The House That Jack Built

by Patrick Ford

  * * * *

  They were lucky with the weather. On Ballinrobe, the two years were dry, although they managed to produce two high quality wheat crops. The yields were not spectacular, but the grain price was considerably higher. This cash flow underwrote the operating expenses.

  At Emu Ridge, the weather was more beneficial, with regular rain, enough to keep the pastures in good order. The two thousand weaners they had bought had become steers and now were almost bullocks, at least three times heavier than when they had arrived. Ken and Robyn were happy. Robyn had produced a daughter. Robyn loved her small cottage, and between them they kept it neat and tidy, and had expanded the garden dramatically. Their swimming pool ensured plenty of visitors in the hot summers.

  Jack had been down to Emu Ridge on many occasions during the first year. Susan and the children accompanied him if there was a chance for a swim. Jack would look with love at his little brood, so obviously enjoying the water. The sight of Susan in a swimming costume was not hard on the eyes either. After a while, as Jack realised that Ken had everything in order, his visits diminished. He used to send Ollie down there once a week to keep an eye on everything.

  Jack did not miss his army days. He was fully committed to his farms and his family now. However, he often thought about his old comrades, especially those with whom he had put his life on the line. Chris McGuire and Liz were frequent visitors. Even Ray Peninni came to see them on a regular basis. He corresponded with many of his old comrades. He had kept in close contact with the Canadian and American farmers, machinery manufacturers and his sources on the research side. The last three or four years had convinced him there had to be a better way to conserve moisture and grow crops in times of poor rainfall.

  Susan kept up a vigorous correspondence with Marci, Sarah and Jimbo, who had been sent to OCS and commissioned in 1975. He was currently on overseas duty in Germany. Then, in one day, letters arrived from all three members of her family. Sarah’s was the most comprehensive letter of the three. She said that Marci had not been well recently and she was worried about her. There was speculation she might have a cancer. Jimbo would be home for Christmas. Could they visit one more time? Marci had been missing them badly.

  In the sleepy aftermath of making love, Jack began to stroke the best behind in the world. How he loved this woman!

  “Darling, I would like to go back to Worcester soon. I may not have a chance to see Mom again if she is seriously ill. I have always promised you a White Christmas, maybe it could be this year?” Financially, this was not a good time, but Jack could not deny his lovely wife anything. He sensed too that this might be their last visit with Marci. She needed to see the children. Genevieve had not met her American family and Jack felt that at seven years of age she would benefit from the trip in many ways.

  Besides, he wanted to go too. It would be a good opportunity to catch up with the no-till farming acolytes, maybe even some old comrades from Bien Long.

  For the first time since 1946, Christmas at Ballinrobe was cancelled. Jack and his family would be in America. Helen would be taking a long holiday in Brisbane with Denni and her other two little best friends Grace and Roseanne.

  Chapter 22

  Back to the New World

  They flew into a winter wonderland; everything was covered in a cloak of sparkling snow. The dirty slush of early spring was yet to make an appearance. The weather was perfect. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun shone down with enough warmth to prevent icing on the plowed and salted roads. Everywhere, decorated trees and house lights proclaimed the season. Here in America the end of the disaster that had been Vietnam had lifted spirits. The war would haunt Americans for decades to come, but the lightening of spirit brought by the knowledge that the killing had stopped and their sons were safe made the celebration of Christmas once more a joyful occasion.

  Jacqui had vague memories of the snow, but she had left Worcester at the age of three and had not been back in the winter. Patrick and Genevieve knew of snow. The symbols of Christmas are universal. However, to see it for the first time was a wonderful thing. Sarah met them in Boston. James and Anthony were now eleven years old, brimming with energy, almost beside themselves at the prospect of meeting their cousins. It had been eight years since they had seen them. Sarah was now thirty years old. Like Susan, she had retained her lovely figure. She greeted them with tears, hugs, and kisses. James and Anthony were reserved, but once Jacqui greeted them, they became animated.

