Corn-Farm Boy (21 page)

Dad hesitated. Then he spoke patiently, for he did not want to have another quarrel with Uncle Henry. “His mother wants him to stay in school. She's afraid he'll get rheumatic fever again.”

“Oh, he's outgrown all that,” said Uncle Henry. “I used to have aches in my legs, too, when I was a kid. They called them ‘growing pains' then. Now they call it rheumatic fever. Look how tall he's grown this summer. The hot dry weather has been good for him. He could at least work a little on Saturday. He can drive a tractor from the field to the elevator, can't he?”

“His mother thinks he should stay inside on these chilly days …” began Dad.

“Fresh air never hurt anybody—least of all a corn-farm boy,” Uncle Henry went on. “Mark, when are you going to make a man out of that kid?”

The remark struck deep.

“O. K.,” said Dad. “Let him bring in a few loads.”

Dick was happy again. He knew just what to do. He jumped on the little tractor. How good it was to hear and feel its rumble and vibration beneath him. He had been missing a lot, staying off all this time. When he saw Dad coming in with the next load, he started out at high speed. He had to get there before Dad did, so he could unhook the wagon for him. He changed wagons with Dad and brought the wagon filled with corn back to the elevator. Raymond helped him unload. The end of the wagon was hoisted up and the endgate opened. The corn ran into the elevator and was carried up into the top of the crib.

After Dad took over the picker, Raymond drove the other tractor. Dick liked working with Raymond. The boys took turns bringing in loads. Raymond praised him for the way he was handling the tractor. Dick felt good. He felt every bit as old as Raymond. Uncle Henry was right. He was well again. No more fever and aches and pains. No more crutches for him. The hot summer had fixed him up all right. He loved the farm and was going to be a farmer sure. Outdoor life was the best of all. Why—Raymond was treating him like an equal!

Returning to the field with the empty wagon, Dick liked to go at top speed. Coming back with the full wagon, he could not go so fast. But Raymond always seemed surprised when he returned so quickly. He must not keep Raymond waiting. When Uncle Henry was on the place, everything seemed to move faster. Uncle Henry was trying to beat the snow. Uncle Henry made a good boss. He made everybody step around more lively. Dick just had to feel grateful to Uncle Henry. If it had not been for him, he would not be driving the little tractor. He would not be bringing corn in to the crib. He pressed the gas pedal harder. Yes—his leg was longer. He could reach it now without stretching. He
had
grown taller over summer.

Then Dick gave a quick gasp. All of a sudden he felt a sharp pain in his chest and things turned black before him. Surprised, he gave the steering wheel a jerk. He was right at the corner, turning in from the road to the lane. He shook his head to clear the wooziness away and held on tight. He felt weak but did not let go of the wheel. Then he heard a crash and a heavy jolt behind him. Quickly he stopped the engine and looked back.

“Dog-gone-it! I turned too short!” he cried.

He stepped down and looked. The flare wagon had turned over and spilled the corn. One wheel was in the ditch. Most of the corn had been dumped.

His first thought was of Uncle Henry. He hoped he was off in the west forty and would stay there. But here came Uncle Henry down the road in his car, as big as life. When he reached Dick and saw the mishap, he became very angry. He did not ask how it had happened and Dick was afraid to explain. After righting the wagon and seeing that no damage was done, he said to Dick, “You can get busy now and pick up all that corn by hand. That'll teach you not to be so careless.”

Uncle Henry parked his car in the lane, then took the little tractor and went out for the next load himself.

Dick felt sick at heart. All the glory had faded. Raymond would never be proud of him for a stunt like this. He began angrily throwing the corn into the wagon. It would take forever to get it done. His chest felt queer. Now and then he had to sit down to rest. He wondered what Dad would say about this. He hated to disappoint Dad. He would have to explain how everything turned black and he could not see that he was turning too short. He did not want Dad to think he could not turn a corner.

