Family Farm (12 page)

‘Cheers, Brian, but there’s no need. Thanks anyway. Mike’s offered us his.’ Mike Littlemore only had a small amount of crop in this year, so he was already finished. She’d rung him that afternoon and tried to hire his header from him, but Mike wouldn’t hear of it. She’d had offers all night from others who’d wanted to help her harvest, but she’d thanked them all and declined. It was something she could handle herself. It was a chance to prove to her dad that she could run the farm.

The crowd’s combined voices boomed and echoed in the clear night air and it was after ten when Izzy finally headed home. Tom ran around barking and trying to get Izzy to play but she was completely bushed. She tapped her waist, indicating that Tom should jump up and rest his front paws on her belly. She scratched his ears and said, ‘Not tonight, Tom. Tomorrow we’ll go chase some rabbits.’

There were so many messages on the answering machine from people in the district wondering how Bill was and offering their help. Betty had suggested – well, informed her, really – that she was going to make some casseroles in case Izzy didn’t feel like cooking. This was wonderful news; Izzy was going to have some late nights until the harvesting was finished.

Just as he’d promised, Mike delivered his header not long after Izzy got up the following morning. Izzy told him she had a contract driver coming later that day. She didn’t need it getting back to her dad just yet that she’d be doing the harvesting herself.

Once Mike had left, she fuelled up the header and made a start on the unfinished paddock. It was hard going. Every time she passed the burnt-out header, with the black charcoal ring around it, her stomach gave a lurch and the memories flashed back. Thankfully she finished that particular paddock by nightfall, and wouldn’t have to pass it again. But, for the most part, the work gave her an escape from dwelling on her dad. For once, she could relax back into the seat for the long haul. She dug out a box with old tapes in it that must have been Mike’s. It contained the likes of Slim Dusty, Kenny Rogers and John Williamson, but the tapes were old and wound too tightly so they wouldn’t play. The amount of wheat dust in the tape deck probably didn’t help either.

‘I guess we won’t be listening to that, hey, Tom?’ Tom lifted his head from his paws at the sound of his name. ‘We’ll try the radio.’ Izzy flicked onto an old Roxette song, ‘It Must Have Been Love’, which had been a favourite when she was younger. She joined in with the words, bouncing up and down in her seat. As she sang, she gazed out at the contrast of the bright blue sky and the golden tips of the wheat. She loved the way the wheat heads fell into the comb after being cut and were munched up by the header reel. And the way the stubble that was left behind looked like a crew cut, all straight and short with lines running through it from the header tyres. She loved everything about farming – you got to watch Mother Nature as she moved through the seasons. One day it was gloriously sunny and eucalyptus floated through the air, and the next it could be raining and you could smell the dirt as it got wet. It was pure heaven and she couldn’t imagine living without witnessing the changing seasons, experiencing the way of the land. It was definitely her way of life.

The next morning before the birds were awake, Izzy downed her cuppa and placed it in the sink. It was time to start work – the header didn’t drive itself.

She made her way to the top paddock, which bordered the Timmins’ farm. Izzy loved the morning starts, when the air was still crisp and fresh before the day got too hot. Tom usually loved it too, but he was curled up by her feet and snoozing soundly. He’d spend all day there happily by her side. She was bouncing along in the header listening to Katy Perry’s ‘Hot and Cold’ on her MP3 player when she heard Will’s voice across the two-way.

‘You on channel, Izzy?’

Tom tilted his head and growled. ‘I know how you feel, mate, but we have to cut him a little slack after the other day,’ she said, giving Tom a reassuring pat.

Izzy picked up the microphone handpiece. ‘Yeah, Will. What’s up?’

‘Hey, I was just wondering how the harvesting was going. What are you up to at the moment?’ his voice crackled back.

‘Nothing much,’ she replied evasively. ‘Why?’ This wasn’t sounding good.

‘I was going to come over and see if anything needed doing,’ replied Will.

‘Uh … you don’t have to do that. Um … everything’s fine, Will. I’ve got it all under control.’ The last thing she needed was Will catching her out and blabbing to her old man, especially now that they were so chummy.

Izzy slowed down the header as she made her way towards the field bin. Reaching beside her chair, she pulled the hydraulic lever to extend the auger and then lined it up with the small opening in the field bin. She’d started to unload the grain into the bin when she heard Will’s voice again.

