Reagan
“Just play with Ari, sweetie,” she tells Jacob for the third time. He keeps asking to play outside. He’s only a little boy. He doesn’t understand that there could be danger out there somewhere. It was decided that the children would play indoors today. It’s hard for them. Winter is nearly over. The sun is out. They want to be, too.
“Any news?” Paige asks as she comes into Grandpa’s office and joins them.
“Nothing yet,” Reagan answers.
“It’s still early,” Grandpa says. “Not even eight.”
Sue has been pacing all morning, going up and down the long hall that stretches from the front door to the kitchen door. When the men left, Reagan and Sam packed boxes and bags of emergency provisions into the back of the Suburban and the remaining CNG truck in case they need to flee if the town falls and the men don’t return. If the men don’t return. Reagan can’t even comprehend this. The idea of John not coming home makes her sick.
“Should we check in with them?” Paige asks.
Grandpa rests his hand on her shoulder for a second, “Let’s keep the lines open. Just in case we need to communicate.”
Gretchen has been sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest on the leather sofa in the same position for over an hour. She has bitten her black painted thumbnail down to a nub. She is also dressed and ready to go. She hadn’t even removed her jacket or shoes since she arrived. Her backpack is strapped on and full of whatever she packed into it. She was pissed when she arrived with her mother, who is helping Hannah in the music room keep the children calm and entertained. But Reagan could immediately tell that G hadn’t wanted to come to the farm. She knows the girl just didn’t want to be separated from her brother. Although Reagan found it in her heart to forgive her father, she’s not so sure about G. She is definitely not in mourning, either. She just seems angry, angrier than normal. Reagan knows that feeling so well. It has been her constant companion for over a decade when her father left them. Someday she is hopeful that G will find a way to forgive their father for the wrongdoing he did to her, too.
“Screw this. I’ve gotta get some fresh air,” G says and leaves, and Reagan hears the front door open and close.
“She shouldn’t be outside right now,” Reagan notes as she peers through the window to find G lighting a cigarette, something she probably lifted while at the fort.
Grandpa runs a hand through his hair and puffs on his pipe, “Let her go. She’ll be alright.”
She nods but isn’t so sure.
Reagan is also dressed and ready to go, too. She’s wearing black jeans, her Converse, her black Metallica t-shirt- the one her husband often wears and she now wears because she wanted his scent on her if it’s the last time she’ll ever carry it with her. Her pack is already in the truck, as well as, her children’s and her sister’s. The hardest part about making an escape if they must will be getting Grandpa to agree to leave. This is his home. It’s his family’s farm. The land is a part of his very soul. It’s a part of all of them. The idea of leaving it makes her feel almost as sick as losing John.
“Anyone want something to eat?” Sue asks from the door.
A resounding ‘no’ is her answer.
“Yeah, me, neither,” her sister admits. “I just can’t stand this! I need…”
Her words are cut off as a loud explosion rocks the hardwood floor beneath their feet. Her eyes dart to her grandfather’s. He gives her a firm nod, but Reagan can see the fear hiding there.
“Everyone, get ready,” he says. “It looks like we were wrong after all.”
“Shit,” Reagan remarks and slings her rifle right as one of their trips in the woods is hit and causes another explosion. Sam is already picking up her rifle.
“Is that them? Are they here?” Gretchen asks as she blasts into the office, blowing smoke out of her mouth. She rushes over and stamps out her cigarette in one of Grandpa’s pipe ashtrays.
“Yes,” Reagan answers with honesty.
“He’s surrounding the farm,” Grandpa says. “Get the children to the basement. There’s no time to run. We’re going to have to hold them off until the men get here.”
He’s on the radio in the next instant calling Derek, who picks up quickly. Their exchange is a calm one, even though Reagan is ready to lose her shit.
“We’re already moving,” Derek says. “We had to sneak out. They’ve surrounded the town. We’ll be there in ten.”
They cut the transmission, and Grandpa turns to her as she’s the only one left in the room other than Samantha.
“I’m going!” Sam yells, rushing out of the room. She is to take up a position in the top of the barn.
“Go!” Reagan cries out to her friend, her beloved little sister.
“Reagan, we have to hold the line until they get here,” Grandpa says.
She nods vigorously. “I’m going to the front porch. G’s on her way up to my room. Sue will use the music room.”
