Zach's heart is not prepared for the familiarity of those words or the paralytic longing that follows. He knows he can't stay there, exposed in the open, for too long or he'll be seen and therefore urged back onto the bus. But he takes that chance to stare a little longer at the words, the flowers, the stains and cracks, all of it.
After getting his fill, he looks back toward the bus's open door and the passengers inside. Most of them are trying to get a glimpse of whatever damage was caused by the incident. Others are using the stillness of the journey to rifle through belongings or rest their head on the seat in front of them. None are looking his way. He can see the legs of the driver working on the opposite side of the bus, can hear him humming an unfamiliar tune.
The dirt road leading into the mysterious town is too visible, and someone would notice him walking away eventually, possibly causing alarm. On the other hand, maybe nothing would happen at all if a fellow passenger saw him, but he can't take the chance that someone who recognizes him will call out to him and wake his mother. No, he must hide until the bus has left with its newly changed tire, one passenger lighter.
He slips behind the 'Welcome to' sign, or, he knows now, the 'Welcome to Shanan' sign, sits down next to his leather suitcase on the cool shaded ground, and contemplates what it means for the earth to stand still.
He waits. For what seems a short time. And then a grand whooping comes from the direction of the bus. Cheers and whistles follow, and Zach hears the driver shouting over the noise, "Alright, alright! Let's be on our way, crowd!"
Zach licks his lips, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth has become between the short time it took him to decide on his escape and now. He hears the heaving of the engine and squealing of the brakes, like a beast of an animal whipped back into action; and after the thundering motor fills his ears, it suddenly becomes quiet. Very quiet. He knows the bus is gone but can't bring himself to stand quite yet, convinced the beast will turn around and come right back for him.
A few minutes pass and after convincing himself it is silly to imagine his mother standing on the blacktop ready to scold him, he stands and faces the road.
Empty. Of course. But thank goodness; he breathes out the breath he had stuck tight in his chest. There's nothing to do now but start walking.
So he thinks, but for some reason, his feet won't move. Although the whole purpose of escaping the bus was to see his beloved stone bridge, he now feels a distinct pull in the opposite direction.
Straight into town.
He swallows, his curiosity at an all-time high. Might as well. He'll have ample opportunity to visit the bridge throughout the summer if he truly means to stay. Better to get a head start figuring out where he will be living during the coming weeks. Excitement wells up inside him again. He is just discovering his own bravery and feels like one of the characters in the books he spends countless moments reading. On a quest to find my future.
"Or something silly like that," he chuckles.
With a jerk, he lifts his old suitcase to his side and begins his venture into the secret town of Shanan.
A short journey brings him over the slight hill visible from the road, and he can see now that a long road is what leads him into the town, or what he hopes is an actual town. Suddenly he wonders if he has made a mistake and what he assumed was an inhabited place is actually an abandoned town or private property. But he continues walking, feeling somewhere in his heart that all is well. Instead, he focuses on the trees, the flowers, the summer breeze which smells of pure nature.
The city doesn't have these sensations. Even the parks and gardens lack the raw, wild factor he senses here. The soil here is untainted by overpopulation and mindless living. He hears a river somewhere nearby and takes a moment to find the canteen in his suitcase and take a drink. Pausing only a moment, he makes his way once more, anticipation filling his soul like fresh gulps of cool water.
He passes a field now. The soil here is worked with love, he thinks to himself. Silly, a job is a job and he is sure farmers view their livelihood as a means of necessity, a way to provide for their families and the community. But it seems beautiful somehow, that way of living. Why is the world the way it is? And why are we running so swiftly toward the future? Why not enjoy the present?
Zach walks further down the road past the fields and spots a house in the distance. It doesn't take long to reach the house's drive; Zach's feet seem to be walking too quickly, too easily, though he isn't planning to stop at the singular house, just continue into town.
Then he sees a pickup coming toward him on the road, probably coming from the elusive place he has yet to see. First, it's a haze, then a rumbling beast before him. Zach reaches the edge of the house's drive at the exact moment the pickup reaches him, and he can see now that the bed of the truck is filled with people. Mostly men and of all ages, some looking to be his age, others obviously middle-aged and rugged looking.
Zach wipes his sweating hands on his pressed pants when he realizes the driver of the pickup is rolling down the passenger side window and turning into the driveway in front of him.
The truck idles there on the path and Zach brings his eyes to meet the eyes staring back at him from inside the cab. A man with a beard and a cool blue gaze sits in the shotgun seat. He stares but says nothing. The driver, an old white-haired man with a long frizzy beard, leans his head over the younger bearded man and squints at Zach, taking him in for a moment.
Then he speaks, a sort of rough drawl, but kind somehow, and says, "You that Calhern fella?"
Zach doesn't know what to say and looks at the younger man who just smiles in an uninvolved way.
The old man continues, "You're early if you've been waitin' long. An just on time if ya haven't."
"Uh, um."
