First 1000 words. Would like Feedback!
Hello!
I would love feedback on the first 1000 words of this concept. I am 15k in, and I really like the idea. I usually am a bit more florid, so I went with a bit more of a simple, straightforward tone for this.
Thank you if you take time to read it!
>After so many years, Mr. Elliot’s name was drying on the final bit of Indiana land. He waved at Harry Dobson and his daughter Harrie. Harriet had tears in her eyes. Mr. Elliot felt them drying on his shoulder. Sweet folks, though Harry had been obstinate and unwilling to sell his farm no matter how much Mr. Elliot extolled the loveliness of the land, how well Harry had maintained it, and insisted on his desire to make Harry’s life easier in his waning years.
>Every Sunday for two years, Mr. Elliot traveled northwest from Indianapolis to Flora, then drove just outside of it to a small baptist church, The Church of Eternal Hope. It was a soothing ritual, one he was happy to drive. Though he was one of the wealthiest men in the world, he had no fear driving alone. He spent most his time surrounded by friends, and he absolutely loved it. But peace can sometimes be found easier alone.
>Mr. Elliot passed acres upon acres of farmland on his trips, all of which he owned, none of which he managed. Whenever he felt he needed a break from his trip, he would turn down a gravel drive, make his way to the cozy home and barns and silos at the end, and knock. Each home was a bespoke design chosen by the inhabitants. A log cabin, a double wide trailer, a mansion of grand size, or a suburban ranch home plucked fresh from a cul-de-sac; Mr. Elliot could find all of these hidden away in the swaths of corn, hemp, kale, etc. along the flat highway of central Indiana. He’d knock, wait, and leave without insult if no one came, or smile ear to ear when a friend opened the door. They’d exchange pleasantries, Mr. Elliot’d elaborate his plans for the day, then he’d head off for Eternal Hope.
>The church was dusty and decrepit, and he adored its charm. Mr. Elliot stepped out of his car and kicked white smoke up from the dry gravel. He watch as it lazed in eddies down the plains and joined the clouds. The choir within the white planks and falling shingles lilted to God for salvation. Mr. Elliot stood by the shredded wooden doors of the church, and when the angels finished, he crept in.
>There were no electric lights in the dim room, the pews were sparse and fairly empty so he could walk by swiftly even as a corpulent man; the floor creaked as he tip-toed and sat in the back pew. The choir, to his displeasure, noticed him as he walked in. He had not wanted to interrupt. All five of them waved, as well as the preacher at the pulpit. Harry stared forward. The sermon restarted. It finished once the sunlight coming through the window in the roof crossed from one wall of the church to the other.
>Mr. Elliot stood and spoke with the various members of the church. Edna’s daughter had finished her degree in Journalism and was looking for work. Mr. Elliot told her he would call around for openings. Francis was still recovering from a fall two weeks prior. Mr. Elliot asked where George was, and everyone fell silent and stared at the withered floor. Mr. Elliot pulled out his phone and rang George up. Hey George, everything alright? I see, well, just know you can call me anytime, okay? France says hello, by the way. I’ll talk you later. Anytime, anytime. Terry died only three weeks ago, so everyone knew George needed time. They all agreed it was a lovely funeral.
>Harry sneaked out while the patrons commiserated. His rusty pickup door yowled as he opened it.
>‘Mr. Dobson, how are you today?’ Mr. Elliot asked.
>Harry was disgruntled again. This man was a gnat.
>‘Same as I always am, Mr. Elliot. Was just heading home. It’s a blistering day already, and I don’t want to burn my head.’
>‘Perfectly reasonable. Have you considered my offer anymore, Mr. Dobson?’
>‘Of course I have. I consider it ridiculous. I did before and I do now. I wish you would consider stop bothering me.’
>Mr. Elliot returned a solemn frown, nodded his head. ‘I know sir, but I really want you to change your mind. I mean no ill will. If anything, I am hoping to make your life easier.’
>Harry scoffed. ‘I’m sure you are.’
>Harry nodded his head. ‘Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Elliot.’ He drove away, dust choking Mr. Elliot from the spin of the tires.
>The road home was rough. Harry watched the road never end. The only way to know time was passing were the cracks in the roads dancing back and forth on the tarmac. His truck puttered and puffed louder than the wind roaring through his window. He picked up a bottle and spit chewing tobacco into it.
>Pulling up to his house, Harriet was sitting on the porch. Jeans and T-shirt, hair in a bun, and slightly sun burnt, she ran up and hugged him as he exited. His house could use a new roof. The hole from a falling branch starting to leak. He couldn’t climb a ladder to do it himself. Luckily, it was over the bathtub.
>‘Are you feeling okay, Dad?’ Harriet asked.
>‘Why?’
>‘You were scrunching your face each time you were walking.’
>‘Well, I’m fine. Nothings stopping this old man. I could take that husband of yours even.’
>‘I know you could.’
>They sat in the kitchen. It smelled of mold, but who knows where from. A broken chair made itself comfortable in the corner.
>‘Why are you here?’ Harry asked.
>She didn’t want to answer. He was a mercurial man, and she knew he was already annoyed by the question. But the memories of her childhood home no longer looked like when Mom was alive, but stained with five years of grime. She opened a window. Sun kissed air wafted through.