Chapter the second, wherein our Hero gets closer to Pittsville and our Heroine fidgets

But I would walk five hundred miles
And I would walk five hundred more
Just to be the man who
Walked one thousand miles
To fall down at your door

The Proclaimers -- I'm Gonna Be


And I would walk five hundred more

Grove Larson was an old-school farmer who had raised one son to follow in his footsteps, to love the land, to raise the wheat each year, and to take over the farm when Grove was ready to step down. Grove was getting up in years, but he was hale and hearty and nowhere near ready to step down. His oldest granddaughter was almost old enough to start learning the more detailed nuances of the farm, so Grove was delighted to have two generations of Larsens learning the land under his benevolent eyes. The child already had a love of the land, showing her delight freely to her grandfather, chattering about the type of wheat they would be planting.

Another son had gone on to do very well as a stock market trader and had retired early. This son was the one responsible for Grove's owning a Cessna Skylane modified for crop-dusting. Grove never thought he'd see the day he'd be dusting his fields in an airplane with comfortable seats and a cruising speed of 145 knots for day trips to the western end of the state. Comfortable leather seats. That plane flew so smoothly, well, he thought it was superior to rides he had had in some of the higher elevation commercial puddle jumpers. But he was the one flying the plane, so his passenger this afternoon may find his ride a little different.

But Grove doubted it. The atmosphere was as still as it could be on a spring day, no undue turbulence expect, it would be like gliding on silk. He was looking forward to his little taxi drive to Sioux Falls to pick up Mara's guest. He climbed into the plane and taxied it out to the short 1,300 ft strip behind the hangar, radioing state ground control to let them know he was following up on a flight plan he had filed earlier.

Getting the okay from ground control, he got up to takeoff speed and roared into the sky...

---

Mara grumbled over the final article of the day, not caring for the wording, but not sure how to fix it. She slashed out a couple of lines with her blue pencil and made a couple of other adjustments. Turning to her computer, she keyed in the corrections and sent the article to its spot in the paper. She went out to the pressroom to let Joe, the pressman know that the Wednesday Prairie Dog was ready to roll.

Joe had a big grin on his face, he had seen Mara's expressions as she edited the article.

"Intern turn in another doosey, Mara?"

"Shit, Joe, I don't know where she finds this stuff. She all but said there was a drug conspiracy happening because of some ditchweed she saw on a dirt road she was exploring the other day. And all this in an article about South Dakota wildflowers."

"Did she bring any back with her?"

"Thank god, no. I can just see it, and you KNOW it would be headline news, Joe, 'Intern Imprisoned for Possession of Low Grade Marijuana.' I told her to ignore it, most of it's not even worth smoking, though it would make a nice length of rope if she had the patience to research rope making."

"So you did a little re-write?"

"Hmmmmmm? Yes. Just a little. Maybe she could do a piece on agricultural grade hemp and how it would improve the ag situation in this state. That would rile the Governor a bit, being he's so conservative and convinced that every kid in the state would be smoking rope for fun. I don't know where that man gets his ideas!"

"Now, now, Mara, not everyone can carry the liberal agenda torch like you do. Thank goodness you're objective enough that that doesn't carry over into your editing or our circulation would be about 200 instead of about 2,500. So when does Our Journalist arrive?"

"Now, now, Joe," she said mocking his earlier objection. "You said you would play nice with our visitor and temporary employee."

"I'll play nice if he plays nice..."

"Joe, you will be the first to 'play nice' in this little game. The man has just been through a tough spot and, well, he may be just a little edgy because of it."

"You think?"

Mara smiled at the tall, broad-shouldered pressman. "Well I don't have an answer to that question, all I know is Grove should have taken off by now to go to Sioux Falls to pick up Mr. Moretti."

"When are they due back?"

"Oh in about an hour and a half or so, providing the weather stays as nice as it is. Grove called me earlier and assured me that today affords us prime flying weather. Well, time to go back to the grind," they both grinned at each other, "and see what's going on with that ad Wal-Mart wanted included in the Tuesday Prairie Reminder next week."

"Wal-Mart, I bet you're delighted about that."

"No comment Joe, no comment. It's in Yankton, and I hope it stays there."

---

Rafe sat in the airport terminal drowsing over his copy of the Chicago Tribune. He had an hour to wait before his chartered flight arrived and the Percocet he had dry-swallowed had kicked in with a vengance. Damn pills didn't seem to do that much for the ache in his leg, just seemed to take the edge off, and make him terribly sleepy. He could take another half-dose, but then he'd be asleep and his pilot would have to probably carry him out to the plane.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he opened the paper to the crossword puzzle. He didn't really feel like reading any news, especially anything coming in from his wire service. It would only serve to irritate him and remind him about the stories he wasn't able to chase down right now. Thank you, Mr. Kuntzler. Instead he was stuck here at Sioux Falls Regional Airport trying to stay awake and reasonable comfortable in an uncomfortably hard chair. At least the flight to Denver had taken off and he didn't have to listen to squabbling children and fretting babies.

