Everlast

CHAPTER FOUR

The early light of dawn seeped through the door and window where John Clair had made his home. Accustomed to Miguel's friendship, he shared his small cottage, which stood like a small mole hill against the gigantic Obsidian Estate.

Mary put three bowls filled with porridge on the circler wooden table, the legs bent outwards. Miguel tapped John's shoulder to get him up. He let out a loud yawn, gently shaking the thatched roof. John sat on the small child like chair, his knees bashing his chest as he scooped up the bowl and took small spoonfuls. By now Miguel had licked his spoon and eagerly peered at his wife for seconds. She smiled her distorted lips and poured more.

"Would you like more, Mr Claire?" she asked, her voice muffled behind her scared lips.

"No thank you," he softly said. "I don't have much of an appetite."

"I don't know about you," Miguel began, drinking water from the clay cup. "But we need all our strength today. We have a big order to put though. The stronger men will be operating the big machine so they can cut the wheat quicker. Mary and the women have to sheer the sheep and there is so much more to do on the farm."

"Mr Claire, please don't feel as if you are a burden in this place. Miguel and I are happy that you are staying with us."

John noticed a shift in Mary; she seemed happier, but she glanced at the front door. He followed her gaze and when she continued eating he looked at Miguel, who coughed roughly, hopping of his seat.

"Lock the house when I leave," he whispered, kissing his wife on her lips. She nodded, looking down at her meal.

John took two big spoonfuls as he followed Miguel to the door.

"Mary doesn't look so good."

Miguel sighed, shaking his head. "She's afraid he might come back."

"Who?"

"Neal Gilbert. You remember him from yesterday."

"What has he done?"

They left the cottage, the sun emerging from corned lands.

"Mary thinks, feels that Neal has been giving her the eye. She doesn't feel safe around him." He paused, frustrated hands running through his bulbous head. "I want to believe my wife but I don't understand why Neal would want anything from her. There are plenty of young girls who'd gladly be with him."

"Have you seen him pursue Mary?"

"That's the thing, I haven't seen anything. I'm working all day and I only see Mary at lunch and then late in the evening. We're so tired from the day's work; we barely eat our food and then fall asleep."

"Don't worry," assured John. "I will keep a close eye on Neal. I'll divert his attention to me and hopefully it will make your wife at ease."

"You would do that for a small man like me?"

"It is your height that makes you small, not your mind or your generous heart. You have given me so much kindness. It is the least I can do."

Out of all the long casting shadows made by the early morning sun, Claire's shadow swallowed the entrance to the horse stable. Realising he moved inside, leaning against the wall as labourers trudged in, picking their places and waiting for their mistress.

John adjusted his hair to cover his long scar when he noticed Neal Gilbert, who spat on the ground a few feet to the left. A snarl rose under his bushy moustache. John crouched down beside his short friend.

Monica strutted, wearing her riding trousers and long boots. Her left arm, held in a sling and the other clasped onto a notebook. She nodded her greeting and sat on an upside down bucket. Her maid Dot took the notebook and opened it to a page. She read aloud the names of all workers present and the workers answered. After the twenty workers name was registered, including the newcomer, Monica coughed.

"Now I know you must all think I'm absolutely mad for coming here, wanting to assist you, like I usually do but now I have a sprained arm. However I will still help like I have always done." She stopped, craning her neck. "Yes Neal."

"Madam," he began, putting his hand down, taking a step forward. "You should have thought about your health. I and the workers can't bear to see you in any distress if something happened to you."

Miguel pinched his eyebrow at a cocked angle and slowly side turned to John. His friend mirrored a similar expression.

"Mr Gilbert, I am honoured that my worker care so much about my wellbeing as I do for them. However I am not like the other master who run their farm in a barbaric manner, making their workers bleed and returning nothing but cruelty." She cradled her arm and stood, addressing her workers as she casually side stepped. "We have a lot to do in the next few weeks before the frost sets in. The crops need to be harvested, and the flour needs to be made and sheep need to be sheared and as the apples have grown we have to sell them off to the neighbouring farm." She paused for breath and turned to Dot, who scribbled a tick in the book. "A new machine has arrived and it will help run the farm and with that will come the opportunity for one strong man to use it. I cannot guarantee that this would increase the chosen man's wage but it would help ease the workload he would usually go through. Please raise your hands if you would like to try the new machine."

A few hands slowly raised, reluctant at first to see who was brave enough. Neal's arm rose in such confidence that the other men slowly retreated, not until the large man stood, raising his hand higher than any other man.

"Mr Claire," Monica noted her smile radiant. "I wondered when you would volunteer."

Neal shot a blazing glare at him. "Madam," he called. "When can we see this machine?"

It was clear by the time they saw the machine why it needed to be handled by a strong man. The truth was in the three heavy leavers that operated the machine and the steering wheel which was nearly as wide as their arm span. The sheer height of this new tractor made them feel like ants.

Neal pushed forward, wanting to get ahead to impress Monica. He jumped onto the side and sat in the seat. He threaded the wheel with his hand; the other pushed the leaver down, but with great difficulty as his contorted face revealed the struggle. Anger seethed inside him as he noted Monica look down at her book and quickly glance at John.

Neal grunted in frustration. "Madam, no man can drive this machine. The leavers are stuck and the wheel is too loose."

"Mr Gilbert," Monica said shaking her head. "If you can't operate the machine –"

"I bloody well can," he suddenly boomed, kicking the leaver. The machine spluttered and jerked forward, causing the worker to fall back. Neal laughed, clutching the wheel, but his smirk faded when he mistook one of the pedals for the brake pedal. The wheel, turned to left nearly flew of course. Neal slammed his foot on the other, breaking harshly as his body lurched forward; almost flying him in the air. He yanked the leaver up, his breath shaking.

Monica motioned to John. "It's your turn."

John gulped, walking towards the machine as Neal jumped off. He rubbed his hands together, flexing his fingers as John heaved his body up.

"Mr Claire," Monica shouted, shielding her eyes from the sun. "There are three pedals, the one to the right gives power to the tractor, the middle stops it and the left controls the other leavers." She called for Simon. "Go sit with Mr Claire and show him what to do."

After lunch, Monica greeted the Sheppard with a heart warming smile. With the sheepdog, the sheep huddled behind the small fence, Monica sat down and with a shearer and helped shear the fluffy fleece, drifting like soft clouds in her hands. Although Dr Collins advised Monica not to help, she didn't like to sit idle. Like Uncle Lionel, Monica felt at peace when she helped her workers.

Stroking a shaven sheep, Monica kissed the top of its naked head. She turned to the side, her eye scanned to see John mastering the tractor. Squinting, she noted a smile spreading from his darkened thin lips, his eye crinkled as he took his time going over the wheat fields.

For a moment Monica gazed at her land and thought nothing could ever tear her world apart.