The Daily Worker Newspaper, May 28, 1927, Page 8

Harvest—a Story of Farm Life gos was plowing. Spring had come early and the straw-colored, winter-bared fields seemed to cry for a fresh warm breath. The snows and rains had smoothed the roughness from the ground, broken by the cultivation of the past summers’ efforts, April’s warm sun had dried the earth to a pleasing, mellow brown, And the weeds, the stubble and remnants of the previous year’s growth were ready to slink back to dust, awaiting but the caress of the heavy- bladed plow. Gus smelled spring in the air. Where the stalks were rotting away close to the ground, pumgently sweet; where the fresh green things were pushing up thru the clogged massive mats of last Fall’s weaving, Spring’s odors came. Even the broken ground gave an aura that meant to the plowman a willingness to mother new life again. The manure spread on the fields early in the past ~ light winter, gave the appearance of a blond, dirty- bearded tramp.” Beyond the big red barn, nature wore a mask of gray, botched at intervals with jaundiced Spring green. The corn stubble rose gawk- ishly, from the pocked mask, where the cutters had passed with carelessness in the harvest last Fall. Doe and Prince were doing their first work of the year. It was yet early in the morning and they playfully brushed against each other; swerving the plow and pulling unevenly. ,The collars, around “their full, thick necks, creaked and the tree jerked back amd forth erratically. Ordinarily Gus would have yelled loud but kindly, but this morning he lashed their broad rumps with the buckled ends of the long reins. The drafts steadied into a strong forward pull and the rich black loam turned back from the plowshare—yawning, rolling over and stretching into wakefulness for another hot Sum- mer. Joyously the earth came back, burying the grayish brown of stubble and manure. Harmon, Frederick and Henry were on their way to Saturday school. The pastor whipped them if they came late. Gus thought of his religious train- ing. Took a lot of work to be a christian. He ad- mired the pastor. The pastor talked so easily and he would say that Gus’ boys were bright. That made Gus nervous, made him feel conspicuous and his face would grow red, he would shuffle his feet and his hands would seem swollen to immobility. He couldn’t talk to the minister. He couldn’t talk to anyone when they spoke of his farm or his family. Gus liked the pastor because he talked so well: The boys liked Herr Pastor too; their father wished that they would talk to him like he overheard them talk- ing with the pastor. Occasionally Gus looked up the road that passed the field and barn. His face held no expression; only his eyes seemed animated; they moved with doggedness—not caring to see what they were ex- pecting. The old woman was in bed again. She was always in bed when the busy time of the year came around. The doctor had been out Thursday. When he left, Gus heard him say that he would have to be back Saturday, maybe in the morning. The doctor was a young man. Ernest, the beer- bellied owner of the grocery store in town had in- troduced the young doctor to Gus. The farmer liked the way the doctor drank his whiskey. He made no face—never gasped for the chaser of cold water. He was an Englishman—Gus liked the way he smiled thru his face-covered, heavy Prince Albert— he liked the way he drank his whiskey. Gus never drank whiskey. He didn’t like it—it always gagged him and made water stream from his yes. Lager was alright and old sour wine was good. Gus did like the doctor well, he spoke so easily, he could drink whiskey too. Late in the morning the doctor drove up. Gus had stopped looking for him hours before. His mind was occupied with the plowing, as up and down the field he walked, following the plow and guiding it with an easy grip on the handles. Doc and Prince had long since ceased amy playfulness and were concerned only with hauling the plow back . and forth with a strong easy pull. Doe ad Prince were mice horses, all right. Gus knew a good work- er when he saw one. The team was among the best in the township. They looked pretty, too. Heavy, black manes and long hair billowing down over their hoofs. Gus combed their coats every morning. Their forelegs were short and full; their hiadlegs worked smoothly. He liked to watch them as they took the pléw thru the surface of the resting soil. The doctor had a fast roan colt. Liking the doc- tor Gus liked his horse. The doctor’s roan was more spirited than the carriage horse Minnie drove. -He shook his head from side to side as though to lose the bit that he might gallop away with the doctor’s yellow-wheeled, shiny buggy. The doctor waved his arm at Gus when he dipve into the lane and the tiller lifted a heavy hand in return. In » moment he clucked to Doe and Prince and together the team moved on once more—moverl on after whianying a greeting to ths roa» e¢olt. At moon Gus noticed that the doctor had not