  “Hi, Jacqui,” James said. “I remember you. You played with my fire engine.” There followed a frantic conversation, each of the five children clamouring to be heard.

  Sarah and Susan hushed them. “You have ten whole days to play and get to know each other again,” said Sarah. “We have planned lots of things to do while the weather lets you play outside. Come along now, into the car; let’s go home to Grandma.”

  Marci was overjoyed to see them. “Oh Susan, look at Jacqui. She is so like you were at that age, so serious. Patrick has grown into a real little man and here is the newest, Genevieve. I’ll bet you are a sweetie.”

  Genevieve was not shy. She knew about Grandmas and she treated Marci just as she treated Helen, with affection and almost adult conversation.

  Marci turned to Jack. “I’m so happy to see your growing family. They are lovely children, so well behaved, and like little adults already. Jack… thank you for making Susan so happy.”

  Jack replied, “It is Susan who provides the happiness. Remember all those years ago that I told you I would love her forever. Nothing’s changed since then. I could not live without her.”

  The next week or so was a joyful time. Sarah had kept her boys out of school for their cousins’ visit, and blessed with good weather, bundled up in fur hats, gloves, scarves and warm boots, they did everything children do in winter. Building snowmen, snowball fights, snowboarding, were all on the list. They even tried ice-skating at which the twins excelled, laughing at their cousins’ frantic scrabbling to remain upright. The adults relaxed into a wonderful aura of contentment. Susan had long conversations with Sarah and Marci.

  At night, Jack and Susan would turn off their light and open the curtains so that the moon illuminated the room with soft reflected light from the snow outside. With the faint sparkle of distant coloured Christmas lights, their room became a magical place. They made love as often as they could, long slow and gentle sessions, punctuated by occasional passionate intervals. Jack had enjoyed her loving for so long. He always marveled at her hunger for him, at her responsiveness, and at her total giving of herself. Susan, for her part, could not get enough of her handsome husband who was so considerate of her needs.

  One evening as they lay together in the afterglow, snuggled into Marci’s goose-down covers, melting into each other, Susan said, “I feel so sorry for Sarah. She has so much love to give some lucky man. I am sure she wants and needs to make love as much as I do with you. She has had no luck in all her relationships. I can see in her eyes how much she envies us. I wish there were something we could do for her, short of sharing you!”

  “Hmm,” said Jack, “That’s not an unattractive proposition. Maybe we could set up our own Goondiwindi commune.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t even think of such a thing, Jack Riordan! Seriously though, is there anything we can do?”

  “Why don’t we ask her to bring the boys out to Australia for an extended visit? She could spend time with us, and time in Brisbane with Denni. If she does that, all she will need is the air fare. Maybe we can help with that. In addition, she could make a visit to Armidale for old time’s sake. We haven’t gotten around to doing that, you know. I think I’d like to, how about you?”

  “I think a visit to the lookout would be wonderful. That’s where I knew for sure that you were the one for me. I was disappointed that you were so proper with me. You didn’t even try to kiss me, when I wanted you to tear off my clothes and have your wicked way with me!”

  Over t
he next few days, Susan sounded out Sarah about a visit. She wanted to come, but felt she could not leave her mother. Susan thought her loyalty amazing; it had been Marci who had destroyed her marriage in the first place. Susan had noticed the present look in Sarah’s eyes, a look comprised of sadness, wistfulness, and envy of what Susan and Jack had. She decided to tackle her mother head on about it. She chose her moment when Sarah and Jack were outside with the children. “Momma,” she said, “I am worried about Sarah and the twins. I wish she could find a nice husband to share her life. Sometimes she looks so sad when she looks at us. I know she envies what Jack and I have. It would be wonderful for her to be whole again.”

  Marci wasn’t keen to discuss Sarah’s lack of a husband. After all, she had been instrumental in destroying her marriage to John Starr. John had remarried, had children with his new wife, lived far away, and now showed little interest in his sons. She said, “I don’t know much about that, Susan. She doesn’t speak to me about it.”