He sprawled lower into the seat, tipping his head back to rest on the back of the chair. Nothing against fretting tots, but this last set had seemed especially fractious. One of the kids had run past him and tripped over his extended leg, necessitating his most recent dose of pain killer. The mother had apologized and scolded the boy, but the damage had been done. He had controlled his expression with an effort and complimented the harried woman on her offspring. No sense in upsetting the locals.

Closing his eyes, he mused about what he would find in Pittsville. He listed off the usual cast of characters present at a small newspaper office in his head and hoped at least one or two of them would be interesting, and if female, passably pretty.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a half-smile. Maybe this Mara Pitts was personally acquainted with Miss South Dakota and could introduce him. Maybe Miss South Dakota could stay and visit for while between her duties as the state representative of delectable toothsomeness, Dakota style. She'd be perky blond with a beautiful smile and know everything about current events.

Going with that happy daydream, Rafe dozed...

---

...and started awake at a throat clearing near him. He blinked and scrunched his eyes to clear his blurry vision to see an elderly man smiling at him.

"Mr. Moretti?"

"Er, yes?"

"I'm Grove Larson. I'll be flying you for the last stretch to Pittsville."

Rafe slowly stood up and balanced most of his weight on his good left leg, while he retrieved his cane from the seat next to him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Larson."

"Please call me Grove."

"And I'm Rafe."

"Well Rafe, you ready to go? I made sure your luggage was stowed on the plane, and it's a grand day for flying."

"Yes?"

"Yes, smooth sailing all the way to Pitts. Please, come with me. My plane is through Gate 8. It's just a short walk from there to where I'm landed."

Rafe surreptiously stretched his injured leg and followed Grove. He glanced through the window and saw a small Cessna waiting on the field. 'Hmm,' he mused, 'wonder if it dusts... No, I'm not going there. It's nice plane. A very nice, very...small plane. Look out leg, bumpy ride ahead.'

Grove slowed down to accomodate Rafe's slower walk, taking his time and making Rafe feel less conspicuous by chit-chatting about his farm, the projections for this year's crop, his sons, his grandchildren. Grove was a natural storyteller, and distracted Rafe enough that it seemed like it took almost no time to walk out to the plane. Opening the cabin door of the plane, Grove stepped back and gestured for Rafe to get in.

Rafe was pleasantly surprised to see the plane so well appointed. The plane had seats that looked more comfortable than the last jet he had just been on. The smooth, taupe, leather actually looked inviting and the cabin of the plane was clean.

He grinned to himself. When he had first seen the Cessna, he had a momentary vision of sitting on a milk carton while wheat chaff flew around the cabin. The truth couldn't be further from that image.

He stowed his cane on the floor behind the front seats, gingerly climbed in and slid across to the copilot's seat. He hoped Grove didn't mind a front seat driver, but Rafe just didn't feel up to trying to squeeze his long legs into the rather more cramped seats in the back.

Grove, a tall man himself, smiled at his dark-haired passenger's choice of seats. He climbed into the plane, slid the cabin doors shut and began takeoff procedure. "Rafe, we're going to be in the air for a little over an hour and you look like you could use some shut eye. After I've taken off and attained cruising altitude, you can push that lever to recline that seat back."

He taxied out to his assigned takeoff strip, and received clearance from the tower to take off. After a smooth takeoff and gentle ascent, they were soon cruising towards Pittsville.

---

Mara fidgeted with her necklace as she sat on the Larsons' front porch, waiting for Grove's plane to arrive. She looked out across the barren fields that were finally losing the last of their snow. She pulled her winter coat around her a little more tightly, the air still had the sting of the end of winter to it, even though the equinox had already passed.

Arthur, Grove's younger son, retired from the stock market had invited her to sit in the living room. He had apologized that he couldn't stay to entertain her while she waited, having an appointment in town he couldn't miss. She had demurred and said she hadn't had a chance to be outside in days, and didn't want to miss the lovely early spring day.

She now pondered what was going to happen with this stranger that was coming to her town. Would he be high-maintenance and obnoxious? Would he be an interesting conversationalist? She hoped so, wanting to talk shop with someone who had been 'out in the world' as a journalist. She also hoped, quietly, and to herself, that the man wasn't utterly whacko with stress and, well... whatever. She hadn't been really able to tell if Kevin had been withholding information when they had discussed Rafael Moretti last week.

The hum she had been half-hearing turned into the drone of a not too distance airplane. She stood up and walked out to the landing strip and readied herself to meet her guest.