Chapter Text
Naught sorrier would be found in the whole of Cob County than a resident who failed to catch the sunrise each morning. Through the rows upon rows of well-tended corn encaging the area, the sun’s light would pour, bringing to each cob a brilliant sheen that not even the richest of butters could hope to emulate; leaving every kernel resembling more closely pebbles of amber than maize. Autumnal colours aplenty lent to each inch of land a sense of nostalgic warmth, with stories of each building’s erection; every landmark’s origins; myths and musings alike – stories made immortal by their passionate tellers and keen listeners – giving to the entire county a history as deep and plentiful as the soil from which their beloved stalks of corn plumed. To all concerned, it would seem God had gifted the humble Cob County – a proudly independent community entirely uninfluenced by the outside world; a small world of its own, pure and untainted in its isolation – with both bounty and beauty, in both lore and allure. It was not by divine intervention alone, however, that the area remained in such excellent shape; the rugged but careful hands of the community took a great deal of pride in tending to every corner of the county to ensure that the land they called home truly felt worthy of the name.
It was by a plethora of calls that the county dwellers would be woken up and greeted every morning, each a reminder of the heart and soul keeping everything in working order. The crowing and clucking of chickens; the makeshift harmonies of the cow’s bells, given a rhythm by the soft stomping of their hooves; and the breaking of dead air into a crackly and ever-familiar sound – the trademark twang-filled voice of one Peanut Walker, host of the community’s very own Morning Stalk Radio. At the same time every morning, the pleasant and punctual Peanut would begin his show with familiar formalities before delving into the prior day’s happenings. It was a routine with which all in the county had become quite familiar, waking up and tuning into these broadcasts. Naturally, this made any sort of disturbance stick out all the more, like corn upon a gnarled stalk.
Beau sat up in his bed, still and cautious. Rather than being awakened by his brother’s voice, he had been yanked abruptly from his slumber by an unusual cacophony – the creaking of wood and rattling of what sounded like sticks against themselves, as if some kind of wildlife were shuffling around atop the roof of the barn. It wasn’t unusual for birds to congregate in the rafters, but Beau had never heard a bird make those sorts of noises; it sounded as if a crane had flown its way onto the property. Hastily tossing on his sleeveless jean jacket and hiking his tattered work pants up over his pyjamas, Beau rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes before grabbing the nearest and most adequate item he could find – the old, beat-up broom kept in his closet – and readied himself to investigate and exterminate the source of the disturbance. Making his way through the building, the groaning of the weathered floorboards beneath him not helping to distract from the unusual sounds above, Beau began to wonder if establishing his living quarters in the barn was as good of an idea as he’d initially believed. There was something special about living on the farmland itself – surrounding himself with the fruits of his labour, keeping his workplace homey and inviting – that Beau made sure to appreciate every day; but not even that could numb the annoyance felt by unwelcome intruders. Perhaps, Beau considered, it was time to bulk up the walls of his land; or at least, the roof.
Peering up through the gaps in the beams above him, Beau couldn’t make out exactly what he was looking at. Some kind of lanky and sizeable creature, whatever it was. A tired sigh escaped Beau’s lungs, taking with it all of the leftover grogginess in his system and leaving only the desire to be rid of the stranger on his property. He spun the broom head-up, gripping it as if he were about to charge into battle. “Alright, you varmint,” he announced, swatting aggressively at the ceiling, “get outta here!”
With a yelp, whatever was up on the roof began to frantically shuffle away from the bristles beneath. “Go on, scram!” Beau exclaimed.
“I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’!” a voice responded harshly. Beau nearly dropped his defensive weapon, taken entirely aback. Not only had the invader spoken back to him; its voice was unexpectedly familiar. Dumbfounded, the startled Beau peered up even more keenly through the gaps in the ceiling, trying to confirm his suspicions. “Quit proddin’ at me, will ya? You’re actin’ nosier than Pinocchio at a visit with the in-laws!”
It was with that remark that Beau knew without a shadow of a doubt, exactly who was on the roof.
“…Peanut?”
“Beau,” the man answered. Beau put his broom down, quickly heading out of the barn and to the exterior of the corner he’d been standing in moments before. Still sitting atop the roof, hunched on all fours near the edge, was none other than his brother Peanut. He stared down at his brother, face obscured in shadows by the visor of his iconic orange cap.
“What the hell are you doin’ up there?” Beau puzzled.
“It’s nearly 7:30,” replied Peanut, disregarding the question, “don’t you have crops to be tendin’ to?”
“Yeah, which makes me needin’ to figure out why you’re sittin’ up on the roof doin’ God knows what that much more annoyin’! I woke up to you scamperin’ around like a feral animal, and I was late because your show never started!”
Peanut readjusted himself, allowing his legs to dangle over the edge of the roof. He remained silent, to Beau’s annoyance. “Peanut, why are you on the roof?” Beau asked once more, sounding more like a lecturing mother than a brother.
“Lovely view up here.” It was clear to see, Peanut was in no mood to answer truthfully, which only ticked Beau off even more. “I’ll be down in no time, why don’t you go take care of what you need to?”
“Not until you tell me what you think you’re doin’. I’ve never seen you up there! You suddenly decide the roof needs patchin’ up or somethin’?”
