Feet on autopilot, mind at sea, Cal almost walked past Milliman’s Orchard by the village boundaries before he chanced to recall the gossip he’d heard from Crooked Jerry (which Penbrooke had ignored) about something happening at the orchard; Dave, too, had mentioned it being a hot topic in the pub at noon.

Since Cal still had some energy remaining in the tank, he figured he might as well lend them a hand if they were having any trouble; so with a deep exhale, he pivoted on his heels and headed towards the orchard.

The path, a serpentine affair carved by countless cart wheels, wound its way through the forest of apple trees that provided shade from the sun's glare. In the air there loitered a faint yet unmistakable scent, sweet and acidic, which could be sourced back to the litter of apples decomposing on the orchard floor; though, as Cal approached their house, this scent was handedly overpowered by the aroma of a stew on the boil.

Milliman was crouched down with his back to Cal, clearing out weeds from the house perimeter; upon hearing the footfall, he swivelled around and gave a wave. “Oh hullo, Cal. What’s brought you here today?” The farmer was bald with an auburn dutch beard and a tanned face dotted with liver spots. He had the beginnings of a gut, although it was hard to tell from the loose flannel shirt he currently wore.

“I heard you were having some trouble, so I thought I’d come over and lend a hand,” Cal said.

Milliman waved him off with a click of his tongue. “Nothing of the kind, my boy. Though I bet it’s that chatterbox Jerry you heard it from – his mouth is as crooked as his back, so he can’t help but wag that loose tongue of his. I was in the village this morning selling apples, and I happened to mention in conversation how there’s been a glut of caterpillars recently, that’s all.”

He pointed out behind Cal. “You can see how many apples I’ve had to throw away already. Far more than any other year, that’s for sure. And I know it’s them caterpillars because I’ve caught them red-handed, over and over, but they’re shameless little pests: only death will stop them.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Nay, I’ve already picked the apples worth selling, and there’s little point in you working in this silly heat; not sure what’s got the old sun all worked up today. Though if you come over early morning sometime this week, you can help me deal with those darned pests before they spread to the rest of my crops.”

Before Cal could reply, another voice joined the conversation. “Dear, who’s that you’re chatting to?” Millie came out from around the house, humming, with a ladle in her hand.

Her dark hair was tied in a bun, and she had on a blue shift dress with a hemmed skirt. Because of the farm work she did, she had broader shoulders and a leaner look than many of the village ladies. This, combined with her sizeable bosom and affable attitude, made her a regular visitor to many a villager’s dreams, including Cal’s.

“Oh, it’s my little Callie boo. Come here, you,” she said, snatching him up in a bear hug; although her head only came up to his shoulders, Millie still treated him as she always had. “I’ve made mutton stew. Here, have a taste.”

Cal drew his finger down a small part of the ladle and brought it to his mouth. “Mm, it’s good.” Maybe I can eat here before heading off home.

She revealed a mischievous smile. “Aha, I got you! Now you have to join us for our late lunch.” Then, as if suddenly recalling something, she gave a small gasp and continued: “Ooh, that reminds me. My dear was telling me about a tale going around the village when he got back earlier, how the folk have been saying you’ve been acting all funny and asking about your dad. Is that true?”

Cal gave a nervous laugh like a miser caught at his counting. “I guess everyone in the village must have heard it by now.”

Hoping to shift away from the topic but also not wanting to make the conversation awkward, he figured he’d push the small talk in another direction to make his intentions not too obvious. “I guess the heat must have been getting to me today. Speaking of, how’s little Maggie faring? I recall her saying how she hates the heat and how she can’t play as much when it tires her out.”

“Oh, forget that silly child for a second. This is far more important,” Millie said, trampling right over his attempts at misdirection. “I bet you didn’t know your dad used to work right here in this orchard, did you?”

I didn’t, but I’m not sure I wanted to know, either.

Milliman nodded at her excitement. “That’s right: your dad was the best worker I’ve had, Cal, no question about it. Never seemed to run out of stamina and had the strength to bully a bull if he wanted. And most importantly, he taught me to appreciate my baby.”

Wait a minute…

Millie giggled while blushing. “Tell him, dear.”

Don’t tell me…

Milliman chuckled and moved next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Now this may surprise you but I wasn’t always a loving husband to my Millie.” A sudden glimmer appeared in his eyes, a look of respect and fondness. “Your dad was th—”

“No, no, no, I’m not surprised at all,” Cal interjected; he could see where this was going and was determined to stop it from getting there.