gone. So, after watering Doe and Prince and turning them into the stables for their fork of hay, he unhitched the roan colt; watered and fed him and then smoothed his sleek coat with heavy currycomb and brush, Gus did not go up to the house at noon. He wasn’t hungry and he’ spent the hour arranging the harness on the hooks of the harness room. Some of it needed oiling, well, he’d tend to that Sunday. In the carriage shed he saw that the mower was in front of the planter, He grasped the tongue, swung the mower and dragged the planter from the shed. He’d be needing it in a few days if the warm weather kept up. The sun was lowering over the woods as Gus turned the tired team into the barn. They’d worked hard enough for one day. The doctor’s carriage was where it had been left in the morning.. After giving the roan colt a can of oats ‘he fed the team and bedded them down with fresh, clean straw for the coming night. slowly to the back door of the house. No one was in the kitchen—he went on to the bedrsom he and Minnie used. The young doctor heard him coming and met him ‘at the door.’ Slapping him across the back, he said, “Well, Gus, we’ve found an eight pound baby girl for you.” Gus pushed by him without a word and looking down at Minnie, mut- tered, “Monday ve build das farrowing ben. You be up cook for poys. Yah. Ve haf some nice shoats next Fall.” Minnie nodded her head and Gus left the room—he might as well go into town with the doctor. Ernest had a good bar back of his grocery, * * * Gus, Minnie and Hildegarde were leaning on the fence beyond the covered barn yard watching Bess when the neighbor’s boy led the bull to the pen. He led the bull by a pole hooked to a ring which passed thru the nose of the animal. Hildegarde was eigh- teen and a few months more. ' She resembled neither Gus nor Minnie. Her hair was long and light; her skin ‘was fair, and blue, low-German eyes peered clearly thru soft lashes. Hildegarde was pretty; her shape was alluring. Even when she wore the dresses that Minnie passed down she was graceful. Gus was never at ease with her. She was like the pastor and the doctor. She spoke to easily and she embarrassed her father when he occasionally found cause to haltingly speak with her. Hildegarde was indifferent. She did not look at all like. the corn- meal-batter-faced Minnie. Her hair was always ar- ranged and never askew. Minnie knew this and felt a little as Gus did when in her presence. Gus decided to breed Bess to a good bull this time. Well, the neighbor had a good bull and Gus didn’t see why she shouldn’t have the best. Bess had one pair of calves already. She was a good mother. Her calves were pretty good too, Gus got good money for them. The neighbor boy unsnapped the pole and flicking the bull over the buttock with a short whip drove him into the enclosure with Bess. Inside the pen the bull paused as the door swung shut behind him. He looked at the cow—a low rumble came from his throat. Bess moved toward him. From the other side of the fencé Gus, Minnie, Hildegarde and the neighbor boy watched the proceedings with interest. The old farmer turned to his wife and a smile broke the stolidness of his heavy German face. He poked her in the breast with his thumb and mutter- ing an “Ach Minnie,” moved towards the house. Minnie’s eyes nearly closed and turning she slowly followed her husband up the path that led away from the pen. ..... The neighbor looked down at Hildegarde, and she, tilting back her head, looked up at him. : .. . In a little while the bull and Bess a alone—but they didn’t care—they ‘were in love. 7, : + * * Yesterday Hildegarde and the neighbor boy were married. And after the wedding the baby was ‘christened, Gustave Adolph. Old Gus sat in the par- lor. The room always closed and chill—clean to mustiness and smelling of no human occupation. He was sitting in the best chair; red plush with all sorts of gingerbread monstrosities carved in the heavy, black walnut frame. A lamp was burning on the center, marble covered table. Gus had been on the back eighty when the first ones had come yesterday morning. Thete was a fence on the line that needed a little going over and besides could not Minnie talk to the people better than an old Dutch farmer? He had stayed there, walking along the fence, until Frederick called him with a drawn out, “Oh, papa, komm ma’ in, head down and uttering as c few greet as possible, Once in the room he ra t had gone thru his part of the ceremony in a trance; carried along by Herr Pastor; carried along because he liked the way the pastor talked. He had held the two-months old baby in his arms and pride bouyed him thru with his service. Then the old women had taken the boy away from him. Pinched his cheek and in low — phrases cooed over him, like a bunch of animals. Gus saw the doctor's son. He liked the youth— Silas” A iis When that was done he walked hirr.” He had walked slowly . ee By KENNETH S. BARNHILL iene well, why shouldn’t he?