CORI
“What the hell is that smell?” Noelle, my older sister, asked over my shoulder.
What the hell was that smell?
I pressed the edge of my hand to my forehead to create a visor over my eyes, shielding them from the sun so I could see what lay up ahead.
I heard Camille, our little sister, suck her teeth a second later. “Why are we here on this farm, right now, Cori?”
Why were we here?
It was my idea for us to come out here onto the farm. My idea to bring our asses out into this quiet rural town to live on our grandmother’s estate.
“Cori!” Noelle shouted. “Hello!”
I inhaled a deep breath, fixed a smile on my lips, and turned to face my sisters.
As soon as I got them in my sight, what a sight it was to see.
My sisters and I did not look like we belonged here. At all.
Not with Noelle dressed in her high-waisted jeans and her crisp, white button-up top, with one hem tucked into those jeans and red sole stilettos on her feet. Definitely not Camille in her Air Force 1s that looked new out the box, and the bubblegum pink sweatsuit she wore with them.
Shit, not even me, in my cream lace top and ripped jeans, with white Converses I couldn’t stop worrying about getting dirty just standing here.
On this dirt road, outside of our farm.
Yeah, we did not belong here.
Transplanted from our lives of penthouses and palatial properties, we were used to door-to-door service, white carpets in foyers, and manis and brunch on Sundays.
Not a dirt road, visible crops on vines, and the smell of shit in the air.
What the hell were we thinking?
What was I thinking?
But I couldn’t tell them that.
A fly flew in Noelle’s direction, which she was quick to lean out of the way of, swatting her hand in front of her face while groaning. “God!”
“Oh, come on, y’all,” I tried. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad,” Noelle mocked, flinching when the fly returned. “Ugh. I’m already regretting this shit, for real, Cori, and we’ve only been here for one day.”
I blew raspberries with my lips.
My eyes roamed the perimeter of the farm behind them.
Our farm.
We were now responsible for this extremely large plot of land that we had absolutely no idea what to do with.
“Let’s not forget,” Camille said, “Nana said we won’t have to know the likes of this farm, if we don’t want to. She said everything will be handled by the farm manager.”
“Exactly,” Noelle echoed.
“I know,” I said. “But…” I turned to focus on the barn that housed animals I cringed at just the thought of touching. “I just feel if we’re going to be here for a year, it just makes sense that we at least know what it’s all about, you know? We might as well get acquainted with everything.”
A year. That was the plan. Our grandmother had officially left to live in an upscale senior living facility not far from here after living here with her two sisters, who passed away years ago. Not wanting to be alone at Davenport Ridge anymore, she decided to relocate, offering us a property and land that was offered to our mother, who refused to move here with her older sister.
I continued walking, my eyes moving all around us, hearing my sisters’ footsteps behind me.
“Honestly,” Noelle started, “I’m perfectly fine living here and never, ever stepping foot back out here again, if we’re keeping it real.”
I stopped to turn and focus on her again. “You’d stay off of here for a year, Noelle?”
Ironically, it was our mother’s idea for me and my sisters to give living here a shot.
“Just give it one year,” my mama told me over coffee in her sunroom. Her pinky extended up as she took a sip from her porcelain mug. “Sometimes I wish I could have done that just to prove to your grandmother that that place simply didn’t work for me. But for you, knowing how you don’t like leaving stones unturned, regretting things, blah, blah, blah… stay there for a year. That will be enough time to decide if it’s for you or not. Then no one can tell you anything when you return home, like I know you will.”
“Yeah, I’d stay off this thing for a year,” Noelle replied, sniffing the air and passing me in our walk. “Because a year right now is already feeling like a lifetime—yuck! What the fuck is that smell—”
She gasped at the sound of her red-bottom heels sinking into something squishy. The sound had all of our eyes falling to the ground where it originated from.
Shit.
Literally.
“Well,” Camille voiced beside me. “You found the smell, Elle.”
