The place was a hulk, truth be told. It had been a house, back when his Grandfather had drawn the farm in the Land Lottery; when they had parceled up the huge landholdings for the soldiers returning from the Great War. It was a relic of the bigger property, a managers' house, fallen into disuse well before. Grandfather had built his own house and this had remained empty. Gradually, in typical country practicality, it was simply called "The Other House".
After Grandfather died, his father had upgraded machinery, and needing extra storage, knocked out the inner walls of the building and turned it, as nearly as possible, into a shed. It was not terribly practical, with steps and narrow doorways, but it served its purpose, in a pinch. Any excess hay stored there was always known as "Other House Hay", to differentiate it, because it tended to be of lesser quality. It was used only sporadically, when seasons were exceptionally good. Looking at it today, it showed its age, sagging in the weary way old houses do. Still solid, but unhappy with the long years and no respite.
This was a good season. In thirty-odd years since taking over from his father, Tom had rarely seen the place looking so good. The livestock were glossy, content to laze in paddocks of green, and crops were well above average. The hay 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. Tom felt content and allowed himself a smile as he tipped his hat back on his head and watched the last of the bales going into the old house. He leaned his tall, spare frame against the tractor's rear wheel, a half-smile on his face. Could this be the year? He barely dared hope, but the thought, the notion, was there.
He walked over to to where the men were waiting, shook hands and organised their payment. He could have baled and loaded it himself, but a crop this big was a lot of work, and he felt he could afford to bring the contractors to 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 her peas. This time of year was busy for her as the garden tended to try and get out of control. Her thin hands, toughened by daily labour, wound the tendrils of the peas deftly into the wires while her eyes roamed across the garden beds, noting a curled leaf, a snail, a tell-tale chewed plant from an invading grasshopper. Her garden was her domain, and she managed it with a quiet efficiency. Those that upset the neat progress of her plants were dealt with summarily.
Hearing the tractor approaching, she straightened, plucked the snail from under its hiding place, twisted the curled leaf from a tomato plant, and tossing the snail over the fence to her hens, made a mental note to come back later, grasshopper hunting. Dusting her hands on her apron, she headed for the kitchen to make tea.
Washing his hands at the tap on the corner of the house, Tom allowed the water to run as he lathered the sliver of soap kept there. Normally such a waste would have been unthinkable, but the tanks were full, and more rain was 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 at the table.
"How's it going?" asked Emily, bringing the teapot and sitting down opposite him, cups and plates already waiting on the wooden table top. "All done", said Tom, as she poured the tea. "They've just put the last of it into the Other House. The shed and the house are both full to the brim. I gave Harvey a few bales 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?" he asked.
"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 at him with a frown. "I suppose I could ask. Why?"
He leaned back in the chair, bracing both hands on the table 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."
Emily calmly and quietly placed her cup on the table, then looked up at him. "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. He was a cautious man, and this was an unusual proposal. They had not been away from the property together for any extended time since the children had moved away. A sudden thought made her ask; "Is everything alright? Are you alright?"
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," he replied, "I thought maybe we could go to the coast, drop in on the kids for a day or three..."
She interrupted; "But how, Tom? Do you think the season is that good?"
He grew serious. "Yes, I do." He leaned forward and gestured toward the outside,"Look Em, the big shed is full to bursting. Even if Winter is really hard this year, we will have enough for our needs. 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 hay in the Other House to see us through. I think we deserve a break. Get Sophia to mind the house. She can have the garden produce as payment. She'll love it."
Emily looked at him steadily, not quite daring to hope; "And who will look after the farm?"
He had expected this question, and was ready.
"Well", said Tom, "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 I 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, I'll look into it, but no promises!"
Her eyes were shining as she poured more tea.
Part 2
Emily made plans. They would have to wait a couple of months before Henry's boys came home, and Tom had to sell the hay before they could leave. That didn't mean she couldn't plan, though! Brochures came and prices were discussed. Clothes were considered, then dispatched to oblivion; new clothes would have to be bought. Emily felt the excitement growing. She had never regretted the life she had chosen, and would make the same choice again, but holidays were a rare luxury on a small farm. This would be the first vacation in over ten years. She was determined to enjoy it. The garden pests trespassed at their peril.
