Chapter 10
At the top of the ladder, Matthew stepped off onto the wooden floor of the hayloft, the boards creaking underfoot. The space was a maze of round hay bales, stacked ten to fifteen high, forming narrow paths winding through the loft. The air up here was a bit warmer—heavy with the sweet, dry scent of hay—but a chill still lingered from the winter wind outside. As he turned to lend Alex a hand up the last rung, a soft meow caught his ear.
A black and gold tiger-striped cat emerged from a gap between two bales, green eyes glowing in the dim light.
“Hey Tucker, there you are,” Matthew said, crouching as the cat ambled over, rubbing amiably against his leg. He gently scratched behind his ears, mimicking the cat’s purr with a trill of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“How you doing, buddy? Did you miss me while I was at college?”
Tucker gave a short mew in response, purring as he circled Matthew’s leg, his tail flicking. His feline gaze shifted to Alex as he stepped off the ladder, head tilting curiously.
“Tucker, meet Alex,” Matthew said, gesturing with studied formality. “Alex, Tucker—one of the barn’s finest residents.”
Alex chuckled, kneeling and pulling off his gloves.
“Hey there, little guy,” he said, as Tucker cautiously sniffed Alex’s outstretched hand before brushing his head against his fingers. “He’s really friendly. You said you had barn ‘cats,’ though. Where are the others?”
“Well, just two, actually. The other one’s Eddie, the less sociable one,” Matthew said, standing and pointing to the open beams crossing the space above the bales. “He’s probably up on top of the stack somewhere. Sometimes he sleeps on one of the rafters with his tail hanging down. He can be tough to spot, since his fur’s almost the same color as the hay.”
Alex laughed. “That’s some next-level stealth.”
“Come on—I want to show you something,” Matthew said, leading the way.
He scaled the angled stack of hay bales, climbing them like giant steps, until he reached the top just under the rafters. Alex followed, more cautious, his hands gripping the bales for balance.
They headed toward the back wall, where a square opening let in a cold breeze. No glass—just a cutout framing the snowy fields below. Matthew sat down near the window, gesturing for Alex to join him. “This was my favorite spot in warm weather. The breeze kept me cool while I spent afternoons reading and napping—and avoiding work around the farm,” he said, a touch of amusement on his face.
Alex peered out the window, taking in the view. Beyond the barn, a small pond glittered with an icy crust, and on the far bank, a grove of oak and birch trees stood bare, their branches dusted with snow.
“Doesn’t it get too hot up here in the summer? I mean, even with the window?” he asked.
“Oh, for sure,” Matthew said, nodding. “July, August—this place turns into a furnace. Then I’d head down below the barn to that grove by the pond instead.” He pointed through the window to the spot he meant, the trees a dark smudge against the white expanse. “Kept me shaded, and the water’s nice to dip your feet in.”
Alex studied the scene, picturing it in the heat of summer—green leaves, shimmering water, a younger Matthew sprawled in the grass with a book—a world so different from the concrete sprawl of Chicago.
“Can you ice skate on that pond when it’s frozen like now?” he asked, glancing back.
“Sometimes,” Matthew replied. “But it’s gotta stay way below freezing for a while before it’s solid enough for a skater’s weight. My sisters and I have skated on it a few times, but it’s been ages. Not even sure if we still have our old skates in the garage anymore.”
Alex turned back to the window, shuddering a bit as he felt the cold seeping through his jacket. Matthew moved away from the breezy aperture to a corner of the loft where the hay was stacked at right angles.
He sat down, snuggling into the bales, crossing his arms for warmth. Alex followed suit, settling companionably close, their shoulders nearly brushing as they leaned into each other. The hay was soft beneath them, the loft a cocoon of solitude, the occasional meow from Tucker the only sound.
“So,” Matthew asked, “what’re your plans for the rest of the semester?”
Alex leaned back, resting on his elbows. “I just want to get finals over with. Then I’ll head back to Chicago for Christmas break—see my family, and all of that. Then, back to the grind in January for spring semester.”
“What about your family’s Christmas plans?” Matthew continued, curious. “What will you guys do?”
