Radclyffe - Homestead

“How are things looking?” Tess asked.

Without Tomas, Tess doubted she’d be able to handle everything that needed to be done on the farm. Even with plenty of help, farming was a seventeen-hour-a-day job. Most dairy farms in the country were family-owned businesses because it took a family of one kind or another to run a farm—tending the cows, rotating them out to feeding stations or the fields and into the barn for milking twice a day, ensuring they had the right feed mixture and timely veterinary care and a clean, healthy living environment. Add to that the stress of calving, feeding and caring for the young, not to mention documenting their entire lives from birth until they were culled from the herd or died from other causes. The state regulated everything about dairy farming from the health of the herd to the soil composition to how the milk was stored and transported. When she wasn’t directly overseeing the milking, the care of the stock, or the state of the fields, she was doing paperwork. When she returned to the house at night she always had one form or another to complete or update. On most farms, the extended family—spouses, children, multiple generations of family members—divided up the chores. With her mother gone and now her stepfather, Tomas was a critical member of her farm family.

“The yield is down a little,” Tomas said. “The heat.”

“I was afraid of that.” Tess sighed, took the clipboard he handed her, and ran her eye down the totals for the morning milking. Off about 10 percent. “How’s the silage holding up? I think we might be able to get another cutting from the back fields next week, but it won’t be ready for feed for a while.”

“We’ll be all right for a bit.” He slipped a stick of spearmint gum from the ever-present pack he carried in his front pocket and offered her one.

“Thanks, no,” Tess said as she always did. She’d given up telling him she detested spearmint gum when she was ten.

“Calves are all looking good. Growing fine. Vet’s due tomorrow,” Tomas said as he folded a piece into his mouth.

“Right.” Tomorrow was Saturday already. Ordinarily she never forgot appointments, but she’d been a little distracted, what with the news about the drilling…and Clay. Tess grimaced, shook her head. “Eight o’clock, right?”

“Yep. I can take care of it if you want.”

“Thanks, but I’ll need to be there.” Tess switched off the milking machine as the amount coming down from the near-flaccid milk bag slowed to a trickle, removed the suction tubes from the udders, and wiped them down again with Betadine. “You’ll have enough to do with the milking. Transport will be coming around right about then too.”

“Okay. I was thinking to have Jimmy move some of the chop over for the heifers—the pasture’s looking a little thin.”

“Good, thanks. I have to be out this afternoon. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Will do.” Tomas released the ties on the cow to take her back to her stall. “You plan on being at the town meeting tomorrow night?”

“That’s tomorrow too?” Tess rubbed her eyes, nodded. She tried to make the town meetings whenever she could, but this was one she couldn’t afford to miss. The issue of drilling would undoubtedly be on the agenda. “I’ll be there.”

Satisfied that everything was under control for the moment, Tess started back for the house and her second cup of coffee. A black pickup truck turned into the drive just as she reached her porch. She stopped and waited, recognizing the driver as he drew near. Pete Townsend owned a big farm south of hers. Whenever she ran into him at Grange meetings, he was always friendly, but she wouldn’t say she knew him well. She had a feeling she knew what this visit was about, though.

“Hi, Pete,” she called as he stepped out of his truck. He was a big clean-shaven man, still fit with just a bit of softness around the middle. As usual, he wore a khaki work shirt, pants, and heavy boots, his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair covered by a black Yankees cap.

“Tess,” he said, walking up the stone path toward her. “Got a minute? Sorry to drop in so early. You’ve probably got milking—”

“No problem. Milking’s done.” Tess came down the stairs, trying not to let her annoyance show at his veiled suggestion that she wouldn’t have the morning’s work well in hand by seven a.m. “Come on in. I was just about to have another cup of coffee myself. I’ve got some blueberry muffins from Caroline’s. If you’re of a mind.”

“I’m always of a mind,” he said, ruefully patting his stomach as she led him around the back to the kitchen.

She brought coffee, plates, and butter and set the muffins in front of him. She sipped her coffee and waited while Pete broke a muffin in half and generously buttered it. “I suppose you’re here about the drilling.”

He took a bite, chewed, sipped his coffee, and swallowed. “I am. Things are moving pretty fast, faster than we expected, and I don’t think we’re ready for this slick outfit they sent in here. They’ve already got trailers and people up to the Hansen place and big machinery coming in every hour. If we don’t do something, they’ll be drilling by the end of next week.”

“It seems to me that horse has already left the barn,” Tess said. “Hansen and quite a few others signed over their gas rights years ago, didn’t they? And now the state seems pretty determined that the drilling goes on.”

“All that’s true, but other townships have been able to block the drilling, and we might be able to slow them for a while—make them prove they’re not going to compromise our farms.”

Tess agreed with him, which was exactly the reason she planned on talking to Leslie that afternoon, but that was her business. “I don’t imagine that will be easy.”

“It might be if we all stand together. You’re closer to Hansen’s place than I am, you’ve got to be worried.” Pete paused with the last remnants of muffin in his hand. “I know Ray was talking to them back a ways.”

A cold hand skimmed down Tess’s spine. She hadn’t known that. And she wasn’t about to confess that to Pete. “Anything that affects my farm concerns me.”

“I’m hearing they’re sending in some kind of big shot to run this project—like we’ll be impressed or too intimidated to stand up to him.”

The big shot was Clay. Tess thought about what Clay had said the night before, that she would be speaking to the farmers about the drilling and how it might affect them. She’d have a tough sell with Pete and his ilk, but that wasn’t Tess’s worry. She didn’t want secondhand information from anyone, including Clay. “Well, I’m certainly interested in the facts, and you can be sure I’m going to be looking out for the interests of my land and my animals.”

He studied her silently and she held his gaze. If he was taking her measure, she didn’t mind. She was used to it.

“I know quite a few people have talked to you already about selling,” Pete said casually. “And I understand this is your family home. But you’ve got five hundred acres of land that needs tending. That’s a lot of work for one wo—person. Might be we could strike a deal where you can keep the house and a little bit of land, sell me the fields and the stock—”

“No,” Tess said, keeping her tone friendly. “I’m not interested in selling. You might pass that word along because the message just doesn’t seem to be sticking.”

He smiled. “Thought I’d give it a try.” He stood, picked up the cap he’d set on the table. “I’m hoping you’ll see things my way, Tess. The more people that oppose the fuel company, the better chance we’ll have at keeping them out. And believe me, that’s what we want to do.”