“I’ll use the back porch,” he confirms their plan and crosses the room and takes her hands in his. He closes his eyes and bows his head, “Lord, be with our family. Watch over us and give us the strength to defeat our enemy. Make our shots accurate if they are needed. Keep our children safe.”
He ends his quick prayer and kisses her cheek, then pulls her in for a strong hug. “Go now.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. On the way out of the room, she takes a last glance over her shoulder at him. He is standing in a stream of sunshine coming through the big windows, dust particles sparkling and landing on him like a blessing from God. She prays that’s what it means, that God will watch over him today. Her grandfather is gripping the high back of a tufted armchair and is in quiet reflection. She hopes if either of them dies today, it’s her. The family needs him more than anyone else. He’s their rock, their comfort, their strength, the center of their universe.
Reagan pauses another second and goes out the front door, but before she does so, she can hear Hannah in the basement praying with the children. Lucy must still be with her. Good. At least her sister won’t be alone. Surely they won’t kill a blind woman and children. She hopes it’s true but fears the worst. She also picks up her ammo can with the extra mags for the M16. Her Remington 700 is what she’ll start with to pick off men. When they get too close, she’ll switch to the lighter rifle.
She can hear them moving through the woods around the farm. They are making no pretense at being quiet. With the amount of noise they are making, it sounds like a large group. She can only hope some were injured or killed in the explosions. Reagan takes up her spot behind the reinforced railing. After the Target creeps attacked the farm that time, the men rebuilt some of the porch railings. Now, they may not be quite as aesthetically accurate to the old farmhouse, but they have solid sheets of steel behind the spindles for just this reason.
Unless they move the tangled trees of the abatisse on the main road in, they won’t be coming in that way. She can hear vehicles, though, somewhere. It sounds like tanks or something just as loud and heavy. She’s glad Hannah is in the basement with the children. They may need all the protection they can get if they are about to be mortared on.
Above her in the trees, tiny sparrows tweet and chirp as if nothing is afoot. It reminds her of the song her grandfather used to listen to by Dolly Parton called Little Sparrow. It had a backwoods, mountain Tennessee acapella folk song sound to it. She can just hear that now echoing through this valley, hear the old-world cadence of Dolly’s delicate voice crying out the sad notes. The mournful tune fits her mood as they are about to fight to defend this valley to their dying breaths. This valley in Tennessee holds all the secrets and history of her family. This land isn’t just her grandfather’s. It belongs to her, and her children, and their children, and every McClane child thereafter. She isn’t about to end her family’s history here today. At least not without a fight.
Reagan squats on one knee and pushes her rifle barrel through the slats, resting it on the steel slab. Then she takes a second to offer up her own prayer in a whisper. “If blood is about to be spilled on this land today, dear God, let it be our enemy’s.”
A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead as she spies the first vehicle breaking through the horizon coming from the path behind the Johnson farm, a path the President would’ve needed to be told of. Parker’s handiwork, no doubt. She now wishes he hadn’t been given such a swift death by Simon. Any man who would lead men to a farm where children and women are being spared from the atrocities of what the world has become is a demon, not a man at all.
The huge truck coming toward them is some sort of armored vehicle. Men are standing in the bed of it. They are all armed. A .50 cal is mounted in the back. A black sedan pulls ahead of it, passing the truck and leading the way. Three more trucks jammed full of men pull forward and spread out across their field. Then she sees what is coming behind them. Probably a thousand or more men on foot are marching and spreading out, as well.
“Jesus,” she swears under her breath.
By the time they come to a stop, they are less than fifty yards out from the house. She doesn’t have enough ammo to take out everyone, but she’ll do what she can when her grandfather calls for it.
After they have extended out probably five hundred yards in single file, the lead car stops, which causes the others to do the same thing. Reagan tightens the strap of her Kevlar vest, needing to feel the heavy steel plates just a bit closer to her chest.
She tries to control her breathing. She needs to make every shot count. There can be no misses or non-fatal wound shots. These men have not come here to talk. They are here to annihilate them.
A man steps out of the back seat of the black sedan. He is tall, wearing Kevlar of his own, but also wears an air of authority. She spies him through the scope of her rifle. It’s the President. She recognizes him from when he used to be the Vice President. It’s him. He is not carrying a rifle. When he steps forward, the whole line of soldiers moves, as well. The vehicles also keep pace. This is it.
