Tamarack River Ghost: A Novel

42. Fourth of Seventh-Month

241 Fourth of Seventh-Month 42 It was the Fourth of July, and Josh sat at his desk at Farm Country News. With the paper putting several new pieces online every day, he was busier than ever. He and Assistant Editor Natasha Bruchs read the submitted material, searching for obvious factual errors and confused writing. Jerry Kolka, copyeditor, carefully read and corrected obvious spelling and grammatical errors before they put it online. Josh divided the responsibilities so that he worked on the front page and the “Latest Farm News” and “Market Reports” sections. Natasha was responsible for “New Ways for New Days,” “Tales from an Earlier Time,” and “Country Poetry.” Lawrence Lexington insisted that something new be posted every day, holidays included, thus the staff members were all at their desks that Fourth of July morning. Natasha stuck her head into Josh’s office. “A word?” she said. She was clutching some papers. Natasha, in her early thirties, had short black hair. She was tall and willowy—and smart. A journalism major from the University of Wisconsin, she had worked for several newspapers as a reporter and features writer. She came to the Farm Country News with a couple of years’ experience as an assistant editor at the Capital Times in Madison. “Sure, come on in. Have a chair. Celebrate the Fourth of July with me,” Josh said, smiling. “This came in the mail yesterday—I think it’s supposed to be a poem— by someone with the initials ‘M.D.’ Do we want to publish something like this?” Natasha asked. “We received several pieces from M.D. before, when we were a print paper,” said Josh. “Let me have a look.” 242 Fourth of Seventh-Month Natasha handed Josh the single sheet of white paper, with the following words neatly typed across the page: Tamarack River Valley Changed Forever Been by the old golf course lately? Have you seen the earth movers? Have you smelled the diesel-powered machines tearing up the soil? Have you seen the enormous building standing tall and long, with more buildings to come? Is this what we want in the valley? Doesn’t matter. This is what we got. But can we live with it? Will all these hogs be good neighbors? M.D. “Was there a check for payment enclosed?” asked Josh. “Nope, but there was eleven dollars in cash. It’s paid for. Should we run it?” “Sure, let’s run it in the poetry section. Might get some reaction.” Natasha returned to her office and Josh continued working on a two-thousand-word piece from Nathan West Industries headquarters in Dubuque, to be put on the paper’s front page. It came with a $500 payment (25 cents per word). Figuring it was written by some public relations person at Nathan West, Josh quickly decided it was wordy and at times repetitious and boring. He cut the piece to fifteen hundred words and refunded Nathan West the $125 for the words that he removed. As soon as it was copyedited, he put the piece online. It was noon. He sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. The morning had been productive. The phone rang. “This is Josh Wittmore. How can I help you?” “Well, Mr. Wittmore, you can help me by agreeing to celebrate the fourth of Seventh-month with me,” said Natalie. 243 Fourth of Seventh-Month “What in heaven’s name is the ‘fourth of Seventh-month’?” said Josh, recognizing Natalie’s voice. “Haven’t you read Leaves of Grass? Walt Whitman calls the Fourth of July the ‘fourth of Seventh-month.’” “Oh,” was all Josh could think to say. It had been a very long time since he had turned the pages of Walt Whitman’s work. “Are you planning to work all day?” Natalie asked. “I should, but what do you have in mind? “How about I pick you up at your apartment at about four, and we can drive down to Link Lake, see their displays, and take in the fireworks at night.” “Sounds like a plan—and let me add one more thing. How about I take you out for dinner before the fireworks, at the Lake Edge Supper Club?” said Josh. Josh left his office around three and drove to his apartment, his mind filled with thoughts of Natalie; the challenges and problems at the newspaper pushed into the...