On Blackstone Mountain: Chapter 1
Josie hadn’t been down the mountain to remove the padlock on the gate, which meant whoever was coming had cut the chain to gain access and she wondered if they were friend or foe…
This is a type of romance novel which I call “farm-smut” and features sex and love on the homestead, farm, or off-grid Maine location. Paid subscribers have full-access to the entirety of the story, including the spicy bits. If you are not a paid member, consider subscribing with this 40% discount. Pay just $30 (that equates to $2.50/month) and receive access to everything Wild Hearts & Harvests has to offer.
Recap:
When last we left our heroine, Josie had just learned that her late grandfather had Deeded her the entirety of his estate. Blackstone Farm and all of the acreage it sat upon would be hers─IF she were married within the year. Shocked and appalled by the terms of the Will, Josie had panicked and sought sanctuary in the one place she’d always felt safe.
Read the Prologue to catch you up.
Chapter 1: The Uninvited Visitor
Sweat dripped off the tip of Josie Greene’s nose, falling into the rich soil below as she worked the hoe down the length of the garden bed. It was a hot day for mid-May and Josie was covered in a sheen of sweat and grime. Planting potatoes was especially intensive labor because of all the trenching and hilling required, but Josie loved to dig in the dirt and she didn’t mind the work.
Gramp had never used machinery on the farm and neither did she.
“It disconnects you from the community.” He would say.
And to Gramp, that community included the soil, water, fauna and flora, as well as the people.
Besides, their operation wasn’t so big that they needed to use machines to do the work, and Gramp had always been a staunch advocate for “the Old Ways”. Just as he’d made it his life’s mission to advocate for wildlife. Josie wanted to honor the legacy her grandfather had left to her.
Slowly but steadily, Josie shuffled down the path between beds, keeping a rhythmic motion with the hoe. Exhale on the downward swing, pull the soil with an inhale to create a trench. This was bed number three and the muscles in Josie’s shoulders and arms burned, her back protested and her mid-section ached. Ignoring the complaints of her body, she reached the far end and paused to lean against the long tool handle to catch her breath.
Gazing around at Blackstone Farm her heart swelled with joy and pride to see the place coming to life again after the long winter. The grass on the meadow was just beginning to grow, the trees were unfurling pristine new leaves and this year’s crop of lambs bounced and played in the barnyard. Soon she would move the flock out onto the lush pasture.
It had been foolhardy of Josie to drive the Bronco up the mountain last November. She was fortunate to have survived the winter with little more inconvenience than having run out of a few provisions. Flour, sugar and coffee had been the most painful to go without, but if anything had happened to her or to any of the livestock, there was no way of getting help. Idyllic as the farm was, modern conveniences like electricity and telephone lines had not yet made it this far into the wilderness.
Swathed in a great forested wilderness, this part of Maine was an outdoorsmans’ paradise, with a wide array of year-round outdoor recreational and sporting activities to partake in: fishing, hunting, camping, hiking, ATVing, snowmobiling, white-water rafting, skiing, snowshoeing, and more.
It was Sugarloaf, though, the eastern seaboard’s premier destination for downhill skiing and elite golfing, which drew the majority of tourists. A veritable city in it’s own right, with rows of condominiums, a lavish Hotel, an Inn, shopping plaza, and a spectrum of facilities and infrastructure to support the ski-community. Though there were certainly other industries at work in the region, there was no denying that the ski resort had been a driving force in the local economy since it’s creation in the ‘60s. When she looked upon that mountain, however—all cut up with ski trails and studded with lifts, crawling with people and vehicles—Josie only felt sad for the mountain.
She was glad that Bigelow had been spared the same fate. Her own grandfather had been part of the Friends of Bigelow campaign during the late sixties and early seventies, when an out-of-state developer sought to bring the Olympics to Maine by creating a massive ski resort on Bigelow’s 4,145-foot summit, one of the tallest in the state. If Josie wasn’t careful, Blackstone Mountain could suffer the same fate as Sugarloaf. She would have to take action soon, if she wanted to protect the mountain and continue her way of life on the farm.
Josie quailed inwardly to think it might already be too late. Pausing in the hoeing, chest heaving, Josie dragged the back of her arm across her brow. Passing dirty, calloused hands down her face to wipe excess sweat from her eyes, she leaned against the tool handle to catch her breath and surveyed her domain.
The 200 year-old farmhouse sat within a broad cirque carved out of the southern slope of Blackstone Mountain. Sheltered by towering walls of rock on three sides, the amphitheatre-like valley formed by glacial erosion had created a protected microclimate. Here, the soil left behind by the glacier was rich and loamy, and a veritable oasis had evolved high on the mountain.