“Come on, Grandpa,” she says to herself nervously. They need to start sniping them. They have to push them back. They have to buy them some time until the men come from town with their own army. But his orders were to wait for him to take the first shot. “Come on. Come on.”
The President and his army continue to advance, sending Reagan’s heart racing. She takes a deep breath and taps her finger nervously on the trigger.
Then she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. It’s her grandfather. He’s off the back porch and walking across the yard toward them. He’s holding a stick with a white t-shirt tied to the end as if he is offering a peace truce.
“Damn it!” she hisses and grabs the M16, slinging it onto her back. She hops the railing and lands on her feet in the yard. Then she jogs toward him.
The kitchen door slams shut. Reagan turns to see Hannah coming out carrying Mary.
“What the…? Hannah, get back!”
She can’t think about Hannie right now. Reagan has to get Grandpa back first.
“Grandpa!” she hisses, drawing his attention.
He turns and says, “Wait by the edge of the garage.”
She gives him a look that should clearly show him her disapproval. He indicates over his shoulder that she should listen to him. Then he spots Hannah within ten feet of him. He calmly walks over to her and takes her hand.
“Fuck!” Reagan whispers vehemently and rushes to a position behind the cement block wall where she raises her rifle to spot them. This is not the plan at all. Derek said this man has not come to talk and make friends. He’s a threat. He’s more than that. He brought a whole damn army to wipe them out.
Grandpa walks to the edge of the yard and stops, probably twenty or so feet from her. At least he isn’t continuing on. Reagan looks across the pasture and sees that the President has stopped, too. One of the men beside him is speaking to him. Then he continues walking and leaves everyone but two men, one on either side of him. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest. Should she shoot him? Will it cause the rest of his people to flee? Or would it make them retaliate and kill all of the McClanes?
“Reagan, get your sister out of here if he shoots me,” her grandfather calmly tells her without turning his head.
“Yes, sir,” she says back. What else can she say? Argue with him? He’s already made up his mind to do this, whatever this is. And she wouldn’t be surprised if Hannie wasn’t behind this, as well.
Someone touches her shoulder, which scares the hell out of her. Reagan turns, ready to fight. It’s only John, Cory close behind.
“Oh, John!” she cries softly and hugs him around the neck with her free arm.
“What’s he doing?” her husband asks. “Cor, get into position.”
Cory jogs away. Then she sees the other men in the family taking up tactically smart positions. They are not trying to be subtle or sneaky, either. It is probably by design, by Derek’s design. He likely wants them to see that they are not just attacking women and children. Men, heavily armed men, their McClane men and men she recognizes from Dave’s camp including Dave, are running furtively across the yard and crouching behind strategically smart fighting positions and cover. Dave sends his knife hand slicing through the air, and another dozen come out from behind the house and move forward in a show of force and take positions, as well. She does not, however, see Kelly, who will lose his mind when he spots his wife waiting out in the middle of the yard in her long white lawn dress, pale pink cardigan, and huge pregnant belly with Grandpa, both targets ripe for the picking and also holding little Mary.
“I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t what we were going to do. I was on the front porch. That’s where he wanted me. Then I looked over, and there he goes. And then Hannah, too. She’s got Mary out there.”
Her husband scowls deeply and nods. “Go to a one-kneed position, babe, so I can shoot over you.”
She does as he says, preferring this position anyway. She can lean her shoulder against the building and being on one knee gives her more stability in holding the rifle. This could be a trickier shot now. She needs all the help she can get.
“Professor, if this sets off, take out the one on the right,” John says into his throat mic.
Dozens of footsteps pound the ground behind her. Risking a quick glance away, Reagan looks over her shoulder to find hundreds of their allies lining up just like the President’s men. Her former admirer and now good friend, Chet Reynolds sends her a wink and a nod. She returns the nod. Many of their neighbors, K-Dog and his men, Henry and many of his men that she recognizes, and some of their trusted friends from town have arrived. At least it feels like a much fairer fight now. She still doesn’t like her grandfather out there with Hannie and Mary.
The President comes within ten feet of her grandfather and stops to remove his pistol from his hip and hold it out slowly and lower it to the ground. It’s a good idea on his part. He has about a hundred barrels pointed at his head, and he knows it.
“I presume you are Herbert McClane, sir?” he asks Grandpa.
“Yes, and I presume you are the man who is now calling himself the new President of our great country?”
