Stranger. Part 2 Will rumbled his old Ford pickup nimbly down the rutted farm road to the market. With one hand on the wheel, his old joints bounced around just as much as those on his truck. “ Not sure who has the better rubber cushions. Probably you!” "Arriving well ahead of the maddening crowd," he chuckled. In reality, Will would easily sell out his fall harvest of organic vegetables. Most of the city folk would wander out to the market and feel good about getting right from the farm food. Healthy steer manure and all. Will took a great deal of pride in his ability to run a self sufficient farm. Between his crops, milk, eggs and beef he did quite well. Living all these years alone with his dog Tucker, he looked forward to the human contact each weekend. Chatting up the customers and making contacts with the CO-OP reps made the day go quickly. It wasn't until Will had packed up all of his old wooden crates and begun the journey homeward that he felt a cold chill in the early evening air. “Just a misty bit,” he muttered. Tuck whoofed a short reply. It had sent a shiver down his spine. His old truck let out an answer too, slowly rolling to a stop. Will slid of his seat landing two feet in the dust. He popped the hood and took a long look at what might be the answer. Nothing he could readily see. Grabbing a long wrench from his tool box behind the seat, Will taped around a bit, until it finally went thunk. “Not a ping.” He tapped it again. “The carb! Dammit!” He reached over the warm engine. The sweet smell of oil and gas filled the air. But the carb was ice cold. A frost layer covered it. The joy of the day was fading as quickly as the daylight was and this was not going to be a quick haywire fix. Without daylight Will would have to walk wawalk the remaining miles in the dark, Tucker leading the way.

The Stranger Will sat quietly at his kitchen table. His chair layered with paint chips on the well worn oakwood. It creaked a little as he shifted in the butt grooves, and thumbing the next page of today’s paper. The sun’s rays cast a dusty hue across the old wooden floor. Sparkles streamed past the steamy coffee mug. Without blinking an eye, he knew in an instant that someone had arrived at his kitchen screen door. Usually the snap and creak of the rusty hinges gave strangers away as they approached. But not this time. This time Will just knew. He glanced up over the edge of that morning's paper. “You’re just a little early, aren’t you?” He stated as his attention drifted back to his paper. This stranger began to visit more frequently lately. Each time its presence deeper, colder. This particular morning Will decided it was time he took control. The old floor boards creaked as he made his way across the kitchen and out onto the verandah. Looking out across his fields he could see the mist rising up from the lake just beyond. A chill brushed over is shoulder and down his overalls. The hair in his arms was electric. His cranky old Ford pick-that had lasted him years had seen better times. It sputtered as Will turned the starter with a few twists of his wrist. "Who's crankier this morning, you or me", he muttered. Each weekend Will would wander into town and sell his crops at the local Farmers Market. But this time was different. ©2017