The Hard Land-Part 30
A story of love and survival
With a grunt of satisfaction, Earl hoisted the last rock into the foundation of the house he was building. There was one thing: the farm had a lot of rocks. Maybe he should consider building the whole house out of stone. He stood and wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling pride in his work. He saw Harry Nash’s wagon approaching in the distance, kicking up dust on the unimproved road. Lumber of various sizes and shapes bounced up and down with each jolt as the wagon struggled over the rocky terrain. Someday, he would have to build a better road.
Earl waved at Harry, glad to see the lumber arrive on time. The harvest would begin in a few days; if Harry hadn’t delivered it now, it would have been fall before he could continue working on the house. For now, construction was still on schedule for completion before winter. Earl whistled a jaunty tune as he crossed the lot and helped Harry unload the wagon.
When the two men had the lumber stacked neatly, Earl thanked Harry for the prompt delivery and counted out the payment.
“I’m much obliged,” Harry said, tucking the money into his wallet. “I take it you won’t be helping out much with harvest this year.”
Earl shook his head. “This house is my focus for the next few months. Elizabeth and I need to get out of the tiny cabin. It isn’t fit for winter, and we don’t want to move back in with Frank and Anna.”
Harry nodded. “I can understand that, but I’ll miss having your help.”
“Thanks,” Earl said, touched by Harry’s statement. “I’ll still help when our grain is harvested, but I don’t have the time for more.”
“Well,” Harry said, climbing into the wagon seat, “we both better get back to work.”
Earl briefly watched Harry’s retreating wagon, then turned to the lumber pile and dragged a heavy beam across the foundation. He struggled to get it into place. He would need help — help he couldn’t afford to pay.
Asking Thomas for help was out of the question. He had more than he could handle running Harry’s threshing crew and courting Amanda. Frank was busy managing the farming half of their business and caring for Anna, who was struggling with health issues following the birth of their daughter. He would have to look beyond the family for help.
Earl climbed into the saddle of his horse and rode to Sam Benson’s farm. Sam was wise; he could suggest who Earl could hire to help with the house.
“Sam’s in the barn,” Matilda said when Earl knocked on the door.
Earl tipped his hat. “Thank you. I’ll find him.” He led his horse around the house and across the dusty yard to the barn. A fresh stack of hay obscured the entrance. Earl tied his horse to the hitching rail and stepped around the haystack. A flock of chickens scattered from the shady side of the haystack, fluttering and clucking as they went. He pushed open the barn door.
Sam looked up. “Howdy, Earl. What brings you here on a nice day like this?”
Earl explained his dilemma.
“Have you thought about asking Bishop Rawlins?”
Earl shook his head. “I don’t like asking the church for help. You know I haven’t been going regularly.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “People are still glad to help.”
Earl took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I’d rather hire someone than accept charity.”
“Bishop Rawlins could probably help you with that, too. He’ll know some men or older boys looking for work. If you can’t wait that long, I’d gladly do what I can. I’m not as spry as I used to be, but I still have a good day’s work left in me.” Sam hooked his thumbs in the suspenders of his overalls and puffed out his chest. “Think about it.”
Earl knew Sam was willing but didn’t want to pull him away from his farm work. “I will,” Earl said reluctantly.
“While you’re here,” Sam said, “I could use some help.”
“I’d be glad to help you. What do you need?”
“I can’t get the binder drape in by myself. Back in the day, I could, but getting down on my knees on the hard ground is getting difficult.” Sam led the way from the barn to the yard, where the binder sat, the drape lying across the ground to its side.
“Looks like you’re almost there.” Earl surveyed the newly repaired drape.
“Yup, but I can’t get down there and thread it through.”
“No problem.” Earl removed his Stetson and dropped to the ground. He grabbed the leading edge of the drape and dragged it through the guides. “Can you pull on it now?”
“Got it,” Sam said, a groan escaping as he leaned over the side of the binder.
“Pull!”
Sam pulled, but the canvas drape didn’t move.
Earl crawled out from under the machine. “Let me get my horse.”
A few minutes later, Earl was back with his horse. He tied one end of a rope to the binder drape and the other to the saddle horn. “I’ll crawl under and feed the chain along. You lead the horse straight out that way.” Earl pointed toward the pig pen.
The drape rattled and clanged, its wooden bars banging against the sheet metal as it fed through the guides. “That’s good,” Earl said, watching for the end of the drape to feed onto the flat surface.
The two men folded the drape back on itself and fed it under the binder. They laced the two ends together.
“Looks like you’re ready to go,” Earl said, putting the Stetson back on his head.
“I’m going to start cutting tomorrow,” Sam said, pointing to the field of golden grain across the road. “Now, if you can find someone willing to help you on that house, it’ll go as smoothly as our little job this afternoon.”
Earl nodded, Sam’s point taken. “I’ll ride in and see Bishop Rawlins.”
It was dark by the time Earl returned from Franklin. His visit with Bishop Rawlins had gone well. Earl had feared the bishop would question him about his church attendance, but it never came up. However, Bishop Rawlins had suggested a man and his two sons willing to work for a reasonable wage. Earl had visited them and hired them on the spot.
“How did your day go?” Elizabeth asked when Earl walked into the cabin.
“Good. I’ve hired some help for the house.”
Elizabeth set Earl’s supper on the table and sat across from him. “Who did you hire?
“Joseph Carter and his sons, Joe Jr. and Andrew. They’re new to the area and have had a hard go of it this first year on their farm. Bishop Rawlins says they could use some help.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped up. “You went to see Bishop Rawlins?” She failed to keep the surprise from her voice.
“Sam suggested I talk to him,” Earl said. “Don’t get your hopes up. It doesn’t mean I’ll attend church more regularly than I have been.”
Elizabeth dropped her head. “A woman can hope, can’t she?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
Earl knew enough to keep quiet. Church meant a lot to Elizabeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in God. He did; he’d rather ride the vast open spaces on his horse than sit in a crowded church. He changed the subject. “They’ll be here tomorrow. If all goes well, the house will be done by September.”
Elizabeth sighed. “At least we won’t have to be in this cabin when winter comes.”