In spite of it's remote location, Gramp’s great-great-grandfather had seen the potential and it was here he’d chosen to build a home for his new bride. Successive generations had added onto the original structure, so that now it was a rambling two-story, six-bedroom farmhouse with an attached barn and a broad front porch. From this vantage point, one could look out upon the Bigelow Mountain Range splayed across the horizon to the south.
Though the farm was surrounded by Maine’s densest wilderness, where deer and black bear abound and moose still roamed, Josie wasn’t afraid of the wildlife. Nor did she chafe against the solitary nature of their existence. Instead she thrilled to it and her grandfather had taught her everything he knew─about the land, about farming and fishing─and how to live a self-sufficient life.
Josie had been a sponge, unable to get enough of it. She loved the farm, the wilderness, and everything about it. She’d never felt the urge to leave home as most young adults do.
When Gramp began to tire and weaken, it was natural for Josie to take over his chores to ease his burden. His decline had been gradual and as his health deteriorated, Josie had taken on more and more responsibility. By the end of his life she was managing the farm all on her own.
And Gramp knew it. That’s why she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around his last request.
Why would her beloved grandfather ask her to do this? Why would he think she needed a man by her side to keep the farm going? Josie heaved a great sigh and set about with the hoe once more, channeling her frustrations into the work.
She’d never shared with Gramp the secrets of her heart—that it had been claimed a long time ago by one who could never love her in return. Despite the passage of time, Josie's feelings had remained—unchanged and strong as ever. But Gramp couldn’t possibly have known that, since Josie had never told anyone. Not even her best friend Amelia Danforth.
Especially not Amie. Their friendship was too precious to Josie to ever risk it by admitting to her friend that she was desperately and hopelessly in love with her brother.
Nevertheless, Gramp had been clear in his Will─Josie must marry before the year was up, lest she forfeit the privileges of the family legacy: the right to live, farm, and call herself steward to the 20-thousand acres in her care. Panic welled in Josie and she gulped air, striving to maintain focus on the task at hand. She couldn’t fall apart now, the farm needed her.
The idea that Josie was now responsible for the fate of 20-thousand acres was still overwhelming to her. Gramp had never told her while he was still alive, just how much acreage he owned. Naturally it never occurred to Josie to ask. She had always just been grateful to be there, grateful Gramp had come for her that day at the hospital. Grateful he’d brought her home.
And Gramp knew that, too, yet he still chose to force Josie into marriage…
“You should just be grateful you even got the opportunity to try,” Josie chastised herself, and gave the hoe a little more omph.
From the moment she’d arrived, Josie had never wanted to live anywhere else. It was the first place she’d ever felt safe, and there was a freedom in the wilderness she'd never known.
Feeling the familiar pang of guilt, Josie hated herself for being relieved not to have to leave the farm, while at the same time knowing all too well that she did not deserve to be there.
Taking the hoe in hand, she walked the length of the bed to exchange the tool for the tray of chitted seed potatoes.
If Gramp had known the truth, Josie wondered, would he still have brought her home to Blackstone Farm? Would he have entrusted the legacy of his ancestors to someone like Josie if he’d known what really happened the night his daughter─Josie’s mother─died?
He’d been aware of her criminal record, she knew. There was no escaping the reputation gained in her younger years. Stories of Josie’s activities and the time she’d spent in Juvy had preceded her arrival, setting the good mothers of the Valley against her before ever stepping foot in the town.
If that weren’t enough, her appearance and attitude had done the rest.
Showing up in Goth-attire, with piercings in her ears, nose and eyebrow, the thirteen year-old girl that she’d been came with a broken rib, leg and arm, bruises and stitches. Looking every bit as though she’d barely survived [an encounter with the police.] She’d been angry with her grandfather. Angry with the world. And she’d made sure everyone knew how miserable she was.
Placing one piece of potato-seed in the trench every 9-12 inches, Josie planted the crop.
A distinct rumbling noise in the distance reached her ears and with a kick in the gut, she recognized the sound of an oncoming vehicle. Josie hadn’t been down the mountain to remove the padlock on the gate, which meant whoever was coming had cut the chain to gain access and she wondered if they were friend or foe…
It also meant the drive up and down the mountain was passable and Josie no longer had any excuses for putting off what needed to be done.
Anxiety flooded her body hotly and her vision narrowed. Forcing herself to breathe through the panic attack threatening to choke her. She didn’t know if she was ready to see anyone just yet.
Whistling shrilly, Josie made her way out of the garden as the rumbling grew louder. She gave thanks for her own keen hearing which afforded her a few minutes to mentally prepare before the uninvited visitor (or intruder?) arrived.