“I think, the grass is always greener on the other side, until winter. I think, you’ll never not see a sadder sight than a gift horse with pearly whites. And I think, what I’m doin’ up here is none of your business.”
Beau crossed his arms, beginning to tap his foot in agitation. “You’re sittin’ up on my barn’s roof,” he reminded Peanut, “keepin’ me from doin’ my work. Your business is keepin’ me from mine! So, it had might as well be my business.”
Even through the shadows, Beau could see Peanut’s brow furrow. Seeing the look of contemplation upon his brother’s face let Beau knew, he was getting close to cracking Peanut’s shell. “Don’t be bashful now,” he demanded, “what’s the big idea?”
“Oh, it’s big alright,” remarked Peanut cryptically.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’!”
“What’s big?” Beau narrowed his eyes. “You erectin’ somethin’?”
Peanut chuckled giddily. “I’m tryin’ not to up here,” he answered with a sheepish smile, sitting back up on his knees and rocking back and forth playfully. Beau was utterly confused, concern growing within him. He knew Peanut to say some outlandish stuff, but now he was starting to sound truly crazy. “Y’know what?” Beau began, “You’re actin’ nuttier than usual. Why don’t I just go fetch a ladder? I don’t trust you gettin’ down on your own so much anymore.”
“Oh, no,” Peanut declined, “you don’t have to”. He scooted closer toward the edge of the roof, catching Beau’s attention. Though the barn wasn't horribly tall, Peanut was still sitting well over 10 feet off of the ground at its very lowest point. “What do you think you’re doin’!” Beau snapped. “Back up, you’re gonna fall!”
“I am falling,” whined Peanut as he clenched his heart, his voice aching dramatically. Beau stood in silence for a moment before speaking, “So back up.”
Peanut quickly removed his hat, clutching it tightly to his chest. “It’s too late for that now!” he exclaimed.
“No it ain’t!” argued Beau. “Get up off your knees and move backward!”
“All I want is to move forward. And that’s always more fun on my knees!”
“For goodness sake, what on Earth are you talkin’ about?”
“You wouldn’t get it! Remember the time I went to the barber and they asked if I wanted the men’s perm, and I left with a haircut? You can’t always assume others know what you want; you’ve gotta work for it!”
“You’re losin’ me as quickly as you’re losin’ your mind up there!” Beau shouted. Clearly fed up, Peanut let out an exaggerated groan. “Love, Beau, love!” he finally spat. “Capital L-o-v-e, exclamation mark!”
“Love?”
Before Beau could get another word out, Peanut stretched his legs out and put his arms in the air, slinking off of the roof and tumbling toward the ground. With a terrible thud, he collided with the thick soil below, collapsing in a heap with his legs tucked beneath his torso. Beau let out an involuntary and shocked gasp, immediately rushing to his brother’s aid.
“Peanut, are you out of your mind!” he barked, though there was more worry than anger in his voice. Peanut turned his head to face Beau and moaned weakly, “Call Gordy.”
“Why the hell’d ya do that!” shouted Beau. Without answering, Peanut shakily flipped around, revealing his legs. Unlacing and removing his boot revealed his left foot was twisted backward grotesquely like the head of a mattock, even catching the less-than-sensitive Beau off-guard. “That’s no good,” Peanut sighed. “Just call Gordy, will ya?”
“Gordy? Quit talkin’ nonsense, what could he possibly do right now?”
“He’s a foot doctor, ain’t he? I need a doctor for my foot!”
“Dammit, Peanut,” Beau caught himself before he could finish. Gordy was, indeed, a foot doctor. He was no surgeon; no expert in tying tourniquets or resetting bones; he knew his way around bunions and ingrown toenails, but that was all he was known for knowing around Cob County. Severed digits and other such similar injuries were far from a rarity in the community; but they had always been treated with local remedies – whisky baths and bandages. Beau knew for certain, Gordy didn’t have the kind of experience with either tool that anyone else in the county did.
“Gordy ain’t gonna know how to fix this.” Beau gestured to Peanut’s foot, though he didn’t much care for looking at it himself.
“C’mon,” scoffed Peanut, “how hard could it be? Wrap it up like a mummy on Christmas day, and it’ll be just fine.”
“Peanut, you ain’t got much of a leg to stand on here.”
“Well, Gordy could fix that.”
Beau rolled his eyes, though he didn’t mean to; it was simply odd seeing his brother so nonchalant in the face of what was presumably a great deal of agony, still singing Gordy’s praises – it must have been delirium setting in, he thought. Despite his wide, cold eyes, Peanut’s voice was calm. “Beau,” he spoke, “my heart’s achin’ worse than my whole foot. Please just call Gordy.”
Beau stared down at his broken brother, the request echoing back and forth between his ears. It sounded like the wrong idea, but was all Peanut seemed to want; and to deny his dear brother such a simple request, in such a dire situation, made Beau feel even worse than seeing him all messed up in the first place. With a deep sigh, he lifted Peanut from off of the ground and began hurriedly on his way to Gordy’s residence. Peanut smiled all the way, while Beau tried desperately to keep his ankle from flopping around. “I owe you one,” Peanut quipped.
“After gettin’ this bill,” replied Beau, “you ain’t gonna have peanuts left to pay me with.”