But when the tractor came in, Dad never even looked at Dick. Dad's face was white and he was holding his right hand with his left hand. His right hand was all bundled up in his denim jacket and his shirt sleeve was torn to shreds. Dick saw all this at one glance.

Dad was standing on the tractor, leaning over Uncle Henry who was driving. There was no load of corn behind them. They went right past the dumped wagonload of corn and did not stop. They drove to the house-yard gate and Uncle Henry called. Mom and the girls came running out. Dick heard them screaming. He saw Raymond come tearing up from the crib.

Dick knew something was wrong. His stomach turned upside down. He had heard of corn-picking accidents all his life. Every farmer in the neighborhood could tell of some kind of accident from machinery. Dick hated machines. They killed people. They took off men's hands and arms. They maimed them for life. He hated the corn picker most of all. If there was anything that would keep him from being a farmer, it was a huge big monster of a machine like that. And Dad too—Dad who was always so careful!

At last the boy managed to find his feet. He went to the house as quickly as he could. He saw them all standing there—Wilma and Margy too. He heard Dad say to Mom in a quiet voice, “I guess I got caught this time, Bertha, but it's not bad. I was in too big a hurry. The corn picker got clogged up and I didn't take time to stop the engine.”

Uncle Henry began loudly explaining, “On one row, the machine clogged up three times. Mark could only pick the corn one way of the field, it was blown down so bad. After all that dry weather and the high wind, it twisted the corn up pretty badly—”

Mom faced Uncle Henry. “You don't need to shout so,” she said. “I know
why
it happened. The men weren't working fast enough to suit you, Henry Shumaker.”

Uncle Henry turned away. He stopped talking.

Dad's hurt hand was washed and covered with a clean towel now. Dick could see that Dad's shirt sleeve was torn and his arm was scratched to the shoulder. He did not want to know any more.

“Good thing my jacket was unbuttoned,” said Dad. “I stepped out of it easy. That's what saved me.”

Dick's knees went weak as he saw the blue denim jacket lying in bits on the floor. He sank down on the couch on the porch. “A guy's just got to watch out,” he said to himself.

The next minute they were all gone to take Dad to the hospital—Mom and Raymond with Dad in the car. They headed for town, twelve miles away. Dick and Uncle Henry were left behind. The girls, Wilma and Margy, stood by, speechless and frightened.

When Uncle Henry saw Dick, he pointed out the lane and said in an angry voice, “Get out there and pick up that corn! Don't you ever do a thing you are told to do?” Uncle Henry banged out the door, jumped in his car and drove off in haste.

Wilma and Margy followed Dick to the road. Margy was crying now, but Wilma was angry.

“A lot of help
he
is!” cried Wilma. “Just when he's needed most, he goes running back to town. You don't see
him
staying here and running that beastly old corn picker!”

“I'm glad he's gone,” said Dick.

The two girls helped Dick pick up the corn. They did not talk much. It was a comfort just to be together and to have something to do. At last the corn was all back in the wagon again.

“Whew!” said Dick. “I'm glad that's done.” Then he told Wilma how he had turned the wagon over.

“It must have been your heart acting up,” said Wilma. “The doctor said—”

“Oh, you're as bad as Mom,” said Dick. “Don't tell me what the doctor said.”

Wilma spoke gently now. “You go back in the house and lie down. Margy and I will do the chores.”

“I'll do chicken chores,” said Margy, “and Wilma can do the hog chores.”

“No,” said Wilma to Margy, “we'll do them all together.”

“Oh, I'll help,” said Dick. “I feel O. K. now.”

“No—go lie down,” insisted Wilma.

Dick went in. He sat down on the porch couch. He leaned back on the pillows. The house was quiet. It seemed strange and empty as it always did when Mom was not there. The kitchen clock ticked as loudly as Dick's own heart. How would Dad farm if he lost his hand? How could he get along if Dick was not able to help him? Raymond could not do everything. It was hard to get a hired man. Dad's trouble was so much greater, Dick almost forgot his own. Would he have to tell Dad that his heart had acted up?