‘Ah, it looks to me like someone’s telling porkies.’

What the …? Frantically, she looked around and spotted Will’s ute parked not far from the header. He stood near the open door with the two-way mic in his hand, and a huge stupid grin on his face as if he’d just caught her skinny-dipping.

Damn it, Izzy thought.

Muscles rippled in his bronzed arms as he jogged over to the header and hauled himself up the steps, letting himself into the small cab. His tanned face made his teeth look extra white as he smiled, and the stubble along his strong narrow jaw held her attention for just a second too long.

‘What’s going on here, eh?’ Izzy could feel his breath as he talked, towering over her in the confined space of the cab. ‘I came over to have a stickybeak at this new contractor Mike said you’d hired, just to make sure he knew what he was doing. Must say I’m surprised. He’s much better looking than I anticipated.’

‘Very funny. So you caught me out.’ Izzy rolled her eyes. ‘Why pay someone else when I can do it myself? We couldn’t afford it anyway.’ Quickly she put up her hand. ‘And I’m not taking any more handouts.’ She sighed. ‘Just don’t tell my old man, or I’ll have your guts for garters!’

Will raised his hand. ‘Scouts honour!’

‘Yeah, when were you ever a scout?’ she scoffed. She wondered how trustworthy he was. It was too hard to tell, looking at his cheeky smile. Izzy now wished she had more on than her blue singlet, especially with him looming over her. Why couldn’t he squat down? She resisted the urge to put her hand over the gape of her singlet across her chest, even though he’d be able to see right down it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could unnerve her. Suddenly the header began to rock slightly, signalling that the box was just about empty. Will turned and stopped the auger for her.

‘Well, what are you doing? Leaving or staying? I have a paddock to strip,’ said Izzy. Tom looked up, as if to mimic the same thoughts.

‘I’ll do a boxful with you, seeing as you asked so nicely.’ With that, he moved in a bit and slammed the door behind him. With some manoeuvring he squished his narrow butt between the door of the cab and her chair, seating himself on her esky. Izzy was trying to be more tolerant of Will – she thought she owed him that much. What he’d done yesterday was pretty darn amazing in her books. Izzy hadn’t forgotten how she’d been rooted to the spot, unable to move as she watched her father falling into the flames. She was a little ashamed and wished she could have been as quick as Will.

‘Okay then,’ came her reply as he made himself comfortable, although ‘Crap!’ was what she really wanted to say.

Izzy moved the header forward. Trying hard not to touch Will, she reached across and moved the hydraulic lever that swung the auger back into position. The last thing she needed was him getting any funny ideas – things were awkward enough already.

Putting the long comb into the crop again, she lined it up with the edge of the remaining wheat heads and watched as the comb munched its way through. Staring straight ahead, she tried to concentrate, but it was fairly difficult when she could feel Will’s eyes on her, assessing her ability. Half a lap later, Will eventually broke the silence between them.

‘You know, I can drive for you if you like. Dad’s just finishing the last of ours today.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks, Will. Besides, I don’t think you could handle this old girl. She’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure,’ said Izzy, teasing him. ‘A yellow header is more your style. Say a New Holland TC with a forty-foot comb. Would I be right?’ Izzy looked him in the eyes, waiting for a reaction.

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Will said, nodding with a wry smile. ‘Dad loves his New Holland headers. But I’m sure I could still handle this,’ he said, as he tried to shift his numb backside in the narrow cabin.

‘Ha,’ laughed Izzy. ‘Mike’s header is pure luxury after our old John Deere. Now that was a header! If it hadn’t gone up in flames, it would have fallen to bits. At least Dad will be able to upgrade for next year now with the insurance money, and especially with the crops doing so well this year.’

‘Bill was telling me about it. It’s lucky he never got that bad frost that came through in September. A few in the district lost a fair bit to it.’

‘It’s depressing – all your hard work can turn to shit and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it,’ she replied. When farming was your livelihood, you could lose so much from things outside your control like floods, droughts, fire, frost or hail. Farming sure was a hard, stressful way of life. You were always waiting. Waiting for rain or waiting for the wind to stop. It was a game of guessing and more waiting. She sometimes wondered why she longed for it so badly. The need to feel the clean air on her skin. To get up with the sun and follow it through the day till it sets. The thrill of driving for ten minutes and still being on your own land. To know your small community would do anything for you in a heartbeat. It was just in her blood, she guessed.

