As always, thanks for reading and feel free to point out any typos! This ones a long, doozy of a part 4.

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THANK HOLY HELL WHATEVER ANON HELPED ME IT WORKED FINALLY JESUS. I just have to take a second, annoying step to get it to work lmao.

…uh yeah so this is the third installment of Chester’s story haha. Really long, but I hope you enjoy! As always, any grammar/spelling/missing word mistakes please tell me!   read part one and two here

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C: Part 1 and 2 uploaded together since they both go together pretty well lmao. The fun part begins next * V * But uh, warning, though these are cut into parts, the parts are still LONG. if you see any errors, please tell me!

GDI READ MORE BREAK WHY Y U NO WORK JESUS THIS THING IS MASSIVE AND UGLY.

Chester collapsed back into the old rocking chair that stood amongst a wave of others just like it on the porch of his home. He fanned himself with the beaten up straw hat that he loved so much but it provided little relief from the humidity that hung heavy in the air. He kicked up a foot on the railing of the porch and began rocking himself; his fanning increased in its intensity, but the relief to effort ratio was greatly unsatisfying. More hot and tired than before, Chester wiped the sweat from his brow and ruffled his hair that had begun to stick to the sides of his head. Defeated, the young man put the tattered hat on and tilted it until the shade covered his eyes.

The veranda offered cover from the midday sun but the heat and humidity still surrounded him like a suffocating cloud. Of course, Chester thought, the air conditioning would break when the sun’s at its highest, after I’ve finished helping pa with work, and when it’s hit ninety-some degrees out.

Chester tilted his head back just enough to see where the front of the house’s paneling met the veranda roof – the colonial home was a bit smaller than most being built at the time but it was a beauty; on more than one occasion the boy had thought it was a sparkling, white mirage engulfed in a mass of weeping willows in the heat waves from a distance. Nothing was more wonderful than the realization that this place was real after a long day of being overworked and knowing he was steps away from collapsing into a nice, cool home.

He scoffed and tipped his head and hat back down again. Cool. What he wouldn’t do for a cool, refreshing breeze right then.

His rocking slowly stopped and he sunk lower into his chair. As he danced on the edge of falling asleep a loud and starling noise shot him back into reality – he heard pounding steps rush from the side of his house and burst out into the open. His heart got caught up in his throat before Chester realized who it was: his beloved friend Baxter, a strong and lightning quick golden retriever of three years, barking happily as he shot into the front yard.

A grin spread ear-to-ear on the young man’s face.

“Baxy-boy!” he called out, causing the dog to almost trip up in its paws as it raced to turn from its previous destination to its new target. He hurtled up the wooden stairs and jumped straight for Chester at an alarming speed. The two knocked heads and went falling backwards as the seventy-odd pounds of wagging joy launched himself into Chester’s lap, tipping the chair all the way back and landing on the porch floor with a thud.

“Ah-ha-ha-ow! Stop it Bax, that hurt!” Chester couldn’t help but laugh through the pain as he pushed his slobbering friend off of him, one who was still eager to lick his face once or twelve more times. Baxter was always full of energy, very obedient, but not very graceful in the least.

When the golden furred assailant finally backed off, Chester pulled himself up and straightened the chair back in its rightful position. He picked up his hat, shook it out once, and gingerly set it back on his head. Stepping back to observe any damage (and keeping a hand on the back of his still sore noggin) he noticed it caused quite a gash in the wooden floor.

“Aw man, Pa’s not going to be too happy about that.” Chester muttered. His eyes widened moments after speaking.

“Oh lord, Pa!” The realization hit him in an instant: Baxter only ran out from his doghouse in the back yard when he heard the sound of his master’s truck coming down the dirt road. If he saw the dent he’d be furious, and even more enraged after work. Panic overcame him as he saw his dad’s red truck enter view and turn into the winding driveway – there was no time to try to fix or even hide the damage.

Baxter in his innocent naivety raced off the porch front; tail wagging like a fool.

Rigid, Chester moved back and stepped in front of the dent, hoping the rocking chair would sufficiently hide it from the front. He winced as he heard the truck turn off and the driver’s side door slam. He watched as his father stomped his way up to the house and let his heavy footfalls pound across the porch. He was a man nearing his forties with sunbaked skin and had stress-induced wrinkles of someone worked well beyond their limit. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up, exposing well-toned arms shaped by endless hours of labor. Every inch of the man seemed drenched in sweat and exhaustion. His eyes were glued on the front door of their home; he completely ignored Baxter’s gleeful yaps and the nervous son standing near the door frame.

He didn’t say a word as he walked in. Baxter kept whimpering with excitement, but he kept at Chester’s side on the porch.

