Chapter 40
Broken Halos - Chris Stapleton
Wyatt
I woke late the next morning to find Mr. Harper outside, engaged in a discussion with the insurance adjuster. Grace and Noah were on the porch watching.
“You’re up. You slept through half the day,” Grace teased as I joined them.
I rubbed my eyes, still experiencing the drag of exhaustion from the storm and the fire. “Guess I needed it,” I admitted as I sat down next to Noah.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was only 10 AM, hardly half a day gone. I also noted that I had no calls or messages.
Noah elbowed me. “You missed Dad’s showdown with the insurance guy. It was something to see.”
I glanced at Mr. Harper animatedly explaining the extent of the damage to the insurance adjuster, who listened while occasionally jotting down notes. “Looks like they’re figuring things out.”
Grace nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s a relief. The insurance will help, but it won’t replace everything. We’re going to have to rebuild and find more hay.”
Watching Mr. Harper and the adjuster, I realized the magnitude of the challenges that lay ahead. Rebuilding the barn and recovering from the losses seemed impossible.
After the insurance adjuster had finished his assessment and left, Mr. Harper joined us, his expression tight. “Well, it’s not everything we hoped for, but it’s a start. We’ll get through this, like we always have. Now, I need to make some calls to hay suppliers,” he said, the stress clear in his voice.
It was hard enough to get the bare minimum of hay needed, never mind more after losing that much.
Grace, Noah, and I began sifting through the debris, although hope was slim that the fire had spared anything. The barn, once filled with dry hay, had stood little chance against the flames.
It wasn’t long before vehicles started pulling into the farmyard; word had gotten around the community about what had happened, and people were showing up to help with whatever they could.
All day, friends and neighbours worked to clean up the fire site. Alice kept food and cold drinks flowing from the kitchen to the yard, feeding every person who showed up.
“Grace!” Alice called out at one point. “I need you to run to the store! I’m running out of everything!”
“On it, Mom!” Grace hurried off.
“Wyatt, come drink something. You look parched,” Alice then shouted to me.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I put down the shovel I was using and wandered over to the porch. My mouth was dry and coated in dust. I grabbed the pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade Alice had left out and poured a glass. I sat down beside Mr. Harper, who had also been forced into taking a break.
The sun was hot as I took a sip of the lemonade. It was a welcome relief from the heat.
“Thanks for the help, son.” Mr. Harper wiped sweat from his forehead with a worn cloth.
I nodded in response. “I can’t believe all these people showed up to help.”
Mr. Harper chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the busy scene around us. “If you have the ability to help someone in need, you do it. That’s the way things work around here, what community is all about. They all know we’d do the same for them in a heartbeat.”
Leaning back, I took in the sight of our community in action. It was powerful seeing everyone pulling together.
“I guess I’ve never seen that before. I don’t like to rely on anyone else,” I admitted.
Mr. Harper offered a knowing smile, the lines around his eyes deepening. “There’s no shame in accepting a helping hand. It doesn’t make you any less strong; it just means you’re smart enough to know when you need it.”
I let out a sigh, his words sinking in. “I’ve always thought I had to do things on my own. Like, if I accept the help, it doesn’t count.”
He laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We’re not meant to go through life alone, son. We’re part of something bigger—a community of family, friends, and neighbours. Accepting help doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. Your dad wasn’t there for you the way he should’ve been, so maybe you don’t expect anyone else to be, but if you keep pushing everyone away, you’re going to wind up all alone, and we humans are not designed to be alone. We come together, we help each other, and love each other—that’s how we live our best lives.”
Mr. Harper’s words were turning over in my mind. My gaze drifted to the people working in the yard, their laughter and chatter mingling with the sounds of tools and machinery. They were here, giving their time and energy, not because they had to but because they wanted to. Because they cared.
I thought back to all the times I’d pushed people away, insisting I could handle everything on my own. The long nights spent working on the farm, scrimping by on the bare minimum because it was all I could afford. I’d worn my independence like a badge of honour, a shield against the world.
But now, watching this community come together, I wondered if that shield had become a prison. Had I been so focused on proving my strength that I’d forgotten the power of connection?
The memory of Kinsley’s face, hurt and frustrated by my stubborn refusal to accept her help, flashed through my mind. I winced, realising how many times I’d done that to her.
I took another sip of lemonade, the tartness lingering on my tongue. Maybe it was time to see things differently, to open up and let people in. The thought terrified me, but it also sparked a flicker of hope.
What if I didn’t have to carry everything alone? What if I learned to lean on others, to trust them, to be part of something bigger than myself?
I glanced at Mr. Harper, who had the look of satisfaction over a life well-lived. A life built on community, on family, and on love. I wanted that. I wanted to build something real, something that would last.
I couldn’t do it alone.
I thought of Kinsley with a pang of regret. I had been an idiot to let my pride get in the way of our relationship. The fact was, I needed her in my life.
“Have you found any hay yet?” I asked, shifting the conversation.
Mr. Harper’s face fell. “Not yet. But something will come through.”
“I have an idea.”