Oh no…
Noelle’s scream could be heard from Manhattan, I’m sure. It echoed around us as she jumped back, pulling her foot up and out of a small pile of animal feces that I thankfully missed when she walked up ahead of us.
“Eww,” Noelle whined. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
“Elle,” I started, attempting to reach for her. “Girl, calm down—”
“Calm down?!” she challenged, swatting my hand away while scraping the bottom of her heels on the dirt ground. “I just stepped in shit. Dropped here by some… beast, I would hope. Bugs are flying all around me. My skin is crawling. I’m practically dying out here!”
She threw her hands up a second later, then smoothed her fingers down her neatly plaited cornrows. “You know what, no. No! I’m out of here. I’m fucking gone.”
“Noelle!”
I shouted that to her back, listening to her mumble expletives as she stomped away, leaving Camille and me standing there, looking at each other.
“Well,” Camille said once again, an easy smile appearing on her deep brown, baby doll face. “I see a lavender field over there. I’m sure it’ll be good for selfies and b-roll… and stuff. Right?”
I smiled at her and let a soft laugh escape me.
Our baby sister was the most optimistic of us all. While Noelle was escaping her marriage in Chicago, something she would neither talk about nor confirm, but we knew she was running from something, Camille was here simply to just be here… and if you let her tell it, she was here for love. She actually thinks she can find love in this rural ass town when she couldn’t find it out in L.A. She was the hopeless romantic out of the three of us, and because I wanted her to be here with us through this decision I convinced them to make too, I couldn’t tell my baby sister she was buggin’ to think she’d find anything out here but herself.
I gestured at her. “You can leave too, Cami, if you want, girl.”
“Oh, can I?! Thank God,” she sighed out. “‘Cause I was done from the time you asked us to come out here, Cori. It’s beautiful but… eeeyuck.”
All I could do was snort a laugh.
“See you for dinner later in the main house?” she asked, turning on her sneakers, quickly hopping over the pile of feces on the floor.
“6 p.m.,” I confirmed, watching her walk away for a beat before turning to face the farm again.
Camille was right. Our grandmother had assured us that we didn’t have to pay the farm any mind aside from briefings from our farm manager, which were scheduled for every Monday, but damn.
There was something about this space I just felt like I wanted to get to know.
To conquer.
Honestly, to stay busy.
Because if I wasn’t working… I didn’t really know who I was.
And I’d kind of quit my job to be here.
In addition to taking our mama’s advice to stay here for a year, I also took her suggestion to take a leave of absence from the salon where I styled hair.
I didn’t need to work at the salon or take on private clients, considering who my family was.
We were the Davenports. Owners of Crown & Coil by Davenport & Co., one of the longest-running Black hair care companies that was a staple in a lot of Black families’ lives.
When Black women remembered their childhoods and having their hair done, the scent and sight of our hair products brought back memories.
Noelle worked in one of the corporate offices of the company in Chicago, and Camille used her social media audience to promote the products as an influencer, with hair styling videos and vlogs.
But me? I’ve always loved working with my hands and being hands-on in haircare. Styling hair, watching women feel good after seeing the final results. My contribution to the family business was using only the Crown & Coil hair products when I worked.
And gosh, I really loved working, and I just knew a year without work would drive me so mad.
But damn, this farm was so gahdamn intimidating.
One of the farmhands was making their way by me, pushing a barrel full of hay towards one of the barns.
“Hey, hay!” I greeted with a wave. “Get it? Hey, hay.”
He just smiled, then nodded as he continued on.
“I’m Corrine Davenport, by the way,” I said to myself. “But you can call me Cori. Oh, how am I today? I’m good, freaking out and just here, starting to really regret this shit. A lot.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
The farm wasn’t the main focus here.
The estate, Davenport Ridge, was, and the estate was nothing like the farm. It honestly was like two different worlds.
The estate grounds consisted of the main house, three homes, gardens, and open family spaces. It was beautiful and equipped with everything that could keep us only on the estate grounds for a year without a need to leave for anything.