Good, silence is good, Chester thought. When he was silent, he wasn’t yelling, and when he wasn’t yelling than just perhaps–

“CHESTER!” the house suddenly roared with his bellowing voice. Once more the boy winced – he thought for sure he was in the clear.

“Y-ye—” Chester cleared his throat, “yeah, Pa?”

“How long have you been home for?”

“No more than fifteen minutes, if I had to guess—”

“And it didn’t ONCE cross your mind to get in here and check if I left you anything?”

Chester stood there, thoroughly confused. He never left him anything. After a minute of idle pondering of what it could be, he poked his head into the doorway and stared down the foyer, through a short hall and into the opening of the kitchen where his dad stood, hunched over and griping a piece of paper.

“wha – what is it? Is that a note?”

“Lord, thank you for sending me such an observant, brilliant son!” called his father, throwing his hands into the air in a mock fashion of praise. “Yes, it’s a note. Your chore, your one damn chore. Don’t you remember me telling you about it?”

Honestly, he didn’t, but Chester bit his tongue and refused from saying so. He waited for his father to continue.

“We’re out. Of food. You and that mutt eat me out of house and home! I told you yesterday I needed you to go into town and pick up groceries BEFORE I got home today. Obviously, you’ve just been idling your time away with something more important for the last half hour.”

“Fifteen minutes —” Chester said under his breath. “To…To be fair though,” he spoke up, “you’re home fairly early, and I just got back home – you know, I was helping to take care of the horses at the ranch over yonder…the Pason’s, remember? To help out and get some more money for us and —”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

His father stormed up to him and pushed the note into his chest along with a few dollars. He looked Chester up and down before snatching the hat.

“Give me that,” He muttered, snatching it from atop his head and throwing it into the house. The son flinched. “You look like a damn fool.”

Chester, against his impulse to retrieve the straw hat, stood silent and motionless and waited for him to continue. It was a fool-proof plan to not give his dad any verbal ammunition to work with.

“Go into town and get what I’ve written down, and don’t come home until you do so.” Pa finally spoke up, “take that mutt of yours with you. He’s been pissing me the hell off with all his barking.” On heel he turned without waiting for an answer, slamming the front door as he went. Chester could hear him swearing and muttering still from inside.

“Damn good for nothing – nineteen years old and can’t remember anything for his life – irresponsible as those ingrates at the paddy – where the hell is my bottle – why the hell did the damn air conditioning have to break!?.”

Chester and Baxter looked at each other as his voice faded away into the house.

“Awh, it’s okay boy!” Chester reassured, kneeling down to scratch the dog’s ears. Baxter giddily stood up and his whole rump wagged side to side in unison with his tale.

“Pa’s just a little stressed from work! I heard the harvest isn’t looking good this year…like it didn’t last year either…or the year before – but, let’s not dwell on that now! Hey Baxy, the sooner we make it into town, the sooner we can get into some air conditioned buildings!”

The golden retriever barked and bounced about on his paws and began to prance about with anticipation. Chester laughed and stood up. Setting off and away from his property, his loyal companion followed behind as they ventured into the open heat.

The dirt road they walked was a long one. Taking a left from his property lead up to a few more colonials and ranches that were spaced few and far between, and beyond that it was only acres of uncultivated land. They instead hooked a right which led down to the rice paddy farm. It was a good few miles away, about an hour’s walk, and the town was almost twice the distance farther. Chester planned on stopping at the paddy to see if any of Pa’s workers were there and to shout a friendly hello, let Baxter take a rest, and to change into something more, well, dry to say the least. Though the trees that hovered over and seemingly protected the path also gave him shelter from the sun, the humidity just wouldn’t let up, and that was almost more unbearable.

Chester passed the time by talking to Baxter and planning their excursion out.

“What do you think boy…think we’ll make it to the paddy fields by one-thirty? Two at the latest,” he mused out loud, “we’ll take a half hour break – let’s just say it’s two-thirty by the time we leave again. I’ll get my ol’ canteen and fill it up with some water and grab something to eat for the remainder of the trip – hopefully we’ll hit town by four thirty or five. Get shopping done, leave five-thirty, six…be home by nine, just as the summer’s dusk hits. Good thing the days are longer, huh boy?”

Chester looked down to Baxter, half expecting him to respond, but he just kept on walking by his side wagging his tail all the while. He chuckled and looked up at the treetops.

“Yeah, this would’ve been much faster if we could’ve taken Pa’s truck, but, you know he’d never let me behind the wheel, or – you even in that vehicle.” Chester sighed. The more he thought about it, the more inconvenient walking seemed to be. “But hey, we can always use the exercise, right? And what else would we be doing the rest of the day? Sitting around, doing nothing, that’s what.”