The big, burly shephard emerged from the woods nearby, ears and tail erect, alerted to the noise which had become foreign to their world these last six months. The central asian shepherd is a livestock guardian breed, very territorial, very loyal and very big. Classified as an extra-large dog, Beau had been a gift from her grandfather four years ago.
“Come,” snapping her fingers, she called the dog to her side.
A shiny black landrover emerged from the forest, the retrofitted vehicle a striking contrast to that of the older, classic models. The epitome of everything the climate-denying, capitalist society represented, Josie cringed inwardly as she watched the vehicle proceed up through the meadow to park before the farmhouse.
Somehow, it was no surprise when Uncle Gregor stepped out into the farmyard. This was exactly his vibe.
Beau stiffened and growled low in his throat, hackles raised.
“Shht!” Making the sound just loud enough for the dog to hear, Josie rested a comforting hand on the big head. “Thank you, Beau.”
Uncle Gregor had never said two-words to Josie and she knew for a fact he didn’t think much of her. Shortly after arriving 20 years ago, she’d overheard a heated argument between he and Gramp that resulted in Uncle Gregor's storming off.
Josie had never forgotten. She’d never gotten a very good vibe off her mother's brother. His visits to the farm to see his father had always put Josie on edge and she’d much preferred to avoid him.
Now here he was, looking austere and foreboding, and though Beau dropped his hackles, the canine remained close to Josie’s side.
“It’s a sad day when I have to use a pair of bolt-cutters to gain access to my own childhood home,” Uncle Gregor began sharply.
“Oh─I-I’m sorry, Uncle,” Josie stammered. “I just needed some time alone─a-after─”
“I came to see how you were getting on.” He said before she could finish, “I’d like to make sure my father’s legacy is being properly taken care of, you know.”
Josie couldn’t help thinking about all the times over the years when Gramp had asked Uncle Gregor for help with various farm-projects, and how rarely Uncle Gregor had come through in those situations. But she kept it to herself, instead gesturing across to the barnyard.
“We had a very good lambing season and Bonnie gave us a sturdy bull calf. I’ll post a notice for him when I go down into town─”
“You really think you can take care of this place all by yourself?” Uncle Gregor demanded. His cold gaze trained on Josie, her insides squirmed and anxiety heated her face, choking her words.
“Just look at those fences!” he threw a hand toward a section of fence that had collapsed under the snowload of the past winter.
“I’ve been pushing to get the garden in before I tackle fences─” Josie protested.
“Now, you listen and you listen good, girl,” Uncle Gregor pointed a long finger and took a step toward her. He stopped abruptly when Beau growled, “I’ll be damned if I’ll sit idly by and watch my father’s legacy squandered. Livestock be damned! I’m talking about the house, the barns and the property. How are you going to make repairs when something needs fixing? Or manage the land all by yourself?”
Gaping at Uncle Gregor, Josie should have thought it was obvious that she’d already been managing the farm on her own for years. It had been she who had been there to care for Gramp and to assume the responsibilities of the farm so that her grandfather might rest without worry.
“Is this really the life you want for yourself?” Uncle Gregor asked then. “Wouldn’t you rather be down in town with people your own age? Find yourself a guy to settle down with?”
Opening her mouth to speak, Josie was again cut-off by her Uncle and now she was beginning to get annoyed.
“Now, I’ve had this drawn up all legal-like,” he drew a yellow envelope from inside his blazer and passed it to Josie. “It’s fair market value. I’ll take the whole thing off your hands and you can start fresh─anywhere in the world. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
“Oh─Uncle Gregor─I couldn’t possibly─” Josie protested.
He pushed the envelope into her hands, waving away her words and continued, “If you really and truly cared about your grandfather, you will sell this place to me. We both know in the long-run, this is the best thing for the farm. There’s no way you can sustain it on your own for the long haul. Sign it over to me and we can keep it in the family─Dad would have wanted that, don't you think?”
“I really couldn’t─” Josie tried to give back the envelope.
Holding up a hand, Uncle Gregor wouldn’t hear a thing Josie had to say. “Now now. I know this comes as a bit of a shock, so I’ll just leave you to think it over.”
She was relieved to see him head back toward the ostentatious landrover, but he paused for one last dig before climbing into the vehicle, “Think about what I said, girl. If you really care, you’ll do the right thing.”
Josie watched as Uncle Gregor turned the Rover around in the yard, then made his way out of the meadow and down the mountain. Rooted to the spot, she listened as the sound of the vehicle grew fainter and fainter, until all she could here was the sound of the wind moving through the tree tops.
Sucking in a breath, Josie looked at the envelope in her hand. The idea of selling the farm had never crossed her mind. Likewise the concept of ever living any place else.
But then, the idea of marrying anyone but Ben had never crossed her mind either.
I am hooked already! Thanks for generously sharing your work.