Chapter 2 #2
He’d missed this, being part of the simple progression of life, the repetition of seasons and tasks that culminated in actual achievement.
The feeling of well-deserved rest after a day of growing and producing.
The tingle of windburn from the chill breeze, fatigued muscles, hands dirty with soil or lanolin from the sheep, rather than the chemical smears of the workshop.
The realisation of permanence as he kicked back on the verandah, looking out at the buildings his ancestors had created, cementing each stone with hope for the future.
The farm was more than a business; it was a life.
A venture that was at once alive and living, rather than a stagnant money-making project.
A growing, thriving world for which he was responsible … but not on his own.
Although, right now, being on his own might have been preferable. Was it more awkward if he kept silent and pretended not to be there, or if he carried on a one-sided conversation, as though unaware of Lachlan and Charity’s total absorption in one another?
‘I went out to the Jaensches’ place the other month to take a look at Indi’s old Massey,’ he said, keeping his gaze on the horizon. ‘Pete reckons they’re looking for more land to sharefarm.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Lachlan said.
‘More? But you’re already so busy,’ Charity protested. ‘I thought that was why you were dry seeding early. How could you take on more land?’
‘Catch twenty-two,’ Lachlan said grimly. ‘We need more land to make our farms viable. But then we need more hands to work that land.’
‘Lucky I’m worth ten good men.’ Hamish flexed his biceps, then flinched: the injury from the rollover a year earlier still gave him trouble and was getting worse with the cooler weather.
‘Or lucky we’re all in it for the love of the job, not the money,’ Lachlan responded.
‘And that the garage gives us that bit of extra liquidity on a nice, regular basis.’ The previous year, the brothers had struck a deal to pool the income from Hamish’s mechanics shop and Lachlan’s farm in a family trust to spread both the risk and profit of the two ventures.
‘I would have thought Indi and her dad were flat-strap with what they’ve got, though? ’
‘Pete’s got some idea of selling a couple of hundred acres of marginal land further out and picking up sharefarming instead.’
‘Indi down for it?’
‘She had some choice words to say about their chances of winning the contract. Harry Haymaker’s bound to stick his oar in.’ For the past eight years, the farmer from the adjacent district had been out-bidding locals on sharefarming contracts.
‘Indi seems nice,’ Charity ventured with the subtlety of a post driver.
Hamish scowled. Why did people in a relationship assume there was something lacking in everyone else’s life?
Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t recently tried to hook up on a more permanent basis than had been his preference for the past decade; he’d thrown his hat in the ring only a few months back.
Got it thoroughly stomped on, too, so it was probably lucky his heart hadn’t been invested.
Though he didn’t reckon that was ever going to be a problem; the fact that even animals—including the barn owls over in the tractor shed—paired for life proved ‘love’ was nothing more than a chemical impulse, not sharing something that required investment or effort.
‘Natasha plans to talk her into coming along for a catch-up once school goes back,’ Charity continued. ‘Now that we’ve got a couple of dinner options in Settlers, it’d be nice to get a bit of a girl gang together for a regular kind of thing.’
‘Sexist, much?’ Speak of the devil. It was Natasha who had pretty much shot him down the previous year—and she’d been new to town, so the rejection couldn’t have been because of his reputation. ‘You’re right, though, Indi is nice. For a sister,’ he said, and Lachlan guffawed.
‘But she isn’t—?’ Charity looked confused.
‘Trust me: if you’ve known someone all your life, there comes a point where they definitely seem more like a sister than a potential.’
Lachlan stood, shoving the chair away with the back of his knees. ‘You’ll have to look further afield.’
‘Look would suggest I’m actively searching. I’ve no time for any of that, mate. Not with this lot to take care of.’ He gestured toward the now-purpled farmyard.
Charity gave a little yelp and slapped her arm. ‘Come inside, we’re going to get eaten alive. I can’t believe there are still mosquitoes out here in May.’
‘It’s because it’s unseasonably warm,’ Lachlan said.
‘Then why are you worried about the crops? Isn’t warm weather good for making them grow?’
‘Would be, if we had any in.’
‘But you were seeding … ?’ Charity held up both hands in comical confusion.
Lachlan tugged her close, an arm around her waist as he kissed her forehead. ‘Dry seeding is for the pasture paddocks—clover and vetch for animal feed. We won’t do the crop seeding until the weather breaks, when we’ve got a better chance of germination.’
‘This farming stuff is hard,’ Charity said dolefully as Lachlan held the door open for her.
Hamish paused on the verandah, staring after the couple.
Charity was from the city, so it wasn’t fair to expect her to know any more about farming than he knew about teaching.
Yet he suspected that much of her cluelessness was adopted as a way to inconspicuously bolster his brother’s low self-esteem, by helping Lachlan realise the extent of the knowledge he’d amassed.
Would anyone ever have his back like Charity had Lachlan’s?