Harvest Georgina Harding (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) 📖

Jonathan hadn’t driven a tractor since that summer before he went away. He felt the past judder beneath him. The blue scent of it in his nostrils.

Concealed in the oaks at the edge of the field the pigeons went on calling. A few white puffs of cloud grew in the sky. When they made their start Claire went out with the girl to watch. One year spilled back into another, the circle rounded, ends joined. Richard was suddenly animated, flowing. Doing what his father did. Maybe all the solutions were there, in the work, in the plain growing of things. That all that mattered.

Richard climbed up to his seat in the combine. From the high seat he could see far across the land. He could see to the end of his fields and across the fields beyond, see the rising dust where other combines worked in the distance, see the village and the church tower, and another church in the village beyond. He set the header going, its long blades moving. He began to work forward into the grain, the revolving header like a great yellow wheel cutting into the sea. The machine roared beneath him. It chopped up the sea.

When the combine was full Jonathan drove up alongside. Kumiko watched as he positioned the cart directly beneath the spout, adjusted his speed to match that of the combine. Then he put a thumb up to Richard and Richard let the grain go from the spout. It was good to see. The grain spilled down, a golden stream into the cart, dust rising about it. They had handkerchiefs tied over their faces because of the dust. They drove alongside one another, aligned, brother to brother, until the flow of grain ceased. And when the cart was full Jonathan would drive it back to the yard and unload, and return to the field before he was needed for the next load.

In these days nothing was missing. Everyone was present. They were golden harvest days. Her boys were men. One year spilled back into another. The years when they did not have the farm slipped out of sight, as if Richard had after all taken over directly from his father. As if Charlie had been there to teach him, Charlie still present in all of them. She would turn and go back towards the house, and there would be the sound of the machines sure behind her, the combine in the field, the tractor driving between the field and the yard, the other men in the yard working the grain as it came in.

Now he was driving in a sand-coloured cloud across the field in front of the house. The wheat was coming in thick onto the turning reel of the header. The wheat in this field was dense. The yield right across the farm looked good this year, and in this field in particular. Though there was still more moisture in the grain than he would have liked.

All that was needed was another few days of sun. Then this harvest would be all right after all.

Jackson – no, not Jackson, it was his son Tom who was doing the work now – was out on the neighbouring farm. Farther off, she could see others at work, the dust of other combines moving in the distance. Richard had taken off his shirt in the heat. By the time he came in he would be red with sunburn.

Want a ride? he said. You can ride up with me for a bit. He was taking a break. The tank was full and the grain cart was still out at the yard. She climbed the metal ladder and perched beside him holding the rail. It was hot and dusty. Jonathan came out with the tractor and stopped alongside. Both machines stationary this time, Richard pulled the lever to let the grain go. She held a hand over her face against the choking dust. Thumbs up. No talking, the machines were too loud for speech. Jonathan moved the tractor away. Richard set the header turning again. The combine moved forward into the wheat. She looked down to see the stalks drawn in and churning across the cutting blades. It was different up there, above it all. Looking out and down at the field ahead, the cut stripes where the combine had been, the rest of the crop waiting, the tractor away at the side, waiting. A long view out over the flat land. A sense, with the roar and movement of the great machine, of being on the bridge of a ship going out into the ocean. But the element in which they moved was wheat, not water, and already her skin itched with the dust. Richard drove the length of the field, turned about, worked back, turned again. She didn’t know when he would stop. They didn’t speak. Though he was so close they could have spoken only by shouting. When the combine was full again, Jonathan came again and drove alongside and took the grain, and Kumiko watched and the combine didn’t stop. She put her hand to Richard’s arm and he paused long enough to let her climb down. When she walked back through the cut field the stubble scratched her bare ankles.

Little brother was doing OK. Possibly a bit slow. Slower than the others would have been, but it seemed a good thing to have his brother doing the work and not some outside hand. Every few loads Jonny fell behind and there was a delay as the combine had to wait for him. He might have asked one of the other men to take over but he knew that Jonny was keen to do the job. And there hadn’t been anything broken yet, and no spills. One expected a novice to break a thing or two at harvest. Though he wasn’t really a novice of course.

A smile passed between