In the main house, we had entertainment rooms, fitness centers, laundry rooms, and a staff to handle all cleaning, maintenance, and cooking. We also had a state-of-the-art beauty studio, which I couldn’t wait to break in.
The salon was a fully functional beauty salon, as the Davenport women before us wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was our Black hair care empire that financed the building of this entire estate and farm… a farm I really wanted to get to know more about, and I couldn’t understand why.
I lifted my hand over my eyes again to get a glimpse of what I could see miles and miles away.
From my view, all I could see was open land, but I knew from the talks with my Nana that the town of Morgansville was known for its farms.
She told me our farm was the second largest in town, and there was a bigger farm a few miles up.
And with that memory, I turned away from the farm to make my way back to the estate grounds.
I didn’t return to my home but instead went to my car, hopping in and making my way away from our colonial estate.
This town was so unfamiliar to me. I’d visited here a few times when I was little, but never stayed more than a few hours.
My great-grandmother and her sisters had commissioned an architect to have an estate built here so that she and her sisters wouldn’t live alone after the deaths of their husbands.
I lowered the windows to feel the wind blow against my face as I made my way up the empty, open road.
At the start of construction of Davenport Ridge, they all called the Davenport House, the main house, home before they had individual two-story homes built for them to call their own. My grandmother inherited the estate from her mother and moved there with her three sisters after they all became widowed. My grandmother was the only one of her sisters to have children, two daughters, who she offered to live on the estate when she finally moved onto it and when they were old enough to live there too. My aunt Linda never wanted children, but my mother, Valery, had three of her own—Noelle, me, and Camille. But Mama refused to move onto the estate, preferring the city life over rural.
So Nana asked me and my sisters if we would be interested once we were of age.
Since we were still young, as she put it—me 37, Noelle 40, and Camille 32—Nana said it would be fine if our spouses lived here as well… when we got them.
Noelle was the only one of us three who was married… barely. She and her husband were going through something that she’s been tight-lipped about.
Anyway, our grandmother’s invitation to live here sounded great, in theory, but so far, things seemed to be questionable. And quiet. So quiet. The most activity seemed to be on the farm… which was intimidating as hell.
The drive up the road away from Davenport Ridge was smooth. Nothing but open land, trees, and black road.
The outskirts of Morgansville was nothing but smaller farms, quiet, and space.
No honking horns, exhaust in the air. I don’t think I’ve seen an airplane or helicopter since I’ve been here for all of a day.
I could barely get enough sleep last night because of how quiet it was.
I was so lost in my thoughts during the short drive from Davenport Ridge, I almost missed the large black gate in my peripheral. I stepped on the brakes instantly to bring my car to a slow roll.
I squinted my eyes through my opened window.
“Rhodes,” I read on the shiny plaque that appeared on the iron gate.
The gate was open, and any sensible person would step on the gas and continue on, but something about how modern the gate looked in all this open land was intriguing.
This must be that larger farm Grandma was talking about during one of our visits before she left.
Now, my ass knew better. I was born and raised in New York City, the Upper West Side to be specific. So going onto people’s property was something I knew not to do.
But I was curious and figured the people in Morgansville weren’t the people in Manhattan. They seemed inviting, welcoming. So, what could be the harm in driving past that opened gate and down a mile-long drive beyond that iron gate?
Now this part of the town was noticeably different. From my windshield, I spotted rolling fields, split into sections. Barns in the distance and animals grazing on either side of the road I traveled down.
The estate revealed itself slowly. What started as a quiet entrance back there opened into land that stretched further than I expected.
“Wow,” I whispered, leaning a little over my wheel to get a better view of it all as the car continued to roll slowly.
I thought the land at Davenport Ridge was vast. But this was expansive and not at all overwhelming. Everything just looked like it had its place to be. It was far to see, but the main house sat at the center of it all, grounded and intentional. The surrounding land, including the farm, looked productive and peaceful.