Chester stretched and nodded to himself. “Yup, absolutely nothing! Being outside in the heat even beats boredom. Plus, I haven’t been to town in quite a long time, I’m kind of excited!”

Baxter gave a few barks as if agreeing with him, which made him smile.

The two companions hurried along, Chester never stopping once to cease his excited babble. Baxter never spoke out against him for talking so much, which only encouraged the boy to talk even more. Before Chester knew it they had reached the rice paddy fields. Past a small house that consisted of nothing more than a bathroom, a bedroom, a tiny kitchen and sun room were rows and rows of rice planted firmly in flooded plains. The water, however, was dangerously low in some areas and practically nonexistent in others – in those areas, the rice began to wither and lean over. Two men were still out in the fields and working their way over to dry land when Chester arrived.

One was Paul Cardy, one of Chester’s dad’s newest helping hands. He had terrible sunburn running across his still pale face, giving him a permanent look of embarrassment blushed on his cheeks. On the opposite end was John Frecker, a man of Haitian descent who had been with Pa the longest. They both had on dark blue overalls with dirtied white shirts underneath, each looking tired and worn down. Upon nearing the house and seeing Chester John’s face turned friendly but Paul’s did nothing more than twitch. Chester, on the few short times he visited the paddy farm, had become an instant hit with the workers. They enjoyed how upbeat and spirited he was, even in the face of a bad crop or low morale. It was a real difference from his father.

“Well, if it ain’t the farmer’s kid!” John acknowledged him first. Baxter barked and hopped around John in circles until the man finally knelt down to pet him. “Your daddy’s gone home a long while ago, son—” It was here that Paul caught up to them, stating quietly aside that “a lot of people had been leaving mighty early lately” with a dry tone.

“—what business brings you here?”

Chester shrugged.

 “Just going into town to get some groceries for Pa and decided to take a quick breather here. It’s sweltering out and me and Bax are a bit out of breath!”

At this, John looked back and examined the small parking area next to the house. There was his truck and Paul’s car, but no sign of a third vehicle.

“Don’t tell me,” he looked back, “you walked all the way here?” When he was met with a nod, Paul raised a hand to his forehead and looked up at the sun. “Good lord, must’ve been hittin’ over 95 when you left, I’m surprised you didn’t fall back and collapse of heat exhaustion.”

Once more, Paul crassly added it didn’t surprise him that his dad would send him out in this weather; that he was probably hoping buzzards would come and peck at his child’s eyes. John scolded him harshly for saying such things in front of the boy (though Chester acted as if he hadn’t heard) and stood up. Satisfied with the attention he received, Baxter ambled back over next to Chester and plopped down, panting.

‘Well, look here son, I’m heading into town myself,” John started. He headed over to his truck and picked up a towel lying in the back compartment, using it to wipe off his face and arms as he talked.

“Most everyone’s left the field early today. A lot of men out here are getting discouraged with the third bad season of rice we’ve had. No rice means no money, no money means no paycheck, and no pay check means no supporting no wife or child. They’ve gone to drink their woes away in the tavern and I suppose I might as well join them while I’ve got a penny to my name. You and ol’ Bax-boy can hitch a ride with me if you’d like – ten minutes of a drive’s much better than two hours of a walk in this god forsaken heat.”

“Oh, wow – really? You’d do that for us?” Chester said, the excitement bubbling in his words. John just laughed and threw the towel back into the truck.

“’Course! S’least I can do for the times you’ve come down here, pissing yo’ pappy off and giving us a laugh for a change.” Even Paul had a snicker at that. Chester didn’t mean to make anyone angry, but his dad seemed to need little to be set off. When Chester would fire back questions and comebacks with the most innocent of intentions at his dad while they worked, he’d get so frustrated and fuming mad that he couldn’t even speak coherently. This always sent the boys in the field into a fit; they’d even heckle along too until his dad gave up and stormed into the house.

“Ah, well – thanks! But could you give me a few moments? I think Baxter needs to get some water and I need to change. I don’t want to be walking around town looking and smelling like a wreck.”

“Ha-ha, sure son, just give a holler when you’re near ready and I’ll start the truck up.”

With another thanks, Chester rushed to the house with Baxter nipping at his heels. The flimsy screen door immediately opened into the kitchen – it was small but sufficient enough. Chester took out a bowl and filled it with tap water, setting it down on the floor where Baxter lapped it up graciously. Running up a few stairs he made his way into the bedroom and bathroom area, darting for the bathroom first. He quickly turned on the shower nozzle and dunked his head under a cool jet of water, making sure to run it through his hair and scrub his face clean.