“My brother and his family are coming in from Nashville.” Alex said. “Plus Mom’s parents, and my aunt and uncle—they immigrated to the United States before my parents did—they’ll be there too. The rest of my family’s still in Korea, though.”
Matthew tilted his head, a look of surprise crossing his face. “I didn’t realize your family celebrated Christmas.”
Alex grinned at the assumption. “Yeah, we do. Korea’s got a lot of Christians—different denominations, but it’s a big deal. We’re pretty traditional about it.”
Matthew’s eyes widened, fascinated. “Huh. I had no idea. What kind of Christmas traditions do you have?”
Alex warmed to the topic. “It’s a mix of stuff. We go to a service on Christmas Eve, big deal at our church. Then we have the typical holiday feast, but with Korean food mixed in. Mom makes tteokguk—rice cake soup—it’s a must. There’s also galbi—short ribs, grilled right at the table. We also do presents, but it’s more low-key than yours, I think. And Christmas cake—sponge cakes with whipped cream and strawberries. That’s a big thing in Korea.”
“That sounds amazing,” Matthew exclaimed. “I’d love to try that sometime.”
“I think you’d like it,” Alex said, smiling. “It’s comfort food—warms you right up. What about your family? What do you guys do for Christmas?”
“Well,” Matthew said, shifting to sit cross-legged on the hay. “Christmas Eve, we go to my Uncle Jerry and Aunt Jean’s place in Appanoose County. They have an Angus cattle farm just south of a little town called Exline. We have a huge dinner there, open presents, the whole deal. Christmas Day’s more peaceful, just us back here. Mom makes cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and we usually watch old movies by the fire.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “How little’s Exline? Like Keosauqua little?”
Matthew laughed, shaking his head. “Nah—Keosauqua’s a metropolis compared to Exline. Last I knew, it was less than two hundred people. They’ve got a little diner, open part-time—and a tiny post office. Used to have a gas station, too, but I think that’s gone now. That’s about it. Basically just a wide spot in the road.”
Alex stared off into space, picturing it. “Sounds peaceful.”
“It is, I suppose,” Matthew said, thoughtful. “Always good to see my aunt and uncle—and my cousins. They’ve got three kids, the oldest a couple of years younger than Grace—makes for a loud evening.”
They fell quiet, the hayloft wrapping them in its warmth, the faint breeze from the small window a chilly reminder of the snowy world outside. Tucker purred softly nearby, nestled in the bales.
Alex glanced down at Matthew’s left hand resting casually on his lap, recalling how it felt when he held it last night. As he did this, Matthew moved his hand to Alex’s thigh and patted him gently, causing his stomach to do a little flip-flop.
“Since it’s a snow day,” Matthew continued, “let’s head back to the house and dig out one of Mom’s old board games to play by the fire. She’s got a bunch—Parcheesi, Sorry, Life, and the granddaddy of ’em all, Monopoly. Her set’s an old one, still has these little painted wooden houses and hotels, not the cheap plastic ones they make now.”
Alex recovered his composure and replied, “I’ve never played Monopoly. Well, I’ve played that goofy mobile version—but never the actual board game.”
Matthew stood, brushing hay off his jeans. “It’s totally different, trust me. Way better.”
Alex got up too, shaking hay from his jacket as best he could. Matthew bent down, giving Tucker one last rub on the head, the tabby purring louder at the attention.
“See you later, kitty cat,” he murmured, heading over to the ladder. He stretched his right leg out, planting his foot on the top rung, and started down.
Alex stood at the top, waiting his turn, watching Matthew’s careful movements.
“Hey,” Alex started, suddenly remembering, “watch that loose—”
-CRACK!-
The sound split the air like a gunshot. The fourth rung—the one Matthew had warned about—gave way under his weight. Alex’s words caught in his throat as Matthew’s body pitched backward, hands scrambling for purchase. But there was nothing to grab, and he tumbled straight down the remaining span of the ladder—a good ten feet—landing flat on his back on the wooden floor below with a sickening thud.
The fall would’ve been bad enough, but Alex’s heart stopped as he saw Matthew’s head snap back, striking the pile of two-by-fours stacked near the ladder’s base. Matthew’s body went still, sprawled on the barn floor.