The farmer appeared dazed at the sudden retort: he took an involuntary step back, and his lips flapped about in an attempt to articulate a response to this unexpected development. “Oh, huh,” was all he managed to get out, his hands gesturing flaccid helplessness before they finally got their act together and wiped the sweat off his brow. “I didn’t know people still saw me like that…”

Riding to his rescue, Millie pinched at his love handle. “Don’t worry, dear, no one thinks of you like that. It’s just that Cal’s a smart boy, don’t you know? He can see these things that others can’t.”

Does that include intrusive hallucinations?

“Oh right, of course,” Milliman responded, his voice regaining strength. “Our Cal’s as sharp as they come, and moreover the son of Liliane and Theodore. How silly of me to think it’d go past your notice, Cal.” He stepped forward and tousled Cal’s hair with mirth. “Now your dad, Theodore, he was—”

Cal didn’t mind Milliman’s hands being grimy from clearing out weeds; in fact, he would have felt rather warm inside from the affection the couple were showing him if not for the guilt he currently felt at deliberately misleading them like this. Nonetheless, he couldn’t let this conversation continue any longer, not when he knew what was at stake.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It wasn’t that his last remaining dregs of respect for his dad meant much, but rather he had a gut feeling that he really did not want to see whatever vision their words would conjure up; the more praises they slung his old man’s way, the worse it looked for him.

“He was a good man,” Cal hastily interrupted while soothing the air with upturned palms. “My dad was a good man who broadened perspectives, and someone who went out of his way to help others. Don’t worry, I’ve already heard it all.”

Yet, even as these words spilt out of his mouth, Cal could tell he’d messed up from the way the couple’s eyes lit up. It’s over.

“Aha, so you clearly haven’t heard everything,” touted a triumphant Milliman.

Millie continued, “You see, your dad would also stand up for the downtrodden, for the people he thought weren’t being treated right.”

Cal squinted at them as if establishing lunacy; multiple misgivings about her statement raced through his mind, the biggest one being: how can my dad be the one standing up for the downtrodden when he’s the one mistreating them in the first place?

Fortunately for Cal, his question would shortly be answered as by the time he’d blinked and re-opened his eyes, he was in another vision. He was in the same location only now the couple’s house appeared newly built. A few strides away stood the familiar figure of his dad arguing with a younger Milliman – who had less of a gut and, curiously enough, a great auburn walrus moustache.

The farmer from the past gave a greasier feel, although Cal couldn’t quite tell why (ignoring the fact he also couldn’t take his eyes of that mesmerising moustache).

As per, his dad didn’t speak and instead dual-wielded gestures and grunts to communicate. While these might have been effective in direct communication, they weren’t the most useful for a third-party trying to glean what was going on. Hence, Cal felt a great deal of gratitude when Milliman helpfully stepped in to provide context.

“There’s no way can I increase your pay so much, Theodore. I’ve told you before: I have ambitions of saving up and becoming a merchant. From there, I’ll continue to build my wealth until one day I can join a chamber of commerce.” He chuckled a penny-pincher’s vulgar laugh.

Hearing his raised voice, Millie rushed out of the house with a food-stained apron around her neck. Her seductive curves made her as ravishing as ever, especially with the added appeal of youth, yet Cal couldn’t help but intuiting a sense of melancholy from her that even glamour couldn’t hide. “Dear, Theo, what’s wrong?”

“Go back inside and prepare dinner, woman,” her husband said, his gaze shifting back to Cal’s dad, “I’m just finishing up here telling Theodore his wage won’t go up. You hear me: no way, no how.”

Cal’s dad responded in defiance of Milliman’s message with a ramrod finger pointing up.

“I don’t care if you want higher pay because you’re not getting it! You can’t do anything even if I don’t raise your wage, so why bother negotiating?” Milliman’s walrus moustache twisted into a sneer. “And if you say you’ll go work for Susie Shrimp or Fatty Dave, well, what’s keeping you then? I say be my bloody guest, Theodore, because I’ll be waiting here for you to come crawling back begging for your old job again.”

The air around Cal’s dad stilled in sync with his cooling expression. He picked up a hatchet lying on the ground and tossed it in the direction of the apples trees; it cleanly sliced through the air, unripe apples falling from their stems in its wake, then nimbly made a turn and boomeranged back into his open palm. He gave a surly grunt.

Milliman’s face fell into dismay. “You’ll cut down all my fruit early and ruin my harvest? You… you… savage!”

