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see him at all than see him this way.
    "I don’t think we need even a small garden this year,
much less two separate ones," she stated. "We can’t use that much
food and William certainly doesn’t need or want it." Martha continued.
Her guilt and embarrassment over not pleasing him earlier was subsiding.
    "I think you’d better plan for another garden anyway,"
Bill said, as though the decision had already been made. No further discussion
would be tolerated.
    Martha rarely questioned Bill’s judgment and she hated
arguments, but this time she knew he was wrong. "Bill, there’s no use. The
groundhogs and rabbits eat most of it."
    The old man in the wheelchair made no response. A muscle
twitched in his taut jaw and his hands tensed on the gun. Martha returned to
her roses. The only logical reason for an additional garden would be to lure
the animals in closer. She tried not to think about the destruction that lay
ahead. He would be able to guard the other garden from the opposite end of the
front porch. The animals would not be safe anywhere.
    The next morning, Michael came. Standing at the kitchen
window, she watched his progress. The plows sank deep into the rich earth,
turning it over, combing it with giant fingers. A flock of sparrows flew down
to gobble up the unearthed worms and bugs. She remembered helping Michael tend
a sick cow many years earlier. His kind voice and gentle but strong hands,
exactly the opposite of Bill, had surprised and endeared him to her.
    Michael stopped the tractor for a moment and mopped sweat
from his glistening face and neck with a red bandana. He pulled off his wet
shirt, revealing a chest, back, and arms covered with hair. Looking like a
bear, he drank water greedily from a plastic cup. Martha suddenly realized just
how warm it had become. Walking through the living room, she stepped out onto
the front porch and called to him. "Come in and I’ll make lemonade."
    Without a glance in her direction, the diesel engine rumbled
into life and Michael Adkins went back to work.
    The garden plot was close to the house and without the
tractor running she knew he had heard her. Self-pity and embarrassment at his
reaction washed over her. She hurried back inside to the safety of her kitchen.
    Later, Bill wheeled through the kitchen and took his place
directly in front of the large living room window that would allow him to watch
Michael work. As he began cleaning his gun, he wondered about Michael and
Martha. Feeling dazed, he paused in his task and aimed the slim rifle directly
at the unsuspecting man on the tractor. What would happen if he were to
accidentally pull the trigger? Just a quarter of an inch. Just three pounds of
pressure and…
    "Bill!" Martha squealed in surprise. "What
are you doing?"
    Lowering the gun quickly, Bill wiped the oily barrel with a
soft white cloth. "I’m cleaning my gun," he answered calmly. He hadn't
heard her come into the room and wondered how long she had been there.
    Martha could smell oil and cleaning fluid. She watched him
suspiciously for a few moments as he worked. This solitude was really getting
to her. Now she was imagining things. Why would Bill want to shoot Michael? He
was interested in killing animals, not people.
    "I plowed our garden last year," Bill’s voice,
unusually soft, crashed through her confused thoughts like a shotgun blast.
    Surprised at this statement, she said, "I know." No
other words came to her.
    "Maybe you could get Michael to do some other things
for you." His voice was still soft, almost teasing.
    "Like what?" Martha couldn’t think of other
chores that needed to be done and it was better for all of them if Michael stayed
away.
    Without taking his eyes off the man and the tractor, Bill
said, "After yesterday, I thought you’d probably like to replace me with a
new stud." Then he burst into an evil, nasty laughter that sounded harsh
in the quiet room.
    Martha glared at his back. She wanted to jerk him around and
slap his face.