‘How is Bill going, anyway?’ Will said, changing the subject. ‘I’ve been meaning to give him a call.’

Izzy thought she detected a note of sincerity. Will actually sounded as if he gave a damn about someone. ‘He’s doing okay. They gotta take some skin from his back, I think, and use it for grafts on his legs. It’s gonna be a while before he can come home. Even then, he’s going to have to keep the wounds dressed and clean. Mum said he’s being a tough old brute, but he’s relying on the painkillers at the moment.’ Izzy’s voice almost broke. She was finding it hard to talk about. She worried about her dad constantly.

Will could almost feel the lump he knew was building in her throat. Resting his hand on her leg, he gave it a friendly squeeze. Just a quick one – he didn’t want to push it. He knew she was grateful that he’d pulled Bill out of the fire. It was funny how, at that moment when Bill fell, Will had just run in after him. No second thought, only the adrenaline pumping and the feeling that he wasn’t going to lose another person close to him. He could remember the way he’d almost gone deaf; he couldn’t hear the pumps or the crackling of the fire. His legs had just taken off and carried him into the smoke. He remembered his arms flapping about feeling their way through the smoke, banging into the metal steps and then the soft shoulder of Bill as he lay on the ground. Then he was dragging him out and away from the destruction. He remembered the look of relief on Izzy’s face.

The emotion he now saw in Izzy’s eyes softened him. Her blue eyes had the slightest hint of tears and looked so large and vulnerable. She nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to keep her composure. Will had an urge to put his hand up to her olive skin, caress her face and run his thumb along her high cheekbone. He liked seeing this side of her, the loving and gentle side that showed her femininity. It made a nice change.

‘Try not to worry, kiddo.’ He watched as his words caused her to regain her composure and shut him out. She really was a breed of her own. He had never known another girl like her. ‘I can’t imagine Bill sitting down for too long. He’s like a fart in a bottle.’ Will suppressed a laugh. He could just imagine Bill fighting off the nurses and trying to get out of bed. ‘You can’t keep a good man down and your dad’s an old battler. They broke the mould when they made him.’ He smiled as he spoke.

Izzy couldn’t help but smile at this either. ‘I’d love to go see him, but it takes nearly half a day to get there and, realistically, I can’t go until harvest is done. I know he’s in good hands and I think I’m needed here more. There’s a lot to do. After harvesting we need the shearers, so I’ll have to get my act into gear.’ Looking back to the rows of straight golden heads, Izzy adjusted the steering wheel slightly.

‘You sure you don’t want a hand?’ said Will, his eyebrows raised.

‘Nope. I’ve managed with this and more. I’m sure I’ll cope. Cheers anyway.’

Izzy was no helpless female, that was for sure. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. She doubted Will would know what a real day’s work was like, especially using old machinery. He couldn’t survive without airconditioning and air-cushioned seats.

‘Shit, that’s nice and thick,’ Will commented, gazing out at the crop. ‘Don’t you wish the whole lot would be like that?’ He leaned forward, trying to get a better look through the large front window on the header.

Izzy slowed down the header a fraction as it was struggling to churn through the thickness. ‘It’s the best bit I’ve seen yet. This paddock has been going about fifteen bags so far. A lot nicer than the six bags it went last year!’

They were not far from the field bin now. Izzy looked back through the spy-hole, checking how full the header box was. The wheat was about a foot from the top – just enough room to harvest all the way to the field bin.

‘What’s Bill’s old Leyland doing out here?’ asked Will, noticing the truck parked near the bin.

‘I’m filling it up when Dave can’t get back out for a load. I’ll run it into the bin when I get a moment. This way I can keep on harvesting. It only holds eight tonnes, but it still helps to get it off quicker.’

‘So you’ve got your truck licence?’ asked Will.

‘Yes, and don’t you worry, it’s all legit, and no – I didn’t have to bribe anyone to get it,’ she said sarcastically. Izzy frowned at him. ‘Why look so shocked?’