Nested stories (part four of five)

ON THE OTHER hand, Jack Glamis seemed to have turned the corner. 

His fields were flourishing with crops; his dairy efforts had been stood down and the cattle sold off; his calves were looking very healthy and his prospects were good; at least in the short-term. He reckoned that he could survive the year, with fewer costs from having abandoned the milking and cheese production efforts, which were labour-intensive.

And he thought he’d do well from his admittedly reduced grain harvest, as the famine was forcing a little gentle inflation, and he’d get a better price for his grain this year.

Meanwhile, there was a supply of (not very good) sausages and meat pies to eat, along with some half-decent cheese and yoghurt.

He’d adopted a new system for his crops; he’d decided to leave the blanket of nutrients and vegetable matter on the surface of the soil; he’d abandoned the constant tilling which caused the topsoil to blow away (especially when irrigation was an issue). Besides, leaving everything alone was less effort, and seemed to be maximizing the effectiveness of the land. His farm was becoming a credible business, he reckoned, and this spurred him on to work hard, and suffer the indignities of his rubbish meat pies.

He still missed his son, and spent time every day looking out for him.
   
REVELATION DAWNED UPON the mind of Thomas Glamis.

He found himself envying the diseased pigs; he longed to eat their food – that’s how hungry he was! 

‘I bet that the men who work for my old dad at Glamis Farm are eating okay. They probably get lovely meals provided for them; yes, they have to work hard but they are treated with dignity and respect… 

‘What if I were to go back there, and humble myself, and say to my father that I understand that I have sinned against him and against heaven and no longer deserve to be called his son? My wickedness has been that serious, actually, and I could ask him to make me one of his hired men, and that way I’d get to be back near him, see if he will forgive me, and maybe get a square meal, lest I die of starvation.’

So he got up and started on his long journey home.

It was many miles, and while he walked, he considered how to express himself to his father. 

Will Dad even be willing to talk? He had every right to dismiss me – I’d effectively wished him dead, after all. He might even call upon his hired men to beat me up and send me packing… I wonder how he’ll feel about my return? Maybe he’s come to terms with me no longer being his son, and he won’t want to open up those wounds.

But I have to try to seek his forgiveness.

I don’t want to die owing him such a great debt – both financially and emotionally… How could I have wished him dead? How could I have wasted his fortune? How can I ever pay him back? Will he even listen to my pleas?
 

IT WAS A cold, bright morning, and the sausages for Farmer Jack’s breakfast were grim, as ever. He made sure the hired men were busy and being effective – feeding the calves, tending the fields, sorting out the accounts (not a lot of income, but still the books need to balance).

Tired and lonely, he made his way onto the roof to maintain his vigil for Thomas. Could today be the day? He’d spent a lot of time up here over the last eighteen months, and had never seen anyone that even slightly resembled his son. Men looking for work, charity workers looking for donations, pig farmers looking to sell bacon (not many takers around here) and refugees from the famine in the neighboring country. But none of them were Thomas. Could today be any different?

No.

IT WAS A cold bright morning, and Jack didn’t much fancy his breakfast, but he ate it anyway; today might be the day, and he needed his strength. But none of the people who walked up the road was Thomas.

IT WAS A cold, bright morning and the terrible breakfast sausages were beginning to get on his nerves. It was still a few weeks before the grain harvesting could start, and even then, there would be a delay before the grain could be processed and made into flour and then into bread and then into a decent breakfast. It had been a long time since he’d had quality rolls or toast or crumpets or a crusty bloomer.

He slowly climbed the stairs and sat down on the roof to maintain his vigil. Could today be the day Thomas comes home?

KNOWING HE WAS getting close caused Thomas Glamis to become nervous. Had he made the right decision? Would he be welcome? Would he be tolerated? Would he be chased away? Would he be struck out of anger? Would he be forced to flee for his life? Any of these were possibilities.

He was several miles from Glamis Farm, but once he reached the brow of this hill, he’d be able to see the outlying fields, with the familiar corn waving in the breeze.

to be concluded