Major Thomas Stepforth Jr. had gone to West Point to make a line of demarcation between himself and his billionaire father Thomas Stepforth Sr., only to have the life of a money man skip a generation and hit his middle son Vertran, who at age nine was already running YouTube and Threespeak channels that were making five-figure money.
“I underestimated your schemes to take over the 21st century through your grandchildren, Dad,” the major said about that to his father.
“Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!”
The major thanked God that Covid-19 provided him nothing but more time to put into his family, just in time for Vertran to discover his second business: an abandoned pumpkin patch. Major Stepforth had done the leg work – the owners had lost the property to taxes, so, Grandfather Thomas had gone and bought it off the virtual courthouse steps. That was that.
On came October 2020 … the quiet of Lofton County, because of the pandemic and the strict restrictions on most activities, was so deep that autumn was rediscovered in it … the crispness of the air when purged of the summer's oppressive heat, the crispness of the crackle of fallen leaves and the snap of twigs also dislodged by the first winds warning of winter's approach, the crispness of the colors of each leaf still defiantly and brilliantly aloft in the county's many, many trees … the deep yet fleeting dry rustle of living fireworks of gold, bronze, coral, scarlet, copper, burgundy, and even the rare shades of magenta and lilac on sweet gum trees, all seen against the crisp blue of skies rinsed by the first cold rains of the fall.
On October 15, the major and his middle son took a leisurely walk over to the pumpkin patch. It was only Vertran's ninth fall, after all, so, stopping to explore and take pictures was of course just part of the business of Vertran not missing his childhood because of his precociousness. But at last they arrived at the patch, and there, gleaming like overgrown gems among big emerald leaves, were the pumpkins, fully grown and big – too big!
“There was something Louisa and I didn't think about when we decided to go into business on this, Dad,” Vertran said. “It's kinda hard to have a crop you can't even move – Louisa and I can't even lift them together!”
Louisa was also nine, three months older than Vertran, and equally precocious.
“So, we were thinking we should just advertise that they are here and when we will start selling them, and let people just come and pick their own,” Vertran said. “That way, we just need to hire a few good men to help with moving the pumpkins all day instead of having people run all over the county.”
“Good thinking, Vertran,” Major Stepforth said. “Here's another level for you to discuss with Louisa: wholesale versus retail.”
“What's the difference?”
“If you open up the pumpkin patch to everyday customers, you will have to be here for your listed hours every day until you sell out. That's the trouble with retail sales, especially during a pandemic, especially with the weather getting colder. On the other hand, there are other people that want to buy pumpkins to make pumpkin muffins and soups and pies to sell at retail, because the holidays are coming. To them, buying several pumpkins at a time is no big deal.”
“These are small?”
“Pumpkins can get to 2,700 pounds, Vertran.”
“WHAT?”
“These here are about the size of a large grocery store watermelon, the perfect size for big-time cooks – and Louisa's family knows a bunch of those.”
“How big can watermelons get?”
“Around 350 pounds.”
“WHAT?”
“The garden can be a strange and wonderful place, full of giants,” the major said, “but, the market for giant produce is not your market.”
“Let me get Louisa on the phone so we can discuss this.”
Louisa Dubois Chennault was the granddaughter of Jean-Luc Dubois, the Black French Louisianan long-time friend of the Stepforth family who had at last moved up to Virginia with a goodly portion of his extended family. The Duboises had brought Louisa so she could be in the gifted student programs grandfather Thomas funded for exceptionally gifted students, and that was where she and Vertran had met and become friends.
Louisa listened carefully as Vertran explained what his father had said.
“I think that's the best idea,” she said, “because giant fruit is not the business. There was this guy in Baton Rouge who was on the news for wanting to break the biggest watermelon record, but we'll never know if he broke the record because he was loading the thing on the truck and it fell and broke itself and him.”
“That's terrible, Louisa!” Vertran cried. “All messed up and in the hospital, and all that wasted watermelon!”
“Let me talk with Pèpè and Mèmè,” Louisa said, referring to her grandparents in French informal terms, “and I'll call you back. Oh, what's the wholesale price compared to the retail price per pound of pumpkin? Uncle Jules the financial adviser here said I should ask.”
“What's in the store is 40 percent marked up at retail – 40 percent more than wholesale,” Major Stepforth said.
“Okay … looking at the price per pound on the supermarket websites … calculating … got it!”
“Louisa is such a genius!” Vertran said. “You see why I'm marrying her, Dad?”
“I see, Vertran,” the major said, indulging his son's precociousness for the moment. “You find the business opportunities and use your family connections to make them happen, and she handles the detail to make it all work.”
“Exactly!”
“Just consolidating the Stepforth and Dubois empires over the North American continent, eh?”
“Exactly!”
The major could hear his father Mwahahahahahahahahahaha-ing in the background of his psyche, accompanied by the creaking of the trees as the wind began to pick up considerably and the leaves on the road began to go around in frenetic eddies. It was time for he and Vertran to head back to the house.
Louisa called back just as soon and the Stepforth father and son were inside.
“Vertran,” she said, “Mèmè made five phone calls, and we have sold all 49 pumpkins! The average cost of pumpkins per pound at wholesale is around 50 cents a pound when you get them fresh from the field, so, we're looking at at least $500, depending on the exact weights!”
“Wow – we can now grow a winter crop!” Vertran said. “I was talking with Lil' Patrick who helps his parents run the big Honey Heights store, and he mailed me a package of clover seeds! So, we'll just take out the pumpkin plants, plant the clover for ground cover in the winter and shamrocks in March, and then move a beehive in there around that time too so we can have honey to sell back to Honey Heights by June since there's already a lemon and apple tree in there anyway, and some big trees and lots of other wildflowers that will come up next year close by!”
As Vertran walked away, Major Stepforth imagined his own father in miniature on the phone, and then realized: he saw the world through a lens not dissimilar to his own grandfather, Theodore, who had served in WWII and the Korean War before getting back home to surprise himself with a baby son, Thomas, born in 1955 … and he would never be “un-shocked” while his baby son blossomed into the first Black billionaire Lofton County ever produced.
“ 'It done beat my brain in, how I done begotten a billionaire,' the major's grandfather said to a friend, 'but, my job was to teach him how to be a whole man with himself, God, and family. He gotta live all dat dere learnin', but, I done made sure he got it.' ”
Major Stepforth smiled, looked up into the crisp blue sky, and saluted.
“Master Sergeant Theodore Stepforth, sir,” he said, “your post is covered for your great-grandchildren. Rest easy, Pop-Pop. Your Grand-Tom has got this!”