Part 1
The place was a hulk, really, all truth be told. It had once been a house, back when his Grandfather had first drawn the place in the Land Lottery; back when they had parceled up the huge landholdings to provide land for the soldiers returning from the Great War. It had been a remnant of the the bigger property, a manager's house, fallen into disuse well before the land divisions had occurred. Grandfather had built his own house, and the original house had remained empty.
Eventually, with the advent of better machinery and techniques, there had been need for a storage shed, and a new timber and iron hay-shed had been built toward the back of the property. The old house had continued to remain empty, except for keeping the detritus of everyday life dry and out of the way. Eventually, in country practicality, it had become known as the "Other House".
After Grandfather died, his Father had upgraded machinery, and needing the extra storage, had knocked out the inner walls of the building and turned it, as nearly as possible, into another shed. It was not terribly practical, with its steps and narrow doorways, but it served its purpose, in a pinch.
Even so, whenever excess hay was stored there, it was always known as "Other House Hay", because it tended to be the lesser quality hay that was kept there, and it was only used sporadically, when seasons were exceptionally good. Looking at it today, it showed its age, sagging in the weary way that old houses can, still solid, but unhappy with the long years and no respite.
This was a good season. In the thirty-odd years since taking over from his father, Tom had rarely seen the place looking so good. The livestock were glossy and fat, content to laze in paddocks of green, and the crops had been well above average. The lucerne crop had yielded so well that both the big shed and the Other House were full of fresh baled hay, enough for their needs and more, for the rest of the year. He felt content, and allowed himself a smile as he tipped his hat back on his head and looked at the last of the hay going into the old house. Could this be the year? He barely dared hope, but the thought, the notion, was there.
He walked over to where the men were standing, having finished the last of the unloading, shook hands and organised their payment. He could have baled and loaded it himself, and until recently, with the help of neighbours, he had. But a crop this big was a lot of work and he felt he could afford to get the contractors to come in and save his aging bones. With a final wave, he climbed up on the tractor and drove back to the main house. The thought nudged at the back of his mind.
Emily was in the garden, tending the peas. This time of year was busy for her, as her garden tended to try and get out of control. Her thin hands, toughened with daily work, worked the tendrils of the peas deftly into the wires, and her eyes roamed across the garden beds, noting a curled leaf, a snail, or a tell-tale chewed leaf from an invading grasshopper. Her garden was her domain, and she managed it with a quiet, firm efficiency. Those that upset the neat progress of her plants were dealt with summarily.
Hearing the tractor coming from the paddock, she straightened, plucked the snail from under it's hiding place, twisted the curled leaf from the tomato plant, and, tossing the snail over the fence to her hens, made a mental note to come back later and go grasshopper hunting. Dusting her hands on her apron, she made for the kitchen to make tea.
Washing his hands at the tap on the corner of the house, Tom allowed himself the luxury of letting the water run as he lathered the sliver of soap kept there for just that purpose. Normally such a waste would have been unthinkable, but the tanks were full, with more rain coming, so he indulged himself, smiling at this little extravagance. Then, hanging his hat on the peg by the door, leaving his boots on the top step, he walked into the kitchen and sat down.
"How's it going?" asked Emily, bringing over the teapot and sitting down at the table, cups and plates already waiting. "All done", said Tom "They've just put the last of it into the Other House, both the shed and the house are full to the brim. I gave Harvey a few bales to take for himself. I had no room for them anyway." She nodded and sipped her tea. "Well that's good. Looks like we will be right for the year." He nodded, dunked a biscuit, and chewed thoughtfully. "Is the garden still doing well?" "Yes... a little too well. I've got snails and grasshoppers. Not badly, but a few are turning up" He grunted quietly, and then the thought came back, stronger this time. "Em...I've been thinking... Do you reckon you could get Sophia to come and look after the house for a while?" He looked across to gauge her reaction, "For a fortnight or so?", he added. She was puzzled, and looked back with a frown, "I suppose so. I could ask. But why?"
There was nothing for it but to spill it all out. He leaned back in the chair, bracing both hands on the table's edge and took a deep breath; "Well, it's like this...and it's just an idea right now, but I thought, well, maybe you and I could have a holiday, just us two."
Emily calmly and quietly placed her cup on the table, never taking her eyes off it, then looked up at him and said "And how are you going to make that work?" She had been married to him for a long time, and was not afraid to challenge him on some issues. He was a cautious man, and this was an unusual proposal. They had not been away from the property together for more than a few days since the children had grown up and moved away. A sudden thought made her ask "Is everything all right? Are you all right?"
He smiled then, and held up both hands"Yes,yes, everything's fine. I'm fine. I just thought you'd like a holiday!"
"Well of course I would, but where...how?"
"Oh well, I thought maybe we could go to the coast and see the ocean, maybe drop in on the kids for a day or three..."
"But how, Tom? Do you think the season is that good?"
He grew serious. "Yes, I do. Look Em, the big shed is full to bursting. Even if winter is really hard this year, that shed will have plenty for our needs, and if I sell half of the Other House hay, even with the lower prices we're bound to have, that will pay for a fortnight away, and we will still have half of he Other House hay as back-up. I think we deserve a break. Get Sophia to mind the house, she can have the vegetable garden produce as payment, she'll love it."
Emily looked at him steadily, not quite daring to hope; "And who'll look after the farm?"
"Well if we wait until Henry's boys next door are home from college, they can keep an eye on things, and I'll pay them something when we get back. C'mon Em, it's been years, and God knows you could do with a rest!"
She smiled a little shakily, and picked up her empty cup. "All right, you talked me into it." Her eyes were shining as she poured more tea.
