Three men drove up to George’s house in a battered old pickup with a natural gas tank in the bed. They parked at the bottom of the steps and got out, but only one of them climbed the steps. He didn’t get a chance to knock.
George opened the door and stood facing his visitor through the screen door. “Hi, Willie Ray. What’s up?”
The man looked at him uncertainly. “George, the emergency committee put me in charge of food production. I see you’ve already started your plot, but we need that tractor of yours working pretty much nonstop, not just sitting in your barn until you need it.”
George stared at Willie Ray for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not taking my tractor.”
Willie Ray took in the stubborn set of George’s face and tried again. “George, we’ve got to…”
“You’re not taking my tractor,” George said sternly, interrupting Willie Ray. “Have you given the emergency committee your tractor?”
“Well, no, but…”
“No buts, Willie Ray,” George snarled. “I’ll fight you if you try. You should know I didn’t give the army all my guns. I gave them everything I could do without. All my son’s stuff. All his guns, ammo, and supplies. I need that tractor for myself and my guests.”
Willie Ray was puzzled for a moment, then seemed to remember about Anna and her family. “Well, we still need that tractor producing. If you won’t give it up, you’ll have to run it yourself.”
“I can do that,” George agreed with a single nod.
Willie Ray nodded back. “Good. We’ve been contacting everyone who has any land at all and making arrangements to get crops planted. We’ll be contacting you when we need your equipment.”
George said, “That’ll do,” and watched Willie Ray leave with his helpers.
* * *
“That’ll do. George Blanton, you’re a fool,” George said aloud as he drove the tractor to yet another job. “Should’a known I’d get stuck plowing every backyard garden in the county.”
The emergency committee had convinced just about everyone in Grantville to plant what land they had, but that wasn’t really all that much. The real farmers, like Willie Ray and a few others, who had larger tractors and plows were off in the German countryside in well-armed groups making sure that every farm in the immediate vicinity of the Ring of Fire was planted.
George’s destination today was the Reardon house. They only had five acres, but they were going to plant every inch of it that they could. Jimmy came out of the house as he pulled up.
“George, how are you?” he asked, smiling broadly.
“Sick and tired of plowing,” George answered.
Jimmy laughed. “Then why don’t you climb down and let me handle it for a while. Mom wants to talk to you anyway.”
George left the tractor idling as he climbed stiffly down. “Thank you, Jim. Times like this I wish I’d let Willie Ray take the damn thing.”
Jimmy laughed again and agilely climbed up to the seat, then drove into his yard and started plowing.
George sighed and limped up to the door, rubbing his back with one hand as he did. The suspension on the tractor just wasn’t meant to be sat on for days on end. His knock was immediately answered by Elizabeth.
“Come in, George,” she said, stepping aside. “What can I get for you?”
“Some strong muscles and a few new vertebrae, if you have them on hand,” George answered with a little laugh. “If not, then I guess some iced tea will have to do.”
Elizabeth smiled and guided him to a chair, then went to get some drinks. She returned to find him seated with his legs stretched out. “Here you are. Let me get you a footstool.” She nudged a padded footstool over to him and he carefully put his feet up on it. “You look tired, George.”
“I am tired, Beth. Tilda and Anna are taking care of my garden without me since I’m always out and about. The good news is that it shouldn’t go on much longer. We’ll have every bit of arable land planted by the end of the month, and then I can relax a little.”