“Matthew! Are you okay!? Shit, shit, shit . . .” Alex shouted, his voice breaking with fear.
He scrambled down the ladder, skipping the broken rung, barely gripping the splintered wood. He dropped the last few feet and landed hard beside Matthew, his knees slamming into the floor.
“Matthew!” he called again, more urgently, shaking his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay? Matthew! Matthew!”
He didn’t respond, his eyes glazed, his face slack. Alex felt something warm and wet as he cradled his head in his hand. He pulled it back, staring in horror—blood—bright and slick, coating his fingers.
Alex’s stomach lurched, panic rising like bile, and the sight of blood—Matthew’s blood—threatened to unravel him. His heart pounded in his throat, his breath coming in shallow gasps, but he fought to push the fear down, to focus.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to Matthew. He cradled his head gently, trying to comfort him even as he lay unresponsive.
Don’t move him, he reminded himself, a scrap of TV medical show knowledge surfacing through the haze. Might have a neck injury—don’t move him.
He checked Matthew’s chest—still rising and falling, thank God. Breathing, at least. But the blood . . . there was so much, pooling beneath his head, matting his hair.
He searched for his phone—damn it, he’d left it at the farmhouse. With shaking hands, he patted down Matthew’s coat until he found a phone. Pulling it out, his fingers fumbled, but he managed to activate the SOS feature.
The screen lit up, and a firm, authoritative voice came through: “911, what is your emergency?”
“It’s my friend!” Alex said in a rush. “He fell off a ladder in the barn. We’re at the Hargrove farm, near Keosauqua—uhh, I don’t know the address. He’s hit his head—there’s blood, and he won’t wake up.”
“It’s okay, sir,” the operator said. “I know the Hargrove farm—and I’ve got your location from the phone. I’m dispatching a crew now. Can you tell me if he’s breathing?”
Alex pressed a trembling hand to Matthew’s chest, feeling the faint rise and fall. “Yeah—yeah, he’s breathing.”
At this, Matthew began to groan restlessly, trying to lift his head.
“He’s waking up, I think! He’s not talking, but he’s making some sound and trying to move. Matthew! C’mon, wake up, buddy.”
“Good. That’s good. Just try to keep him still for now,” the operator said. “You mentioned blood—where’s he bleeding from?”
“His head—the back of his head,” Alex answered, his voice cracking. “It’s a lot. I don’t know what to do.”
“Head wounds tend to bleed heavily,” the operator explained. “Do you have anything to stop the bleeding? Any cloth or fabric of some kind?”
“I’ve got a scarf,” Alex said, yanking it from around his neck with his free hand.
“Perfect. Fold it up and press it firmly against the wound. Don’t lift his head too much—we don’t want to risk a neck injury. Just apply steady pressure.”
Alex followed her instructions, folding the scarf with shaking hands and pressing it to the back of Matthew’s head. The blood soaked through quickly, sticky on his fingers, but he kept the pressure up, his other hand cradling Matthew’s cheek.
“Okay, I’m doing it,” he said, steadier now, the operator’s calm manner calming him.
“You’re doing fine,” she said. “Now keep that pressure up, and I’ll stay on the line with you until help arrives. They’re just a few minutes out.”
Alex’s eyes were fixed on Matthew’s face. “Okay. Thank you,” he said breathlessly into the phone. Matthew continued to groan and shift restlessly on the barn floor. Alex leaned closer, trying to keep him still.
The minutes stretched, each second an eternity, as he held Matthew’s head, the scarf now heavy with blood. He kept talking to him, trying to fight back tears.
“Hang on Matthew, you’re gonna be okay. I’m right here. Help’s coming. Hang on. Try to stay still, okay? C’mon . . . you gotta stay with me.”
The faint wail of sirens broke through the quiet, growing louder as they approached. Alex could hear the sound of boots crunching in the snow as paramedics rushed down the hill.
They burst into the barn, their voices sharp and efficient, with Tom leading the way, his face pale with fear. He pulled Alex back as the paramedics took over.
Tom’s hand gripped his shoulder. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. You did good. He’s gonna be okay.”
But Alex barely heard him, his eyes locked on Matthew as he watched the medics work, their movements a blur.