Tom was equally determined to make everything go smoothly. This was too good an opportunity to miss. He and Em had worked hard and it was time they allowed themselves to relax. The farm was in his blood, and he had always accepted the seven-day-a-week responsibility, but Emily had been a town girl. She had surrendered 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 to help make ends meet. The children had made it clear they wanted no part of life on the land, so it was just the two of them. She had missed so much, he thought, and here was his chance to pay some of that back.
Tom drove over and called on Joe Thompson. Tom had bought a bull from Joe some years before. Joe had been doing it tough. It was a bad time to be in beef, and Tom had gambled on grain that year. The bull was well past his prime, and Tom didn't really need a bull, but Joe needed a leg up. Tom bought the bull, kept him for a season, then quietly retired him.
Joe was doing better now. Tom made the offer; half of the "Other House" hay, to be collected as required, but bought at slightly above market price. Joe recognized the symmetry....this was how you repaid kindnesses without having to feel indebted. This was how small farmers kept their pride.
The handshake was firm. They looked each other in the eye. Tom felt good.
With that settled, it was only a few more weeks and the adventure would begin....
Part 3
The repeated beeping of a motorbike horn, 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 looked at the clock; 3.45 a.m.. What the Hell was going on?
Emily awoke. "What's wrong?" she mumbled. "Dunno" said Tom, and lunged for the window, where a light was flashing across the glass.
Lifting the frame, 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 puzzled for a moment. Luke. That was Henry's boy, home from college. Then; A fire? Hell! The hay! He reeled back into the room, "The hay's on fire! Bloody Hell! I've gotta go!" Dragging on clothing, 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 a pump and a coil of hose into the ute, Tom raced after him, calculating. The Other House was a mile away, behind his house, so he could not have seen the light of the flames. A breeze was blowing the smoke away, towards Henry's place. Henry's instincts would have made him investigate, and, seeing the flames, he would have reacted immediately. The unwritten rules of farm etiquette allowed him 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 arrived. Henry and his sons had started pouring water into the flames, and the smell of smoke, wet hay and fire permeated the air. Hay fires are different to to normal fires. They start slowly, insidiously. Their gradual formation is a combination of heat from compressed green vegetation, lack of ventilation, and the presence of the hay itself, an excellent fuel. When hay is stored correctly, these risks are minimised, but the Other house had minimal ventilation, with narrow doorways and small windows. Once the hay combusted, it was impossible to stop.
They tried. Nobody could deny that they tried. They poured every drop of water into the inferno. They ran; dragging individual bales to safety, fighting the smoke, yelling to each other. The flames raged on, consuming, driving them back with its heat, until finally all they could do was stand and watch, as the whole building roared in flames that would consume everything and take two days to finally die. Somewhere in the depths of it all, Emily came. She 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. Her hope had been stripped away.
Part 4
As dawn broke, shedding further light on the destruction, he sent Henry and his boys back to the house with Emily for breakfast. Emily welcomed the distraction, the chance to do something that took her thoughts away from the disappointment of the night.It was the least they could do for their neighbours. Henry paused as he walked past, clasped Tom's shoulder and murmured "I'm sorry, Tom." Tom nodded his appreciation. Emily would cook bacon and eggs for them. They had failed, but they had tried, and they knew 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 held inside. He dropped to his knees before the still burning wreckage of his dream, and cried sooty tears of grief. The sobs robbed him of sound and tears blinded him, streaking his face.
Finally he sat back on his heels and regarded the ruin that had promised so much, but now only guaranteed hardship. He looked, thought, then gritted his teeth. Finally he spoke; "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 could not afford to take the holiday now. The hay was gone, plus the reserve if times were hard. All farmers know that a good summer is almost always followed by a harsh winter, but he would not be beaten.
He would send Em, alone. She deserved this. He would find a way. He could stay here, this was his life, but she deserved better. She deserved to relax, to see the children, the grandchildren. She deserved to walk on the beach, to shop, drink some wine, and to rest, just rest. He would make it work somehow. He would not let this beat him....
He reached the ute, the fire still smoldering behind him.
Let it burn, he thought. It would not dictate his life.
He started the engine and drove toward the house.
THE END