Reagan’s eyes widen. Her grandfather isn’t pulling any punches. Instead of being offended, the man sighs.
“Yes, by unanimous vote, I’m afraid,” he answers. He extends a hand to shake her grandfather’s. “Ezra Hofstetter, sir.”
“It would seem you have come an awful long way for this confrontation, Mr. Hofstetter.”
“Yes, sir,” he answers honestly. “My men and I are sleep-deprived and exhausted. We’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible. But we certainly don’t want to do anything with a pregnant woman and toddler in the middle of it, sir.”
“No, that wouldn’t be very honorable of you.”
“I agree.”
“And how long do you intend on being the President, Mr. Hofstetter? I seem to recall the Twenty-second Amendment laying out the rules of Presidential term limits.”
Another scornful statement by her grandfather. The man on the President’s left does not seem amused by her grandfather’s criticisms. The President, however, simply offers a pained grin.
“And who is this little one?” he asks instead of Mary.
“My granddaughter, Hannah, and her daughter Mary,” Grandpa states proudly.
“She’s adorable,” he says.
“Thank you, sir,” Hannah says and extends her hand about three feet to the left of the man. Reagan recognizes the realization she sees in his eyes as he figures it out that Hannah is blind. He reaches for her hand and clasps it with both of his.
“A pleasure, ma’am,” he says, staring at Hannie as if he is in love with her already. She tends to have that effect on men.
“We have many, many more children in that house behind us,” Grandpa tells the man, who flinches slightly. “Mostly my grandchildren. One is just a few months old.”
“We didn’t come here to harm you or them, sir,” Ezra states, and it actually comes off as believable, even for a politician.
“Why are you here then?”
“Where is Robert McClane, your son? I know who you are. I know about this farm. I know he came here.”
It is Grandpa’s turn to sigh, “I buried my son a few days ago. It would seem that his man, Parker, was poisoning my son.”
This visibly startles the President. “What? I’m…I’m so sorry. Please accept my condolences.”
Neither says anything for a few moments while the acting President contemplates what he’s heard. Supposedly, her father and he used to be friends. He seems visibly shaken.
“I’m afraid, Mr. President,” Grandpa starts, “that you have been double-crossed by this Parker, as well. I would say he played you both for fools. My son only discovered it too late.”
He pauses, his left eye twitching a few times before answering, “Yes, so it would seem.”
“And he has pitted the two of you against one another. You’ve wasted time and resources and energy, and I hope not men’s lives, to come here to wage war against a man who is dead already, a man who was also duped by the same one who fooled you.”
“Where is Parker?” he asks, his tone slightly angrier this time.
“I’m also afraid I have bad news on that front, too,” Grandpa tells the man. “He was killed by one of our men the other night. He’d kidnapped one of our women, the wife of one of my grandsons.”
Reagan tries not to get choked up that Grandpa just referred to Cory as his grandson.
“He has lied and schemed and caused the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of people in this area,” Grandpa further explains. “He ordered people on the roads to be robbed, murdered, enslaved. He did it under the guise of being the new President.”
“What?”
“And it was easy because people don’t know about you. We certainly didn’t until Robert came home.”
She notices that her grandfather refers to this as ‘home’ and figures he does so on purpose to convey to this man that this is not just some random new settlement by displaced people. The McClane farm is their home, always has been, and always will be.
“Oh…well…,” he stammers and stares momentarily at the ground, clearly taken aback by everything that is coming at him.
“Why did you waste the manpower, the sheer force, and the resources it would’ve taken now to move an army of this size to come after my son? Most people aren’t even free to move about in this great country anymore, and yet, here you are traveled so far to pursue one man. What kind of President do you want to be, son? You need to set the example, show the people by example, and lead them by establishing law and order again.”
Her grandfather is giving the President of the United States a full-blown Grandpa style lecture.
“He…Parker made it seem…uh…” he stammers as if someone is asking him to take a stance during an election debate on the Second Amendment. “I’m not sure what to say, Dr. McClane.”
“It seems to me that you’ve wasted your time and expended a lot of energy to do the work of an evil man, who was tricking you into doing his dirty deeds for him.”
“Yes, it would seem so.”
“He convinced my son that you wanted a communistic society out there. He convinced you that my son wanted to steal your people, your resources, and your title, yes?”
