There’s a big agricultural event happening this week. Today there’s an auction not far from Howard’s Farm. Walter glanced briefly at the flyer as she held it up.
I wonder if Howard will be at that event. It’s possible, Evie agreed, studying the map on the flyer. The auction site is in the same general area as his farm, just a different address.
Let’s visit his farm first as planned, Walter suggested. We can always check out the auction afterward. After driving for more than an hour through increasingly remote countryside, they turned onto a long gravel road marked by a simple wooden sign, Howard’s Haven for Hope.
The driveway led to a cluster of buildings, a large farmhouse, several barns, and what appeared to be dormitories. The place seemed quiet with few people visible. As they parked and got out of the car, they noticed a young man emerging from one of the barns.
Hello there, Walter called out, waving. The young man, Hispanic, probably in his early twenties, approached them with a friendly smile. Hello, can I help you? We’re looking for Howard Fielding, Evie said.
Is this his farm? Yes, this is Mr. Fielding’s place, the young man confirmed. Do you have an appointment with him? Walter shook his head. No, not exactly.
We’re old friends from back when Howard was a teacher. We sent an e-mail to the address on the website. The young man’s expression cleared.
Oh, that’s the old e-mail address. We’ve been switching to a new one this past month, but the website hasn’t been updated yet. He looked apologetic.
Mr. Fielding isn’t here right now. He and most of our staff and children went to the county agricultural event. There’s an auction today, and we’re also running a stall to promote our charity program.
Yes, we just heard about the event, Evie said, trying to hide her disappointment. She turned toward the car, ready to leave. Wait, Walter said, placing a hand on her arm.
He turned to the young man. Since we’re already here, would it be possible to look around the farm a bit? We’d love to see what Howard has built here. The young man hesitated.
Let me check with the supervisor on duty. One moment, please. He walked away, pulling out a phone, and had a brief conversation.
When he returned, he was smiling. That’s fine. I’d be happy to show you around.
For the next 30 minutes, they followed him through the property. He showed them the barns where they kept livestock, the stables for the horses, and the fields where they grew various crops. Throughout the tour, he explained their charity program, how they helped immigrant children learn about agriculture and farming, while providing them with education and support.
This is one of our special barns, the young man said, as they approached a colorful structure with children’s paintings decorating the exterior. It’s designed specifically for the younger children to play, get messy, and explore. Mr. Fielding created this program to introduce farming life to kids in a fun way.
Inside the barn, they found a man arranging materials on several low tables. He appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s with thick black curly hair and fair skin. When he smiled at their entrance, Evie noticed his unusually wide, bright smile.
Ferdinand, these are friends of Mr. Fielding, their young guide explained. They stopped by, hoping to see him. The man wiped his hands on a towel and approached them, extending his hand.
I’m Ferdinand, the activities coordinator. Nice to meet you. Walter and Evie Marlowe, Walter said as they shook hands.
Ferdinand gestured to the materials he’d been arranging. I’m preparing some demonstration activities for potential investors and clients who’ll be visiting during the event this week. We want to show them exactly how we work with the children here.
He moved around the tables with practiced ease, explaining each station. I’ve been here a very long time, since I was six years old, actually. Mr. Howard rescued me and took me in when I had nowhere else to go.
Howard was a school teacher before this, Evie said, watching Ferdinand’s movements carefully. Our sons were his students. He always had a way with children.
He’s a man with a noble heart, Ferdinand agreed. They looked around the barn, taking in the children’s artwork that covered one entire wall. There were colorful drawings done with crayons, alongside more textured creations, where leaves, oats and eggshells had been pasted to create unique effects.
Evie’s gaze landed on a drawing of a red Cadillac, meticulously decorated with colorful grains of rice glued to the paper. The detail was impressive. That Cadillac, she said, pointing to the drawing? I remember that car was Mr. Howard’s treasure.
Ferdinand nodded. Yes, he still has it here. In fact, he took it out this morning.
He looked at the drawing with pride. Actually, that one is mine. I made it as an example to show the children.
That’s why it’s neater than their creations. He chuckled, gesturing to the more chaotic artwork surrounding it. Evie felt a strange chill run through her body, like a gust of cold wind across her skin.
She stared at Ferdinand more intently, his black curly hair, his wide smile, and felt an unsettling sense of familiarity, something about his mannerisms, the way he used his hands when he spoke. Ferdinand noticed her staring and shifted uncomfortably. Is everything all right, ma’am? Walter placed a subtle hand on Evie’s back, a gentle warning.
Yes, yes, Evie said quickly. I’m sorry. It’s just all these children’s crafts.
They reminded me of my boys when they were young. She hesitated, then asked, Do you have any siblings, Ferdinand? Evie, Walter said in a low, cautioning voice. Ferdinand chuckled awkwardly.
Yes, I do, actually. My brother’s at the event today with Mr. Howard. He checked his watch.
You should check it out if you have the time. There’s going to be a children’s performance and an auction. They thanked Ferdinand for his time, and their young guide led them back toward the entrance of the property.
As they walked, Evie looked back once again. Her mind raced with possibilities and questions she couldn’t yet articulate. When they reached their car, they thanked the young staff member for the tour.
Evie’s hands trembled slightly as she fastened her seat belt, her thoughts consumed by the man with the curly black hair and wide smile who had been rescued by Howard Fielding at the age of six. Inside the car, Walter started the engine and checked the GPS on his phone. The auction site is only twenty minutes from here, he said.
Should we go? Absolutely, Evie replied, her voice tense with excitement. I need to speak with Mr. Howard. As they drove down the dusty country road, Walter glanced at his wife.
Evie, why did you ask Ferdinand such personal questions, about whether he had siblings? Evie stared out the window, watching the farmland roll by. I just had this strange feeling when I saw that Cadillac drawing he made, and then his hair and his smile. She turned to face Walter.
They looked like—- Lucas? Walter shook his head. Evie, you can’t possibly think that. They look very different.
Just because of the hair color and curls and the smile doesn’t mean—- I know, I know, Evie interrupted. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be inappropriate.
It’s just—- Something about him felt familiar. Walter patted her hand reassuringly, but said nothing more. The rest of the short drive passed in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
They arrived at the county fairgrounds where the agricultural event was being held. Colorful tents and booths lined the perimeter of a large field, with farm equipment displays in the center. The place was crowded with farmers, ranchers, and families enjoying the festivities.
No auction happening right now, Walter observed, checking the schedule posted near the entrance. Looks like it had passed. They walked through the fairgrounds, stopping occasionally to look at displays of prized livestock and agricultural innovations.
After about ten minutes, they spotted a white tent with a blue banner reading Howard’s Haven for Hope stretched across the top. As they approached, Evie’s breath caught in her throat. There, speaking with a couple who appeared to be potential donors, was Howard Fielding.
Though three decades had passed, she recognized him immediately. His hair had gone completely white and deep lines etched his face, but he still had the same enthusiastic gesturing as he spoke. They waited until the couple moved on, then stepped forward.
Mr. Fielding, Walter said. Howard Fielding? The older man turned, his expression polite but blank. Yes? Can I help you? You probably don’t remember us, Evie said.
I’m Evie Marlow, and this is my husband Walter. Our sons, Lucas, Noah, and Gabriel, were your students at Oak Ridge Elementary? Howard’s brow furrowed as he studied their faces. I’m terribly sorry.
It’s been a long time, and I’m an old man now, almost seventy. He tapped his temple. The memory fails a bit more each year.
Can you believe that? Evie stepped closer. I organized your farewell party with the other mothers before you left the school. If there was ever a woman with three identical little boys following behind her like ducklings, it was me, Evelyn Marlow.