-—he liked his father. But the doctor was getting older. And now that the heavy beard was gone, lines of tiredness scratched his face. Funny, how Gus could talk to the doc- tor’s boy. Young Doe was a quict lad and he liked to listen to the old German. Gus talked of the way the corn was coming along. He took the young man out and showed him the cattle. He grinned when the young doctor called the straw stack, where the cows had eaten deep around the edge, a blond flapper’s head. Gus thought the stack knew as much as 4 woman—maybe moré. In the stables he let the boy look at the new work team. Yah, he called them Doe and Prince, And the doctor’s son had danced with Hildegarde. No one told him to signal for the orchestra to stop playing. He had danced for an hour before Gus called him over and told him to wave his hand at the leader. The boy gave tHe leader a dollar. Gus thought “that was fine; they only caught the doc- tor’s boy once. He laughed then, just a little, He liked the boy, for he was so quiet and he listened, Minnie had gone to the kitchen and Gus shad arisen to go to the barn when Hildegarde told him the baby was coming. She told him with her pretty, proud head hanging down, ever so slightly. He had wanted to put his arm around her shoulders and pat her head—tell her that all was well with him, Instead his throat had filled and slowly he turned from her and walked, heart heavy, to the stables, He slipped into the stall beside Prince and drew the horses head against his side. Prince placed his muzzle against Gus’ cheek. He could pat Prince; Prince couldn’t talk. : But the doctor’s son liked to hear Gus talk. He had taken a drink that the boy had given him and that made him feel better. Everyone seemed to want to speak with him. Why, even old Wilheim, the state senator, said the farmers thought Gus should run for county commissioner. Anyone who has a farm and family like he, would make a good man to spend the county’s money. Yes, that was nice. Gus liked to have them talk to him—strange, he liked to talk to them, too. ‘ Ach Gott, the day was over now. Everyone was there but Harmon. Gus sipped a drink of wine from the pitcher on the table. Mist came over his eyes. Harmon had been a good boy. He used to talk to old Gus. But he had been killed in the war. Harmon had gone to Germany in 1916 and two years later the French had killed him. Gus kept the letters Harmon had written him. He liked to read the letters—with the help of Herr Pastor. Henry and Frederick never came over much now. They had families of their own. Gus had given them a hundred acres each of the land he and Minnie had worked so hard to clear and drain. The work was getting pretty hard, but now there was Hilde- garde’s man. He was a steady boy. Strong—a gooa worker, Gus knew. . Gus tipped the pitcher back again and the sour wine trickled around the-edges and down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of a thick, brown hand. They all liked him at the wedding. He had thought they would ‘not. The League of American Patriots had streaked his barn. with blaring, yel- low paint during the war—just because Gus would not buy Liberty bonds. Gus couldn’t buy the bonds— the money might have been used to kill Harmon. But Harmon was dead now. One of the men who helped paint the barn had sold his ten thousand dol- lar bonds to Gus for eighty five hundred, after the war. He still had them. They were worth more than ten thousand today. He smiled again. They = like him; he had talked nice with the doctor’s oy. Minnie was in bed. She had gone upstairs. Hilde- garde and her man were in the room where Gus and Minnie had slept. Hildegarde said it was easier for her to take care of the baby down there. She stayed in bed for two weeks after little Gustave was born, Gus thought of Minnie and her child- bearing. The baby whimpered in the next room. Gus sat still and listened ‘to hear whether Hilde- garde would get up. There was no sound but the baby’s soft ery. Oh well, Hildegarde was tired, She had been up for two days—dancing and enter- taining the wedding guests, She probably had a little too — to drink. Gus chuckled. Quietly he arose from the best chair and picking up the light’ went into the bedroom. Little Gus became quiet when he stooped over the crib. Minnie never had a crib for her babies. Old Gus liked the crib. The young Doe said it was a fine thing to have. With hesitancy he poked a finger into the baby’s stomach. Little Gus clasped the solid finger in two fat hands and looked up at the old man. Gus picked the little one up and went back to his chair, awk- wardly holding the child in his arm. The baby again grasped the heavy finger and old Gus let his head fall to the back of the chair as he rocked slowly. The baby was asleep when old Gus looked down at him again. The finger held fast in the tiny, fat hands. A happy 6b shook his big frame and leaning close to the grandson's head, he whispered, “Ach himmel. Anyhow, Gus Adolph, ve had a goot vedding.” “THE END, ’