He nods, staring at the ground as if he can’t quite figure it all out. Everything he knew, all the reasons he just traveled thousands of miles, are blowing up in his face. He must feel terribly stupid. She just hopes he doesn’t react in an equally foolish way and still want to wage war on them.
“Perhaps you could come inside, and we could discuss this further,” Grandpa offers. “There is much to go over. You don’t even know the half of it yet.”
Ezra’s head jerks up from studying the dirt to look Grandpa directly in the eye. It seems as if he is trying to ascertain whether or not to trust him.
“You can bring your two men here,” he says, indicating his bodyguards.
Ezra nods, “Yes, yes, I think that would be a good idea.”
“Diplomacy and good discussions are how our forefathers worked out their issues,” Grandpa says, turning to go and offering the acting President a history lesson as they walk. “Do you know Sam Adams didn’t even go to the Constitutional Convention?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did Patrick Henry and John Hancock,” her grandfather says, making Reagan smile.
“Patrick Henry was quite the rabble-rouser,” the President comments, getting a chuckle from her grandfather.
“My family has lived on this farm for three generations. It sometimes feels like we are living in 1776 again,” he explains, to which the man glances around with the same fond admiration everyone does when they first step onto McClane land. Grandpa just keeps talking as if he is introducing a new friend to the farm and further expands on the farm’s history.
She slings her rifle and walks forward where she flanks her grandfather until they reach the back porch.
“My other granddaughter and also a doctor, Reagan Harrison,” he says, introducing her. Reagan only gives the man a nod. She does not extend her hand. “She’s as smart as a whip. Don’t let her beauty fool you.”
“Grandpa,” she says with a snort.
“Well, sir,” the President says, “most women are smarter. My wife used to say if women ran our great planet, we wouldn’t be in the position we are today.”
“She sounds like a smart woman,” Grandpa praises and opens the kitchen door.
“She was,” he says, confirming her death.
“It seems as if we’ve both lost too many people already, Mr. Hofstetter,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” he agrees and follows Grandpa into the kitchen.
“I’ll make some coffee, Grandpa,” Hannie volunteers, of course. She literally just helped stop a civil war with her charm and innocence and demure beauty. Reagan wonders if she realizes it. Probably. Of all the ‘smart’ women, Hannah is the smartest by far because she was raised by the smartest woman who ever lived, Grams.
A few of the family members- herself, John, Derek, and Sue attend the meeting with the President, along with one of his men while the other stands guard outside of the office. Kelly stands opposite him against the other wall. After a while, she hears Kelly talking to the man. They even laugh a few times. She’s pretty sure he’s ex-military, too, and that they are sharing war stories now.
They spend a few hours discussing the betrayal of Parker, the misunderstandings, and manipulations. Some of what he shares with her makes Reagan so angry again. The man was pure evil. So many men had trusted him, and he’d betrayed that trust.
Grandpa offers the President and his men the opportunity to stay on the farm for a few days while they rest and regroup for the long journey back to Colorado. There will be no war today and hopefully none in the future. They have come to a peace accord and have laid out plans for the future and how they’ll govern the country. Reagan hopes the man is being genuine with them. Her grandfather seems to trust him or is faking it better than she would’ve given him credit for being able to pull off.
The President and his caravan camp on the farm for almost a week, during which her grandfather conducts meetings with him, his few advisors, and Derek, who will be running Fort Knox. Dave the Mechanic, Henry, Paul and K-Dog, as well as some of their neighbors, are also present as they run their own communities and want to be doing so in compliance with the new plans. Reagan feels anxious about having people on the farm and is relieved when they finally pull away and leave. Her grandfather sits on the long front porch rocking Mary on his lap and occasionally takes a puff of his pipe. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking but wishes she did. He has been quiet and contemplative lately. She takes him a mug of coffee, a fifty-pound peace offering bag from the President, and kisses him on the cheek before leaving him to his thoughts.
She and John go for a ride, a perimeter check just to make sure none of the President’s people decided to stay.
“It feels good to be out like this,” she comments as she maneuvers Harry around a fallen branch on the path.
“Yes, it does,” her husband agrees. “Are you doing ok, boss?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
He shrugs and says, “I know you don’t like having people around like that.
“I know, but I’m just glad Grandpa was able to get the situation under control.”
“Yes, I agree,” he says. “That could’ve been bad.”
“I hope we can maintain a friendship with him and his people,” she reveals what has her worried.