  “We would like her and the boys to come visit us for more than just a holiday, for six months, maybe a year. I think she would like that, but she worries about you, about who would look after you.”

  “Well, I have provided her with a home all these years. I would like to think she will take care of me as I grow old.”

  “Momma, you are only fifty-seven. You probably have another thirty years to live. You are capable of looking after yourself. Please don’t take away Sarah’s chance at happiness. She is thirty now, she might be running out of time. You could come too, Momma.”

  Marci looked askance. “Susan, you know I will never go back to that place. It has only bitter memories for me.”

  Susan replied, a little testily, “Momma, you made some of those memories yourself. You could have seen how happy Jack and I were. Look at us now. I know you were adrift without Daddy, but we were not going to abandon you. I think you should let Sarah go her own way. She won’t abandon you either, but she has a life of her own to live too. I have been thinking about you. You said you wanted to go back to New Mexico to visit with your old friends there. You are financially secure now; you could treat yourself to a holiday too. Why don’t you do that in the spring? Sarah and the boys could visit us then.”

  It took another few days, but on Christmas Day, Marci announced that she wanted Sarah to go to Australia for a visit. Sarah was so happy. She said to Jack, “Maybe I can restart my life with your help. It has been so long since I have experienced love with a good man. Thank you for making this visit possible.”

  * * * *

  Jimbo arrived home before Christmas Day, resplendent in his Lieutenant’s Class A uniform, with his Bronze Star, Purple Heart and Vietnam ribbons worn proudly. Jacqui remembered her Uncle Jimbo. “My Daddy was a soldier,” she said.

  “Yes, I know,” replied Jimbo, “and a darn good one too!”

  Christmas Day was full of good cheer, children running everywhere, and lots and lots of fine food. Marci brought forth her considerable culinary skills to give them an all-American Christmas feast, turkey, ham, candied yams, creamed potato, her favourite black-eyed peas, her special gravy, and pecan pie.

  Afterwards, Jack and Jimbo sat nursing beers and talking about the army. Jimbo had some news. Juan Ruiz, now commissioned, was with Special Forces. “He’ll die in uniform,” said Jimbo. “The army is his life.”

  Jack told him he had heard that John Zilski, the helicopter pilot he’d saved, had left the army and was flying supply helicopters for an oil company in Brazil. He had last seen Master Sergeant Bell at Fort Benning. As far as he knew, he was there still. Major Wood, the dapper little officer at Bien Hoa, was dead, killed in a jeep rollover. Jack wondered if the driver had been the Negro Corporal with the reefer and leaden foot who had met him the day he first arrived in Vietnam.

  After Christmas, Jack had planned to visit Morris in Saskatchewan and his contacts in Nebraska. Sarah asked them to leave the children with her and Marci. “They are enjoying each other’s company so much,” she said, “and they may not see each other again for a long time. Please let them stay.” Reluctantly, Susan assented. They would be away for a week.

  * * * *

  They flew into Lincoln, Nebraska and hired a car. Jack had found that his USDA contact, Calvin Middleton, now stationed in Manhattan, Kansas, occupied a senior position in their Conservation Farming Unit. Jack’s erstwhile rifleman, Tom Lawson, farmed near Abilene, south of Lincoln but across the state line in Kansas, about a three-hour drive away. They had driven to Manhattan to meet with Calvin. He devoted a whole day to showing them the experimental plots and several farms that had practiced conservation farming for some years.

  The main implements now used were blade plows, with a wide blade running below the surface of the ground. Jack could see they would be next to useless in his country, filled with tree roots. Others were a more rugged version of the Morris chisel plows he had seen in Canada, and a strange looking device called a rod weeder. This chisel plow could be a goer, he thought, but it needs to be even more rugged to stand up to Australian conditions. He had read that some Australian farmers had tried these out. They had wrecked them in a matter of months.