Emily made plans. They would have to wait a couple of months before Henry's sons came home, and besides, Tom needed to sell the hay before they could leave. But that didn't mean she couldn't plan. Brochures came in the mail, prices were discussed, clothes were dragged out of storage, considered, then dispatched to oblivion. New clothes would have to be bought. Emily felt the excitement grow. She had never regretted the life she had chosen, and would make the same choice again, if asked, but holidays were a rare luxury on a small farm, and this was the first one in over ten years. She was determined to enjoy it. The garden pests trespassed at their peril.
Tom, on the other hand, was equally determined to make everything go smoothly. This was too good an opportunity to miss. He and Emily had worked hard, it was time they allowed themselves to relax. The farm was in his blood, and he had always accepted the 7 day a week responsibility, but Emily had been a town girl. She had given up her social life, weekends, regular holidays, and a career, to become a farmer's wife. She had adapted, worked alongside him, juggled children and farm work, taken a job in town when times were tight, and had planted her garden and helped even more on the farm when the children had grown up and made it obvious that they wanted no part of life on the land. She had missed so much, and here was his chance to pay some of it back.
Tom called on Joe Thompson. Tom had bought a bull from Joe, some years ago; a bull well past his prime, one that Tom didn't really need. Joe was doing it tough at the time, it was a bad time for beef, and Tom had gambled on grain. Joe needed a leg up, so Tom bought the bull, kept him for a season, then quietly retired him.
Joe was doing better now, so Tom approached him with half of the Other House hay, to be collected as required, at slightly above market price. Joe recognised the symmetry and agreed... this was how you repaid kindnesses without having to feel indebted. This was how small farmers kept their pride.
The handshake was firm and fervent. They looked each other in the eye. Tom felt good.
A few weeks more, and the adventure would begin....
Part 2
The "Beep Beep" of the motorbike horn, repeated over and over, mingled with the revving engine, woke Tom from a deep sleep. It was black in the bedroom, and he was momentarily disoriented. Fumbling for the light, he took in the display of the bedside clock; 3.45 in the morning. What the Hell was going on?
Emily awoke at the same time, reaching for the bedside light, "What's wrong?" she mumbled. "Dunno" said Tom, and lunged for the window, where a light had begun flashing across the glass.
Lifting the glass, he saw a trail-bike with a dark figure astride. "Tom!" came a voice, "It's me, Luke.
The Other House is on fire!"
Tom struggled for a moment. Luke, that was Henry's boy, home from college. A fire? Hell!! The Hay!! He reeled back into the bedroom, "The hay's on fire! Bloody Hell! I've gotta go"
Dragging on jeans, he raced outside.
Luke waited, revving the bike. "We saw the light from our place, Dad and Sam are coming with a pump and the water truck. I'll meet you there!" and he was gone, racing the bike into the night.
Throwing the pump and a coil of hose into the ute, Tom raced after him, calculating all the while. The Other House was a mile from the house, and behind it, so he could not have seen the light of the flames. The breeze blew gently away from the main house, so Henry, his neighbour on that side, would smell the smoke, and his farmer's instinct would have made him investigate. The unwritten rules of farm etiquette allowed Henry to cut the boundary fence and drive straight across to assist in preventing a disaster. Nobody allowed a neighbour to suffer....
"Oh God...All that Hay.."
It was too late by far when he got there. Henry and his sons had started pouring water into the fire, and the smell of smoke, wet hay, and fire permeated the air. Hay fires are different to normal fires. Hay fires start slowly, insidiously. Their gradual formation is a combination of heat from compressed green vegetation, lack of ventilation, and the presence of hay, a wonderful fuel. When hay is stored correctly, these risks are minimised, but the Other House had hard-to-ventilate rooms, narrow doorways, and small windows. Once the hay combusted, it was impossible to stop.
They tried, no-one could say otherwise. They poured every drop of water into the house. They ran around, dragging individual bales to safety, fighting the smoke, yelling instructions. The flames raged on, consuming the house, driving the men back with its heat, until finally all they could do was stand and watch as the the whole house roared in flames, flames that would consume it all, and take two days to finally die away. Somewhere, in the depths of it all, Emily came, and stood beside Tom, weeping softly. She knew what this meant, she understood their loss. He put his arm around her and felt her sag against him, lost for strength. She had no more to give, and her hope had been taken away.
As dawn broke, he sent Henry and his boys back to his house for breakfast. It was the least he could do. Emily left with them, to cook bacon and eggs for the rescuers who had failed, but who knew that Tom and Emily would do the same for them. Tom watched them go, and only when they were out of sight did he allow himself the great wracking sob that he had held inside. He dropped to his knees before the smoking ruin of his hopeful, happy dream, and cried sooty, smoky tears of grief. The sobs robbed him of any sound, and the tears blinded him, streaking his face, washing the dirt and fire residue from his skin.
Finally, he sat back on his heels and regarded the ruin that had promised him a holiday, but now guaranteed only hardship. He looked, thought, and slowly gritted his teeth. Finally he spoke, slowly, softly; "You can take what you want, you bastard, but you won't stop me now"
He rose deliberately, dusted his knees, and turned toward his ute. They couldn't afford to go now, the hay was gone, plus the reserve if times were hard. Everyone knew that a good summer was almost always followed by a harsh winter. But he would not be stopped.
He would send Em, alone. She deserved this break. He would find a way to pay for her holiday. He could stay here, this was his life, but she deserved better. To relax, to see the children and grandchildren, to walk on the beach, to shop, to drink some wine and rest, just rest. He would make it work somehow. He would not let this beat him...
He reached the ute,the fire smouldering behind him. Let it burn, it would not dictate his life.
He started the engine and drove toward the house.
THE END
