A Handful of Hay
It’s early morning and Grandma just yelled from the bottom of the stairs for Daddy to get up. Through the thin wall I hear him jump out of bed. He does it fast, like he can’t wait to meet the new day or like someone who’s been awake for a long time just waiting for an excuse to get up and get going. I listen as he searches for his clothes in the dark and then I pull the covers over my head. It’s the last day of summer vacation and I want to sleep late, but the smell of bacon frying reaches my nose. I love bacon so I throw off the quilt and grab my clothes from the bedpost.Before going downstairs, I look out the window like I do every morning. The sun isn’t out yet, but a long streak of pink is creeping in as the fog lifts. It’s going to be a nice day. Before I turn from the window, I look at the pasture that will be mine one day. It goes on forever, full of grass and wild flowers and mushrooms after a rain. I pick all the mushrooms I can find and Grandma fries them in butter and green onions.
I tiptoe past Mommy and Baby. He’s only one month old and sleeps with Mommy. She’s supposed to sleep with Daddy, but she left their room when Baby came. Now she gives all her time and attention to him. There’s a big brass bed in the hall and that’s where they sleep. I peek at them. Mommy’s beautiful. She looks like the Blessed Virgin, so peaceful in her sleep. I don’t know why she doesn’t wake up when Grandma calls because all Baby has to do is whimper, and she’s off like a shot. Grandma’s a lot louder than he is, but Mommy doesn’t seem to notice. Everything’s changed since he came along. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t like my baby brother.
It’s just been me for eight years, and I liked it that way. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having a brother. He’s here for life. Everyone fusses over him as if he was made of china, but I know he’s not because he doesn’t break when I pinch him. I run down the stairs making as much noise as I can. The kitchen’s warm and there’s a mountain of toast piled high on a plate. I reach for a piece and spread it thick with butter and raspberry jam. Grandma and Daddy laugh and tell me I’ll have to pick hundreds of berries next summer and help Grandma make jam. I say that’s okay because I love making jam and cookies and princess cakes and cinnamon rolls. I always help Grandma in the kitchen. I eat another piece of toast and lots of bacon until Daddy says it’s time to go.
We walk to the barn in silence. At least, we don’t say anything out loud, but my mind’s jumping with all sorts of questions. Who gets the farm now that Baby’s here? Will he get my pasture? Will I be thrown out without a penny or acre of land to my name? Will I be forced to marry a boy I don’t like just so I can live on a farm forever and smell the sweet scent of newly mown hay as it drifts through my bedroom window on summer mornings? These questions whirl through my head, but there’s something else that’s bothering me, too, even more than the question of who gets the land.
“Fog’s lifting,” Daddy says. “It’s gonna be a nice day. After the chores, you can ride on the tractor with me and we’ll check the fences.” I love checking fences with Daddy. I sit on a fender or on Daddy’s lap as we roll along the field looking for places where the cows can get out and walk through the fence to visit the neighbor’s cows and compare barns or whatever it is cows talk about.
I soak up my surroundings. Everything’s turning to seed as summer fades into autumn. The ground is still wet from dew and fog, and a few robins hop around looking for worms. They better hurry and head south before the snow comes. Barn swallows swoop near our heads. Their empty nests are under the eaves of the barn. I try to mimic the clomp, clomp, clomp of Daddy’s boots, but my boots are small and don’t make the same sound. I walk behind him, then with him, then I run ahead and walk backwards until Daddy catches up to me.
We call in the cows for their first milking. I watch Daddy as he leans his head against Maude and squirts milk into a pail. I know if I don’t ask him the question that’s bothering me I might not get another chance because I don’t come to the barn on school mornings. I gather all my courage.
“Daddy,” I say. “Do you love me?” He doesn’t even look up. He just keeps milking and answers in a quiet voice, “That’s a strange question.”
“You never tell me you love me,” I say. “Do you want me to leave now that Baby’s here?”
Daddy doesn’t raise his head. The barn’s quiet except for the noise of milk hitting the pail. I think my heart will stop beating if he doesn’t say something soon. I sit on a bale of hay and Sweetie jumps on my lap. I bury my nose in her fur and blink back tears. Finally Daddy finishes milking Maude and pours the milk into a tall can with a lid. He walks towards me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“A father shows his love in many ways that don’t involve words,” he says. “Try to understand that. I’m only going to say this once. I love you more than all the stars in the sky. More than every blade of timothy that went into every bale of hay. More than every grain of sand at Alcott Beach. Never forget that.” He pats the top of my head.
“Do you love me more than Baby?”
“No,” he says. “I love you both the same. I’ve just loved you longer.” He goes back to milking.
“Will Baby get the farm when you die?” My heart’s pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“No, not all of it. You’ll get 50 acres and so will your brother.”
“Who gets the house?” I love the house more than I love my dolls and everybody knows I love my dolls more than anything in the world.
“Don’t worry about the house,” Daddy says. “It’s an old place and you’ll be married with a home of your own. Maybe even a farm of your own. You won’t need the old house then.”
“But what if I don’t marry? What if nobody wants me and I’m an old maid like Aunt Tillie? What then?” Daddy stops milking and looks at me. “Come here,” he says. I walk to him and he holds my hands. “Then the house will be yours,” he says. “All yours.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise,” Daddy says and continues milking Silver. I’m so happy I can hardly breathe.
Later that afternoon Mommy asks me to hold Baby and I don’t pinch him. I kiss him instead. He might not be so bad after all. He’ll grow up and maybe build a big house right next to mine. We’ll help each other run the farm.
Daddy pats my head as he walks by. I know what that means. He’s saying he loves me without using words.