There were people in the distance when I brought the car to a stop. No one was around when I pushed open my door and stepped out of my car.
Whereas on our farm, where everything looked functional but a little outdated, everything looked top-of-the-line and modern here. Beautiful, manicured fields. Expensive and polished farm equipment, trucks, and other vehicles.
I was continuing my scanning and observation of everything around me when my eyes caught a moving figure in my peripheral.
I turned that way to find a tall and solidly built Black man come into view. He lugged a large, bulging potato sack that he carried with strong arms on his broad shoulder like it was nothing. He wore a simple tee and jeans, boots on his feet that had dried mud splatter on the toe.
“Girl, if you don’t get your Black ass back in your car,” I said through my teeth to myself, but I couldn’t move. I felt cemented to my spot. “Why are you just standing here?!”
I felt stuck in place, not out of fear. Out of pure intrigue and fascination.
His frame was lean, something I noticed as he drew closer. He motioned to someone nearby, removing the bag off his shoulder and into the arms of who looked to be another farmhand.
The man held up a big hand in a wave as he drew closer, dusting those hands as he swaggered to me.
“Hi, hello,” I stammered, clearing my throat when he was close enough to hear me. I pointed behind me. “I… I just moved here a few miles up this way and was touring the area, and decided to—”
“Trespass?” he asked, a smile framed by a neatly trimmed beard framing his lips and jaw. His voice was deep. The way that one word left his mouth was deep, unhurried, and intentional in delivery.
The man was taller than he appeared from afar, with even brown skin, hair cut low and sharp around his hairline. He smelled like the earth and something expensive, which was an odd combo.
I snorted a laugh, then grabbed my braided ponytail to move over my shoulder to toy with. Nervous habit.
Couldn’t help my eyes from lowering from his to sneak another peek at his body that looked shaped by years of work.
Lawd have mercy.
“This farm…” I pointed up ahead, which he turned to look at. “It’s incredible. Is your boss around?”
He’d parted his thick lips to respond when I jumped in again.
“I just wanted to let them know that although I am trespassing, as you said…” I giggled nervously. “I’m harmless. It’s just that I’ve just inherited this big ass farm down the road, and even though my sisters and I are not responsible for taking care of it and it’s handled, I just want to make sure I know what I’m doing still.”
“Mmm-hmm…” he said with a nod.
“So, I’m not crazy or anything, just curious.” I held up a hand for emphasis. “So please let them know they have nothing to worry about.”
He smiled, his white teeth blinding in a great way. There was something about his eyes that made him seem familiar. Appealing, in an unassuming way.
Did all the farmers look this damn good out here?!
“I’ll let them know, but I doubt they’ll have a problem with you trespassing… this one time.”
I laughed entirely too damn loud and hard, feeling my cheeks warm from embarrassment instantly.
“Well,” I said, turning quickly on my sneakers and heading back to my car. “Thank you for your grace. I see you’re working so please, do you.”
He chuckled.
I was in my car, starting it up and carefully backing away to do a U-turn to leave.
I snuck another peek at the man through my rearview mirror, watching him as he watched my car pull off, his frame getting smaller and smaller the further away I drove.
“Shit, should I have gotten his name?” I asked out loud. I shook my head a moment later. “No, why would I?”
Because I’d been there and done that enough times to know that wouldn’t be a good idea.
As fine as that farmer was, my ass knew better. I’d dated outside of my tax bracket enough times to know that it’s all good the first few months, even years, before they start feeling intimidated by my last name and all that was attached to it.
I came from money and wasn’t shy about that. I was gracious, yes, and gave wholeheartedly, but I loved where my family came from and what we stood for, and sometimes, that made men a little insecure.
Specifically the ones in different tax brackets.
But damn, that man I just left standing and watching me drive off was definitely something I would look forward to seeing around these parts, as they say around here.
But only seeing… and nothing else.