  The next day they drove to Abilene and found the Lawson farm. They were impressed with the neatness of the farm and its buildings. A battered Ford pickup stood outside alongside a John Deere tractor of indeterminate age, fitted with a primitive snowplow. It was very cold. Tom came to the door, smiling a wide smile of welcome. “Come in out of the cold and have some coffee,” he said.

  Inside they met his parents. His mother was a recognisable type from any farmhouse in the world. She was plump, jolly, red-cheeked, and welcoming. Tom’s father was a spare, tough looking man. Many years of outside work in all weathers had drawn a myriad of lines on his face and desiccated his skin. His hands were callused and had the texture of sandpaper. Here, inside in the middle of winter, he still wore his denim overalls and his John Deere wind jacket. However, he had a generous smile and old world courtesy. He welcomed them profusely. “At last I get the chance to thank you for my boy’s life,” he said, eyes moistening slightly, “we owe you a great debt, young man.”

  “Jack grinned. “As I remember it, I think it was Tom who saved me,” he said. “Let’s all just be pleased it is finished now and we can have fun driving our tractors again. What do you think of Tom’s conservation farming?”

  “Well, I have to admit that we have been getting some good crops since he had his way. It’s hard to give up the habits of a lifetime, but it sure works. Our machinery only does half the work now. If ever they get a good spray for the weeds, we will hardly need the tillage machines.”

  “That’s right Pop,” said Tom, all you’ll need is a tractor, drill and a sprayer.”

  “I was talking to Calvin Middleton yesterday,” Jack said. He said Monsanto is getting close to a good product. They expect to market it soon on a large scale, so watch the journals. It could be nearer than you think.”

  The old man said, “What about in your country, Jack? Could it work for you? I hear it is even hotter and drier than it is here.”

  “I think the chisel plow may help us in the interim, but my hope lies with chemical weed control. Our country has too many underground obstructions for anything else except our current machinery.”

  Tom urged them to come outside and look the place over. The land was so precious that as little of it as possible was covered with buildings. The farmhouse had a small footprint, built in three levels. Below ground was a basement containing the central heating device and other utilities. There was a small workbench and storage for a multitude of things. There was a store of canned and dry goods, blankets, water and torches and batteries. “Emergency supplies,” said Tom. “We can get bad tornados here. This is our storm shelter too.” The ground level was living space, while the upstairs level was for sleeping. Altogether, it was a compact and functional building.

  Outside there was a large barn, a small feedlot, a pig
gery, a hog pen as their host described it, and a tall silo for storing green chop feed for the cattle. Inside the barn was storage space for tractors and other equipment. One end was a workshop, with walls and ceilings sealed against the cold and a large space heater. “When we have finished planting the winter wheat in the fall, there is no outside work until the snow melts,” Tom explained. “We spend a lot of time here in the barn, completing all our maintenance.”

  They returned to the house. Tom’s mother gave them coffee and freshly baked muffins. She said to Susan. “You have a wonderful young man, my dear, so young to be a Colonel, and a brave one too. Tom has told us about that awful time you had with that terrible man with the bomb. But you’re an American, how did you meet?”

  Susan told her of her time in Australia when she met Jack. “I knew right away that he was for me, and I have been proved right in any number of ways. We have three lovely children and a good life together.”

  “Our Tom has yet to marry. His high school sweetheart died of leukemia when he was away in the army. He is still not over Ellen. I wish he could find a lovely girl like you.”

  Susan thought of Sarah, but said nothing. She was not ready to be a matchmaker just yet. They drove back to Manhattan. It was dark when they arrived at their hotel. “I know what I want,” said Susan. “Jack Riordan, you will turn on that Jacuzzi and fill it with the hottest water for me. If you do that properly, you may scrub my back.”

  “Just a minute, you brazen hussy,” he said, “I have one other thing to do before that.” He took up the phone and called room service. He ordered two huge rib steaks—medium rare—Idaho potatoes, salads, and a very cold bottle of champagne, for delivery to their door in ninety minutes.