him of a time he was nearly hit by lightening on a golf course.  He could feel something interacting with his body, traveling the length of his spine.  He opened and closed his hand as if to discharge the energy.  Maybe some part of his body had fallen asleep during the ride, and he was experiencing an odd pins and needles.

His second deep breath seemed to restore him.  He loved the clean, earthy smell, even if he couldn’t identify the particulars.  The first thing he noticed about the farm was the extreme lack of noise. There were no cars or planes passing by.  No boom boxes or people on cell phones.  No ambulance or police car sirens.  Nothing but stillness against the soft crunch of his shoes.

As Cole looked out at the hills framing the land, he felt safe, calm. One of the fields nearby had been turned over and was completely brown with deep ridges.  But it wasn’t the crusty, graying brown of a suburban backyard.  It was reddish brown, clay-like, alive.  Even the pine trees that bordered the house were a dark and healthier green, feathering out high into the pale blue sky.

Emma’s mother Claire ran out to meet Emma, hugging her tightly. They seemed like old friends, twirling in each other’s arms, so reluctant to let go.  Cole could tell the women missed each other terribly.  He knew immediately they would be spending a lot of weekends here if he handled things correctly.

Cole and Claire walked toward each other smiling politely. Claire wore cuffed jeans and a patchwork jacket, and her frosted-blonde hair was bobbed at her chin.  She was shorter than Emma and her face seemed more angular.  Her light blue eyes were rounder and seemed effortlessly kind.  Emma introduced them and Claire gave Cole a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek.  Cole spied a bunch of cows in the pasture beyond the barn as he stooped down to embrace her. 

Emerging from the barn doorway, an imposing figure began to make his way toward the driveway.  Although Emma had told Cole her father was a large man, he assumed she meant fat, and Cole was just polite enough not to ask.  He wasn’t.  Jacob “Jack” Hoffman stood about six feet tall and appeared at least two feet wide on top.  Emma yelled, “Pop,” and sprinted toward him as though she were eight, not thirty. 

Claire remained beside Cole and rubbed his arm affectionately. “Thank you for driving Emma all the way out here.  It means a lot for me and Jack to spend time with our daughter.”

Cole smiled down at her as he felt his throat tighten.  He wasn’t used to such direct conversation, not even from Emma.  He had gotten a post card from his parents who were in Rome last week.  They had signed it Ciao.  But his parents were the same Richard and Judith Montgomery who nicknamed him Cole because it sounded more English than Nicholas, his God-given name.

“My pleasure,” Cole replied, reminding himself the less said the better for now.

Emma’s father’s muscular arm was firmly wrapped around his daughter as they approached, laughing and chatting.  Cole tried to remember all the good things Emma told him about Mr. Hoffman, how he assumed care of his ninety year old Aunt Anna, how he sang in the church choir, how he would do nearly anything for an animal and absolutely everything for a child.  Now that Cole was going to be a father, he was beginning to understand such generosity toward young people.

Jack was dressed like a farmer in a buffalo plaid shirt, jeans, rubber boots, and suspenders.  Cole was surprised by Jack’s youthful appearance.  He had blonde hair and an oval-shaped face blessed by a movie-star quality smile.  Emma had inherited his Caribbean blue eyes.

Cole suspected he looked nerdish with his tie, khakis, and glasses, but hoped Emma’s parents would at least give him a chance.  Claire kept hold of his left arm as if to offer her support.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jack said pleasantly, extending his callused hand. 

Cole placed his hand firmly into Jack’s giant’s grip, and instantly, as though a power switch had been thrown, everything that was Jacob Hoffman tumbled forward into his heart.  Emma playing the piano.  The gamey smell of the barn.  The birth of a calf.  The soft grinding of his boots in the snow.  Dancing in the moonlight with Claire.  The heat of the summer sun on his neck.  The sweet smell of honeysuckle.  It was a current of images, sounds, feelings, smells.  It was magnetic, and Cole had only experienced it once before with his paternal grandmother. Cole nearly gasped, but forced himself to be still and calm.  He could feel his legs starting to tremble at the thighs as though the electrical current was too much to handle.  He feared the strange vibration would soon travel up his arm making him look like he was having a fit. 

“Have you ever been out this way before?” Jack asked Cole good-naturedly, completely unaware that his life was spilling out into Cole’s consciousness.

Cole heard Jack’s deep voice, and managed to snap his mind back to the moment.   He wasn’t going to make any kind of impression being weird and emotional, even though he recognized the significance of gathering so much information through Jack’s touch. He let go of his hand as the image of Jack in his tuxedo materialized.  At least he knew the wedding would take place. 

“This is my first time,” Cole croaked out.  “It’s amazing,” he added, referring to the scenery of the empty road, the stillness of this very moment, the wild, frantic beating of his heart.

Cole couldn’t help but wonder if Jack had any sort of reciprocal glimpse into Cole’s life, into the reason why they had taken this trip.  Despite the stickiness of the situation, Cole knew this family was meant to be his family.  And without even having entered the Hoffman farm house, he knew already it would feel like home.