How did you even glean all of that from a single throw?!

Cal’s dad clicked his tongue and wagged a derisive finger.

“Wait, there’s more?”

The barbarian snapped his fingers and out came sizzling sparks as red as his hair. He smoothly flicked them at a bush near the house, which summarily transformed into a contained blaze that roared and erupted a thick plume of smoke. Then, with a controlled slowness, the fingers that had aimed at the bush now turned towards their house.

“You’ll burn my house down and ruin my worldly possessions? You barbarian!”

Once more came the click of the tongue, the wag of the finger.

This was enough to push Milliman off the edge. “No more, Theodore. I concede. I’ll increase your pay, okay.”

Yet the barbarian wasn’t done for he pointed at Millie and crooked his finger, beckoning her over.

Caught in the siren’s song, she came over without resistance, head hung low. “What is it, Theo?”

He spun her around so that she faced her husband. Leaning over her, he held one hand – fingers straight and tight together – horizontally in front of her face and used the other hand to make small gestures behind this makeshift curtain, most likely to the effect of whispering his intent to her while hiding it from her husband.

Naturally there was a bit of back and forth, where he had to clarify points of confusion with further hidden gestures and the occasional grunt, but it eventually worked out as she gave a conspiratorial nod. No sooner had she confirmed than he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into his waist; she moaned.

Milliman fell slackjawed as a look of immense stupidity overcame him: this couldn’t be happening... And yet their act continued as she moaned on command until the barbarian finally released her from his grip; whereupon she theatrically spun to the ground and lay still, dead.

Well, this flashback’s gone about as well as I’d expected it to.

Meanwhile, Milliman struggled to utter a response. “My… wife… Millie… You’ll take her from me?” His eyes glazed over at the prospect, his drooping posture testifying a beaten man.

Cal’s dad snorted like a horse and rolled his eyes.

“No, dear,” came Millie’s voice from her pretend-dead state, “He’s going to fuck me so hard that I die from his fuckery. If you don’t want that to happen, he said you’ll have to treasure me from now on. Also he wants you to appreciate what we currently have instead of only seeing their value after losing them in your selfish chase of wealth and power. Oh, and he demanded that you shave your ugly, bristly moustache, or else he’ll get really really mad, like crazy mad. That’s what he said.”

Cal’s dad gave another snort but decided clarifying his message was too much effort so simply shrugged instead.

“You’re right, Theodore. Of course you are!” Milliman shouted, running over to help up his wife. “I’ll never treat my wife badly again: I’ll always treasure her and the life I have here. I’ll give up on my stupid ambition and get rid of this stupid moustache. And I’ll raise your wage!”

Cal watched with exasperation as the vision ended on this abrupt tender note. Now back to the present, he saw the couple ahead of him in a different light. He bowed his head low. “Thank you for showing me how my dad would stand up for the downtrodden.”

Milliman chuckled, the lack of walrus moustache impossible to unsee now. “You flatter us, Cal. We can’t show or teach you anything; we merely told you how Theodore was, that’s all.”

“Now come on in, and join us and the kids for lunch,” said Millie, beaming. “We’ve got so many stories to tell you about him.”

Cal’s heart missed a beat; it was only by an effort of will he was able to mask over the explosion of abject horror in his mind. Although he wanted to tell himself that surely it couldn’t get worse than this, he feared daring to think such a thing would goad the world into proving how much worse it really could get.

As such, he forced an answer out through clenched teeth, whilst holding onto his stomach. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit sick right now, so I’ll have to take you up on the offer another time.”

Fighting off their insistence, he excused himself from the orchard and was soon back on his way back home, his mind tumultuous with thoughts tumbling over each other like apples in a barrel. So my dad was not only a deadbeat but also a jerk, bully, and a hound – a true aficionado of bad qualities.

Given this was all in plain sight, Cal couldn’t help but worry how his mum had taken it; while she could be harsh and lazy (and strict and annoying and gross), even she didn’t deserve such a flawed husband.

The fact she hadn’t taken a man since his dad had been a comforting one until now, but the villagers had also seemed oddly fond of the man despite the events that had actually taken place. Could it be Mum was duped as well?

All this time Cal had avoided the topic in fear of treading on her toes and receiving a swatting but no longer. Now that he’d confirmed that no orcs had raided the village in his absence, it was time to face the boss and find out from the Ogress herself what kind of man his dad, her husband, had been.