Zach feels stupid, but he still has no idea how to reply. He knows no one is expecting him, and he has never heard the name Calhern before, but he has no excuse for wandering along the road alone next to what is apparently this man's property.
"Well, hop on in next to the others. We'll talk when we git there."
"Yes, sir." That he can do.
Zach heads to the back of the pickup where its inhabitants are talking and joking loudly, awkwardly steps over the tailgate into the spot made available to him by the others, and pulls in his suitcase with a heave. The vehicle immediately lurches forward again and he loses his balance, falling heavily into the shoulder of the person beside him. He mumbles an apology but realizes that the person he fell onto had fallen on the person next to him too. The others are also being sandwiched together by the ride. None of them seem put out by the motions.
He grabs his suitcase and brings it closer. He counts two girls, one possibly a teenager, the other older with crows feet and sun spots, who is still youthful in her appearance, and six boys, mostly his age from what he can tell now that he is among them. All but one of them are chattering over each other, including the fellow Zach fell on just moments ago.
There is only one boy besides himself who is not joining in on the conversation. Instead, he is sitting with his head against the cab window and a hat is covering his face. He can't be asleep, can he? From his movements during the rough ride, Zach assumes he isn't, but possibly napping nonetheless. Despite the growing heat of the morning, the boy wears a long-sleeved grey shirt with holes in the stomach and wrists. The other boys seem to be dressed to work: boots, tank tops, some shirtless, others with hats and bandanas.
Zach feels he should be more panicked by the unfolding events, but he is instead comforted by the feeling of not knowing what's to come. It's like a dream unfolding around him. The ride, rougher in the back of a pickup than even the famous bus he hated so, brings the haul of workers past fields and fields and finally comes to a stop in the middle of one.
Without any prompting, the passengers empty out quickly, leaving Zach and the snoozing boy alone in the pickup's metallic bed. Zach follows suit and exits. Only then does the boy stir, taking the hat from his face and hopping out of the side of the truck, landing with a thud.
The driver, and probable owner of the field, slams the door shut and hobbles toward the crew of workers, putting his hand on Zach's shoulder as he begins a short speech.
"Well, y'all know what to do. Git to work. We'll head in for supper at the usual time." They all head into the field, taking their places doing what Zach assumes is normal farm work.
"Now, you boy." Zach turns to face him now, ready to confess, but the man continues, "I must apologize. I saw the hair and assumed you were a Calhern. But now that I look atcha better, I see how well yur dressed. Not exactly a man ready for his first day of work, eh?" The man's eyebrows raise, demanding an answer.
Zach stands up straighter. "My name is Zach. And although I'm not who you expected," he hesitates, "I'll take the job just the same, if you don't mind. I'm staying here for the summer and have no plans now on how to support myself."
The man eyes him in a different light now. "Who's yur folks then?"
"No one around here," he fidgets, "I have no relatives here at all. But I'm staying for the summer just the same."
The man seems to have more questions, or doubts more likely, but he just nods and says, "Well s'okay by me. But hevya ever worked in the tubaccah fields before?"
"No, sir." Zach almost can't believe how well this day has gone in his favor, entirely yielding to his sudden whim, and he smiles. "But I'll work harder than anyone. I'll learn whatever I need to. A-and I'm trustworthy. I'll show up on time and-"
The man laughs now, too, "Well you've already got the job, son. No need to sell yourself." He then turns and shouts over the small bustling crowd with a voice unfitting for a feeble old man, "Henry! Come over here, son!"
Zach turns with the man's voice and notices that someone is nearby, watching silently. It's the boy who was sleeping before.
Zach meets the boy's eyes for the briefest of moments and guesses he was listening to his exchange with the old man, but the boy ducks out of the way before Zach can get a good look at him. He passes by the man who is now approaching them, the man called Henry who was the passenger in the pickup before.
"Henry boy, this young man is going to start working today, and as you can see from his attire, he'll be unfamiliar with the process. From outa town, too."
"Oh, who're your folks?"
Zach smiles uncomfortably while the old man swats the air.
"He'n got none around here; a drifter if you can believe men like that still exist," he snickers.
"Well, no worries. I'll learn ya good, Mr. outa towner." He smiles at his own joke.
And just like that Zach is a farmhand in a town he has yet to see, but has dreamed about since he was a young child. The day passes quickly and easily. Mr. Henry is very thorough in his explanations of the important details and completely dismissive of everything else.
Zach can't help but smile as he learns that tobacco leaves are harvested one at a time, from bottom to top respectively on each stalk. He crouches low to the ground with the man, who points out the telltale curling and blanching of each large, ripened leaf. He hears words like priming, topping and suckering, and can't help but compare the tobacco harvest to the rough and tumble fights breaking out in the hallway of his school back home.
Zach even meets some of his fellow workers, introducing himself to them one by one. He is sometimes met with friendly exchanges and conversation, sometimes with deep nods and mumbles of polite greeting. But never with a rude or prying word.