Farmhand Stories

Marco was stalling now. He was early to work this morning, earlier than usual, to avoid the unexpected spring heat. It was mid-morning. He cast long looks back at the house hoping to catch a glimpse of her in one of her bright dresses, the wind making the light fabric dance around her knees. Maybe she’d wave, bring him some cold water. He squinted at the house, wiping his face with his forearm, removing his hat. Marco sig...