Chapter 9: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 9

Chapter 8 pulled us into the quiet strength—and private sorrow—of Doris McLeod.

No longer just the estranged wife of a tyrant, Doris emerges as a woman reclaiming her future. With Ian dead, no will, and no divorce, the farm—and its ghosts—now belong to her. Yet what could feel like freedom instead becomes a burden she never asked for.

In the soft glow of a diner, she dares to imagine something more: Paris. A café along the Seine. A life without duty or damage. But even dreams of escape are complicated when your sons still bear the scars of the man you left behind.

Gerald’s anger, Jerome’s collapse, and Peter’s reluctant loyalty all tie her to a past she’s desperate to leave. And the deeper Doris looks into the future, the more she sees that her freedom may come at a cost—one she can’t yet measure.

In Chapter 9, expect lines to blur: between survivor and enabler, between inheritance and responsibility, between what is owed—and what must be left behind.

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Chapter 9

 

Standing Up

 

Three Years Earlier – July 1985:

 

The orange glow of the setting sun stretched long shadows across the McLeod farm, casting a dramatic stillness over the yard. Ian McLeod stood concealed behind the barn door, his calloused hands gripping the weathered wood, his piercing eyes fixed on his eldest son. Across the yard, Gerald leaned against a fencepost with a casual air, his posture carrying an unfamiliar confidence.

 

The low growl of a motorcycle disrupted the quiet. A biker rolled into the yard, dismounted, and strode toward Gerald with the assured swagger of someone unafraid of scrutiny. Ian’s jaw tightened as he watched. The biker handed Gerald a small package, and Gerald accepted it without hesitation, his movements calculated and deliberate.

 

Ian’s chest tightened, fury simmering just beneath the surface. This was no innocent exchange. Months of suspicion now crystallized into certainty: Gerald was trafficking drugs—on his land, under his nose.

 

As the motorcycle roared away, Ian stepped out from the shadows, his imposing frame blocking Gerald’s path to the farmhouse.

 

The Confrontation:

 

“What the hell is this?” Ian’s voice cut through the evening air, low and razor-sharp. His eyes bore into Gerald, who froze for a fraction of a second before instinctively tucking the package behind his back.

 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Gerald said, his tone steady but guarded.

 

Ian’s lip curled into a sneer. “Nothing that concerns me. You’re dealing drugs on my land, boy. You think I’ll stand by while you drag my name through the mud?”

 

Gerald hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But then, something shifted. Straightening his back, he met Ian’s glare head-on, refusing to flinch.

 

“I’m not a kid anymore, Pa,” Gerald said, his voice calm but defiant. “What I do isn’t your business.”

 

Ian’s anger surged, his nostrils flaring as he stepped closer, his face mere inches from Gerald’s. “As long as you’re under my roof, it’s my business. Now hand it over.” He reached for the package.

 

But Gerald didn’t budge. Instead, he gripped the bag tighter and took a deliberate step back. “No,” he said firmly, his voice rising with years of pent-up frustration. “You’re always calling this your house, your land. When’s it ever going to feel like ours? When do we get to live without your damn rules?”

 

“When you’ve earned it!” Ian barked, his voice thunderous. “But that day will never come—not while you waste your life peddling weed like a coward.”

 

“A coward?” Gerald shot back, his voice sharper now. “You think I’m a coward? I don’t need to control a woman to feel like a man. You’re the coward, you spineless bastard.”

 

Ian’s hand hovered midair, trembling with disbelief. “You little shit,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can stand there and talk to me like that?”

 

Gerald didn’t waver. His jaw clenched; his eyes locked on Ian’s. “That’s right. I’m done. You don’t own me, and you sure as hell don’t control me anymore.”

 

Ian’s fury cooled, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. “You’re a damn fool,” he spat. “You think selling drugs makes you a man? It’ll land you in jail—or in the ground.”

 

Gerald didn’t blink. “Better that than breaking my back on this farm for nothing. At least I’m doing something for myself.”

 

The silence between them was suffocating. Ian stared at his son, searching for the boy he once commanded with ease—but he was gone. In his place stood a man who wouldn’t yield.

 

“You think you’re too good for this farm?” Ian growled, his voice trembling with both anger and an unspoken fear. “Fine. Get out. Let’s see how long you last without me.”

 

Gerald’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked away, his shoulders squared, leaving Ian standing alone in the fading light, fists trembling at his sides.

 

Doris McLeod’s Resolve:

 

From the porch, Doris watched the confrontation unfold, her heart pounding. She saw Gerald walk away, unbroken, and felt a surge of hope. Years of silent endurance had led to this moment—a crack in Ian’s hold on the family. That night, as Ian slammed the door and paced the kitchen in fury, Doris began packing. She would leave him, and she would take Peter with her.

 

The Fall of Ian McLeod:

 

After that confrontation, Ian’s life began to unravel. The farm, once kept afloat by his sons’ labor and his iron rule, began to fall apart. Gerald moved his drug operation elsewhere, refusing to help on the farm. His defiance inspired Jerome, who also stopped working under Ian’s thumb. Even Peter, who had always been the quiet, obedient son, began pulling away.

 

Ian’s bitterness consumed him. He lashed out in cruel, passive-aggressive ways, his cutting words a poor substitute for the physical dominance he no longer dared to exert. Depression set in, and Ian watched helplessly as his fields turned fallow and the barn roof sagged.

 

Doris left soon after, taking Peter with her. The burden of running the household and keeping the farm fell solely on Ian’s shoulders. The weight of it all crushed him.

 

The Breaking Point:

 

Months before his death, Ian decided to sell the farm. The thought of freeing himself from the land gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. He began attending community events, even dating, his optimism cautiously returning. But he told no one of his plans, fearing the backlash from his family.

 

Ian’s secret didn’t stay hidden for long. George McLeod, Ian’s brother, learned of the sale through a local realtor and brought the news to the farm during a family gathering.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Pa?” Gerald demanded, his voice sharp with anger.

 

Ian folded his arms, his face a mask of defiance. “It’s my farm,” he said. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

 

“You owe us everything!” Jerome snapped, his voice rising. “We worked this land while you sat around barking orders. And now you’re selling it off without even telling us?”

 

The argument escalated, years of resentment boiling to the surface. Gerald accused Ian of being selfish, Jerome called him a failure, and Ian fired back with words meant to wound.

 

George stood in the corner, silent but watchful. He knew Ian’s decision to sell wasn’t about money—it was about escaping the weight of the farm and its secrets. But George also knew Ian had no idea what the land held.

 

The fight ended with Ian storming out, slamming the door behind him. He drove to Harris Bay to have dinner with the Green sisters. Over bowls of Irish stew, he laughed and joked, carefully avoiding any mention of the quarrel.

 

But as he drove home that night, the weight of his sons’ anger and his own mounting failures pressed down on him. The farm, once a source of pride, now felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

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