Resting on the couch, Dick re-lived the mishap in his mind. How had it happened? It was not his own carelessness as Uncle Henry thought. His heart had skipped a beat—several beats? That was it. That pain, that blacking-out—it was not safe for a boy with a weak heart to drive a tractor. He would have to tell Mom and let her tell the others, even Uncle Henry. Yes, Uncle Henry would have to be told. And that meant only one thing—he, Dick, would never be allowed to drive a tractor again.

At last Dick knew the truth. He might as well face it. He was ashamed of his own failure, ashamed of dumping a wagonload of corn because he turned the corner too sharp. The work was too heavy for him. Mom was right—she knew. She always knew things without being told. Dick would never be a farmer. Why did he keep on fooling himself like this? Why did he keep on pretending he was well and strong when he was not? Why not admit his handicap and accept it? Why not try to live with his illness until he grew better?

Dick knew what the doctor had said before and would say again—go to bed, get plenty of rest, no heavy work or lifting. Be an invalid again. Get up on crutches now and then. Stay in the house—you boy, who loves the outdoors more than anything in the world. It was like a prison sentence. Was he to be locked up for the rest of his life?

Dick began to cry. He knew it was “sissy” to cry, but he did not care about that now. He was beyond caring about the trivial meaning of a spiteful word. He could not hold back the tears, and there was no one to see. After the crying spell was over, he felt better. He thought of little Popcorn and how much he missed him. If only Popcorn were here to lie on the bed beside him.… Then he heard a rustle. A wet cold nose touched his hand. It was old Buster nuzzling him. He patted the dog.

He thought, “I still have my pets. They come and go, but old Buster is always here. Good old stupid, neglected Buster.” He put his arms around the dog's neck and hugged him. He leaned back on the pillows again. Buster jumped on the couch and curled up at his feet.

Dick thought of Doc Musfelt and his gentle way with animals. But a veterinarian's life is a hard life, Dick told himself sternly. He has to be on call day and night. If takes a strong husky man for that. Cows and hogs were getting all kinds of strange new diseases, so the veterinarian was the busiest man around. No—Dick could not do that.

Suddenly a new idea struck him. He thought of all the pets he had had during the summer and in previous years. “I know what I'll do—I won't be a farmer after all. I'll have a hospital for small animals when I get big—a pet hospital. People will bring me their pets and I'll take care of them and make them well. I'll teach people how to care for them and treat them right. Yes—I can do that. I'd rather work with animals than with machines. Animals are alive.”

Then a ray of hope came too. “Maybe if I follow the doctor's orders for a year or two, my heart will get better, I'll outgrow all this and be strong after all.” It was worth trying.

Peace came to him with the happy thought. He began to feel rested at last. He dozed off to sleep.

Suddenly he awoke to a loud commotion. He raised himself on one elbow and looked out across the barnyard. It was getting dark. The sun was going down across the valley. Someone had turned the barnyard light on. Men were talking and shouting to each other.

What was that strange procession? Cars and trucks and one, two, three—four corn pickers were coming into the big eighty. The neighbors had come to harvest the corn. Uncle Henry must have gone after them. Uncle Henry must have spread the news of Dad's accident around to all the other farms. Dick saw Uncle Henry's car come in. He saw Uncle Henry jump out and rush to the field. In no time at all wagons and trucks loaded with corn began to roll into the barnyard. A snow fence had been set in a big wide circle, and corn was being dumped inside. Soon a second, then a third ring was put in place, as the corn rose higher and higher.

Dick had never seen anything so exciting happen so fast. He felt a pang that he could not be a part of it, that he could not be out there helping. He propped up his pillows to watch. It was there that Mom found him, lying in the dark. Wilma must have told her. One look at her face and he knew he did not need to say a word. Mom knew.