With a still soaking wet head, he ransacked the drawers of a dresser in the connecting bedroom. Often times he’d sleep over at the secondary home on nights when Pa was especially peeved or drunk, so he figured he had to have another outfit stashed in here from a previous stay. His searching was fruitful as he picked out a white lined shirt, suspenders, brown shorts that hung past his knees, a pair of work gloves that were fingerless, and a quirky yellow bowtie his mom had given him along with the straw hat several birthdays ago. He quickly changed and ran back downstairs, almost tripping over the shoelaces of his work boots in his hurry. Baxter was sitting near the screen door for him, wagging his tail expectantly.

“’Kay John, out in a minute!” Chester called from the kitchen. He heard the engine sputter and start as he put Baxter’s bowl into the sink – he figured he’d come back and properly clean the place up another time. He opened the door and Baxter shot out of it, racing to the pickup truck and jumping into its open back. Chester followed around and closed the latch on the back of the truck, making sure it was secure so Bax wouldn’t slip out. He shouted a friendly bye to Paul who just answered back with a “yeah, see ya kid, tell your daddy I say he’s a total—“ Chester didn’t  stay long enough to find out what he said.

 He jumped into the passenger seat and John backed the truck out.

“Really, thanks again for doing this.” Chester spoke up. John shifted into drive and off they went down the road.

“Nahh, don’t worry about it, but don’t be getting too thankful now,” John said, “I can only give you a ride down there, but not back. I got the feelin’ I ain’t gonna be too much in my right mind to drive after a few hours in the tavern. You’ll have to walk back or find someone else to take you, but, at least it’ll be earlier and lighter out if you do go home on foot.”

“Well that’s more than okay with me!” Chester assured.

Their drive was filled with idle chat. Chester learned how most of Pa’s workers were starting to leave midway through the rice season when he needed them the most, abandoning the seemingly dead-end job and hoping to find work elsewhere. Today another two quit, leaving Pa down to only a handful of remaining help. Chester realized that must have been why he was in such a foul mood this year, and he started to feel bad for not getting the groceries sooner and adding to his father’s stress.

The trees that hugged the edges of the dirt road began to scatter, and soon all together disappeared to reveal the landscape beyond. There was a surreal stretch of land and water between the mainland and the town; a wooden bridge about half a mile in length let the car pass over what looked like a flooded plain or valley. Long green grass swayed under a few feet of crystal clear water, and every once in a while a few tiny fish darted to and fro in the makeshift reeds. Chester could see the few fluffy clouds in the sky reflected on the water’s surface as well. Looking up, he could make out the land at the other end of the bridge coming up in the distance. No buildings could be seen, only a mangled mess of large trees, but Chester knew the town was nestled safely within the leafy walls. Next to the land mass was the silhouette of the wetlands, smothered completely in fog. Not once in Chester’s life did he ever see the swamp clear, neither had the generation of Chester’s parents or grandparents. A lot of the residents of and around the town consider this fog to be supernatural; they said that creeping faes lived in the swamp – but Chester didn’t take any of that seriously. He was too level headed to believe in ghosts or creatures or anything of the sort.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” John cut into Chester’s thoughts. The young man just then realized he had his hands and face pressed up against the passenger side’s window for the last minute or so. Pulling himself back into a proper sitting position, he agreed.

“Yeah, ain’t nowhere else in the world got land like this, I reckon,” John continued as they finally came up near the end of the bridge, “Ain’t no one got people like we do either.”

The truck slowed down to a stop once they hit a cobblestone path.

“You best be getting’ out here son. Tavern’s on the other side of town, opposite of all them food shops, and you know that there ain’t no cars allowed on the cobble streets, I’ve got to ride around.”

Chester nodded and got out, running around to the back of the truck and opening the latch to let Baxter out. The dog had been dozing off to sleep in the back with the warm sun beating on his back, but seeing Chester again brought him back to his bounding self. He hopped off and sat down next to his companion as the young man closed the truck back up. He gave two taps to the truck to let John know he was good and the truck gave a start before pulling away. He gave two honks of his horn as Chester waved before disappearing down an alternative path.

The two set out forward on the cobblestone. While they still couldn’t see the town, they heard the chatter of its people and wild laughter bouncing through the trees. Footsteps clicked on the stone and brass swing music kicked up. The atmosphere was always different here, it was just so – unreal, and Chester loved it.

They turned a corner and the trees opened up wide to reveal the source of all the noise. There he and Baxter stood; the sight of all the denizens walking and dancing about, the buildings and shops, the massive cypresses and bridges that connected the town together over the boggy water – the smell of freshly baked goods and the sound of swinging jazz completely overtook his senses.

On the archway that opened into this heavenly place rested a large sign that read in decorative letters: “Welcome to the Town of Ridgewell – The Home of Southern Hospitality”.