The following morning, after Natalie had driven off to work, Josh returned to his apartment. He felt better than he had for days, but he still worried about finding a job. He was well aware of the limited demand for agricultural reporters. One of his other worries had been ill-founded—Natalie didn’t care that he had lost his job; in fact, she was pleased that he no longer worked for what she called “that scumbag phony newspaper.”
They also had a long discussion about why she had kept secret that she was really M.D., the person submitting anti–factory farm material to his newspaper. She had tried to explain that she thought it best not to tell anyone that she was M.D. If someone found out that the conservation warden had picked sides against large-scale agriculture, she’d have lots of difficulty doing her job. She thought, once they had gotten better acquainted, that she’d tell Josh—but she hadn’t, fearing that as a good writer he’d see her attempts as amateurish.
“Amateurish they are not,” said Josh. “Good poetry? That, I don’t know. But what you wrote surely had an edge to it, and it came from the heart. That’s what good writing is all about, no matter what label you put on it.”
Josh had just gotten out of the shower when the phone rang. “This is Billy Baxter, over at the Argus.”
“How you doing, Billy?”
“I’m fine. I was wondering if you’d have time to join me for a cup of coffee at the Lone Pine this morning, say around ten?”
“Sure, meet you there,” said Josh. He wondered what Billy wanted—he was quite sure that few people knew that he had lost his job at Farm Country News.
When he arrived at the Lone Pine, Billy was already there, sitting in a booth off to the side, away from the old timers clustered together for their morning coffee discussions. He already had a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Slide in, Josh,” Billy said as he waved at Mazy to bring over another cup. “That was some fire over at the river—put the kibosh on that big hog outfit, at least for a while. Heard that your game warden friend got hurt. How’s she doing?”
“Oh, she’s doing fine. Got a little too much smoke.”
“Glad to hear that she’s okay. So how are you and Farm Country News getting along these days?”
“Not too good. Lexington fired me.”
“Really. Well, I’m not surprised. I could see it coming. You didn’t fit with what that Lexington guy is trying to do. I saw that right from the beginning. I’ve been reading your work for years—good stuff. It’s not like what Farm Country is publishing these days.”
“You’re right, Billy. Lexington has no idea what good journalism is; his ideas are all green—and I’m talking about money.”
Billy laughed. “It’s a bit ironic that I’m talking to you this morning.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve wanted to lure you away from Farm Country News ever since Lawrence Lexington took over—see if I could convince you to join our staff—for probably less money than you’ve been earning,” Billy said, smiling.
“Well, as of yesterday, my income is zero. So I’m all ears.”
“Remember a while back, when I mentioned I wanted to improve our paper’s website?”
“I do remember you mentioning it.”
“Well, I’m ready to move ahead, and I’d like you to take charge of doing it. In fact, I’d like you to be our new online editor.”
“Really?” A smile spread across Josh’s face.
“Not only that, I’d like you to develop an online agricultural section that we’ll market throughout the Midwest. Something like what the old Farm Country News was doing with its print edition.”
Josh couldn’t believe what he was hearing—to be employed again and doing something he believed in!
“When do I start?” Josh asked, smiling broadly.
“Right now, if you want. I’ll find a desk for you at the Argus office, and you’ll be good to go. Stop by after lunch—give me time to organize an office for you—and we’ll get you started.”
They talked a bit more about details—salary and benefits (same as he had received at the old Farm Country News), expectations (an online agriculture section up and running in a couple of weeks), and a general discussion about what possible stories to include. They talked generally about the important role the press must play, no matter whether a local, regional, or national paper.
“The press is the watchdog for our society, has been, and will always be,” said Billy. “What goes on in society needs watching, especially so in agriculture. These big-time farming operations like Nathan West need somebody to keep an eye on them. That’s one of the reasons I hired you, Josh. Because you know agriculture and you also know journalism.”
Josh listened to his new boss’s speech; it sounded nearly identical to one Bert Schmid used to give. He was pleased to hear someone saying what he had long believed and because of Lawrence Lexington’s new approach had found himself straying from.
They also discussed online advertising, which they agreed could be a problem, but Billy said the Argus’s advertising department was prepared for and even looking forward to the challenge.
Promptly after lunch, Josh drove to the Argus offices, got a quick tour of the facilities, met the staff, and found his desk and computer.
Anxious to get to work, he got on the phone with Ed Clark at the Nathan West site, told him about his new position with the Argus, and arranged for a meeting. He wanted to do a follow-up on the big fire. He left word with the receptionist and was soon driving toward Tamarack Corners.
He drove slowly, taking time to see the beauty of the fall colors, the brilliant yellows of the aspens, the deep reds of maples contrasting with the golden cornfields waiting to be harvested. He noticed the clear blue, cloudless sky and the green pastures with Holsteins grazing here and there. He couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed this trip more than today— the only thing that would have made it even more perfect would be Natalie sitting beside him, enjoying the day with him.
Soon he arrived at the Nathan West building site; the remains of the hog barn were a tangled mess of burned wood and twisted metal. He drove past the destruction to the farm office, where Ed Clark was waiting for him.
After shaking hands, Josh thanked Ed for agreeing to meet with him.
“I know you’ve probably got lots to do, so I won’t take up much of your time,” said Josh.
“Matter of fact, I’ve got lots of time,” Ed said. “I resigned from my job with Nathan West this morning.”
Surprised, Josh blurted out, “Why?” As soon as he said it, he thought it was none of his business and he shouldn’t have asked.
“I just couldn’t stomach the company’s ethics anymore. I gave them two weeks’ notice.”
“Really, what happened?” He could sense a good story in the making.
“Remember the meeting where Emily Jordan presented the tampered research data?”
“How could I forget? Her report swayed the zoning committee’s vote.”
“Did you know what was really going on?” Clark asked. “With Emily Jordan, I mean? Do you know why she changed the numbers?”
“I heard she wanted to help Tamarack Corners by bringing new jobs to the area.”
“Ha. That was just a smokescreen. I’ll bet you didn’t know that cute little Emily was working for Nathan West the whole time. She was a plant. Sure, she was a graduate student—but she also was on the payroll of Nathan West with one important job—help convince communities to accept Nathan West’s big hog operations. One of the vice presidents at Nathan West is her uncle.”
Josh was dumbfounded by what he was hearing.
“You mean the whole thing was a setup, with Nathan West duping the university as well as Tamarack Corners and Ames County?” said Josh.
“That it was, and that’s the main reason I resigned. I just couldn’t take this stuff anymore. Emily did the same thing in Ohio, except the Ohio State University people couldn’t prove it.”
“This is all on the record?”
“Print whatever you want, and you can quote me too. There was a day when Nathan West was an honest, respectable company. But they got too big, and too greedy, and too willing to cut corners to get what they wanted. You can quote me on that, too.”
All the while, Josh was furiously taking notes. He realized that he had a story that would make national news.