“I think Derek will be able to handle that even after your grandfather…you know, just someday,” he says, not wanting to say what they’re both thinking.
She nods because saying anything is too painful.
“Hey, don’t worry,” he says, picking up on her mood change and reaching for her hand. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon, babe.”
Reagan nods again, and John suggests they stop and walk for a while.
“Getting out of shape?” she teases.
“I’m going to be walking like a cowboy all bow-legged for the rest of the day,” he jokes and ties his horse’s reins to a branch.
Reagan does the same and stretches her back. She hasn’t ridden much lately, either, and her body is letting her know. She saunters over to her husband and runs her hands up the front of him before resting on his pecs. John’s muscles jump beneath her hands.
“I wonder if I could also make you sore enough to walk funny,” she murmurs and reaches up on tip-toe to kiss his neck.
It’s all the encouragement her husband needs. His arms immediately wrap around her middle. John lifts her clean off the ground like he always does and has her pressed up against the thick trunk of an oak tree. His mouth moves greedily on hers. His hands roam of their own free will on her body. It has been a while since they have been alone like this. Reagan doesn’t even notice the slight chill still lingering in the air. John pulls out a blanket, rolled and secured behind his saddle, and lays it on the ground.
“How…did you pack that on purpose?” she asks.
Her answer is a grin.
“John Harrison, you are a devious-minded man,” she playfully scolds as he leads her to and lays her down on the blanket.
“You knew what you were getting into when you married me,” he says and proceeds to demonstrate that again thoroughly.
After they have dressed and she is lying in the crook of his arm, Reagan asks, “Are you sad that Derek is leaving?”
His fingers rub at her scalp, and he is quiet for a moment before answering, “He’ll be back. This won’t be forever.”
“I feel like it is, John,” she says and raises on one elbow to look down at him. She can tell that he is only saying this to appease her. The frown on his sculpted mouth reveals his lie.
“Derek was born to lead, babe,” he says. “I can’t hold him back. No, I don’t want him to leave, but at least he’s only going a few hours north. I was worried for a minute there that the President was going to ask him to go with him to Colorado.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Reagan remembers from one of the many meetings.
“I think someday, if the President combines the bunker people in Colorado with the base like he was talking about, Derek will eventually become President.”
“Whoa,” she reflects with surprise. “Derek the President?”
“Yeah, and so what kind of person would I be if I asked my brother not to go because I’m going to miss him?” he says, showing his responsibility, his loyalty to his family, and the strong sense of morality that drew her to him in the first place.
“I guess so,” she agrees. “This sucks. I’m going to miss Sue and the kids.”
“We’ll see them,” he assures her. “Don’t worry. It sounds like the Prez is gonna share some of their fuel ideas with us and vice versa. We’ve got radio coms with him now. I think the sharing of ideas is going to greatly improve everyone’s lives again. And don’t worry about their safety. The base is safer than here. I figure the President scoped it out first with scouts and figured it was easier trying to draw Robert out by coming here.”
“Yeah,” she says, still sad her sister is leaving in a few days. “At least nobody else is going.”
“For now,” he comments.
“Are you not telling me something?”
John sighs and explains, “Nothing is forever, boss. Even if others leave to offer service to our fledgling government, they won’t be gone forever, and they’ll always be a part of our family.”
This thought frightens Reagan. There is no ‘forever’ anymore. The future isn’t promised to any of them. They have to fight for every day, every hour, sometimes every second. Life is fragile, precious now. But her husband is right about one thing, family is forever, even if some of them are taken away from her for a while. They’ll always have the farm to come home to. The McClane farm is their base of operation, their safe sanctuary, their ancestral homeland.
She hooks her leg over her husband’s thick thigh and pulls him closer. Her fingers strum through the dark hair on his chest peeking out of the neckline of his long-sleeved tee and then trace his jawline. As long as she has him by her side, they can face anything together because for generations, that is how this land flourished, grew, became what it is today. She has every intention of carrying on that tradition. This land is worth dying for, and she’ll gratefully give her own dying breath to hold onto it. She has to. Someday when the family that is leaving wants to return to it, the farm will still belong to them. Nobody and nothing can ever change that. Their roots are deeply embedded in the very soil. Their dreams are pinned to every blade of grass, every leaf of every tree. Their futures are secured by this land. The McClane farm is their legacy.