William Rosewood's Arc

Chapter 5 of 20

By morning the sick pig stood again. But William counted the feed store and his stomach sank. Burying the rot had cost him half of it. The clean grain and greens would run out long before spring. His herd would starve on the frozen ground before the house was ever roofed. He needed more feed, and he needed it fast. He walked the edges of his land and found nothing spare. The garden was picked. The grain was already stored. Then he stopped at the far corner of the field, where the tall stalks stood untouched. He had let the corn dry for seed. Broad green leaves hung heavy, and golden ears peeked from the husks. Enough to carry the pigs weeks past the first snow. But seed corn planted next spring meant next year's crop. Grind it into feed now, and he traded a full field for a fed herd. He stood between the stalks a long time, hands hanging useless at his sides. "You're going to cut it." Tommy stood at the row's edge. His grey eyes went from the corn to his father. He did not raise his voice. He never did. He said the hard thing plain and stopped. "Half of it," William said. "The pigs eat. The rest we plant." "Half won't fill the trough till spring." Tommy did not argue further. He only named the gap. Eddie came up behind his brother, a coil of fence twine over one shoulder. He looked at the stalks and understood at once. "We can stretch it," he said. "Grind the cobs too, not just the kernels. The pigs took cob mash last winter. I saw it work." William looked at his oldest son. Eddie waited, the way he always waited, for the word William did not give. "Show me," William said instead. They cut through the afternoon. William swung the blade low. Eddie stacked the stalks in bundles, cobs and all. Tommy hauled them to the trough by the sty and stripped the ears clean. The dry husks tore under his small hands. By dusk the corner field stood cut to stubble, half the corn gone to feed. William poured the first mash into the trough. The pigs crowded it. Ralph shoved to the front and ate. The herd would hold now, through the snow, maybe to the thaw. He stood in the empty half of the field. The house behind him still had no roof. He had bought his herd a winter. He had spent his spring seed to do it. Come planting time, that corner would sit bare, and he would have nothing to sow it with. Tommy stopped beside him, husk dust on his sleeves. He looked at the stubble, then at his father. "Next spring," Tommy said. "What goes there?" William had no answer. That was the new problem, and it would keep until the walls went up.