Chapter Eight

In spite of Hetty’s objections, Amos Spry came to pick up Alec early the next morning. As the two men rode along in the buggy, Amos expressed his appreciation—and his misgivings.

“I hope all your help’s not going to waste, Alec,” he said nervously, looking gloomier than ever in the morning sunshine.

Alec glanced over his shoulder towards the King farm somewhat ruefully, then chuckled. What he’d started, he certainly meant to finish, Hetty or no Hetty. The only way the Kings were going to get their money back was to see every last potato on the Spry land dug up and hauled profitably to market.

“Have no fear, Amos,” Alec said heartily. “We’ll get your crop in.”

At the same time, Roger was limping along the path to Rose Cottage. He had his notebook in his hand and purpose etched on his face. If he had his way, improvements were going to arrive at the King farm so quickly that Alec’s head would spin!

When Roger stepped into the parlor, he found Hetty at her desk, long lists laid out in front of her. She was frowning in deep concentration and counting out, under her breath, the number of guests she had invited to the reception.

“Hetty,” Roger called out, stamping in. “Have you got a minute?”

Though she felt she scarcely had a second to spare, Hetty willingly stopped work at once. She might have snapped at anyone else for interrupting her, but she always had plenty of time for Roger.

“For you, always.” She smiled. “Go on, sit yourself down. I was just working on plans for your reception. Nothing that can’t wait, of course.”

“I’ve been taking some time to look at Alec’s operations,” said Roger, energetically. “Now, he’s a good farmer, but he’s such a slave to traditional methods.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, though I do try not to get involved with what Alec does on the farm,” Hetty replied, with a wave that seemed to dismiss all Alec’s hard-won knowledge.

Roger slid forward to the edge of his chair and regarded Hetty meaningfully.

“Well, perhaps you should. He works your land, too, after all. And the farm belongs to the whole family, through the family trust. We all share in the profits, don’t we?”

“Well, yes...I suppose.” Hetty shrugged. It wasn’t a matter that she generally concerned herself with.

“Then we both have a vested interest in what goes on here,” Roger continued, firmly drawing her into his plans.

“Well, yes, of course,” Hetty admitted, frowning a little but ready to agree with anything her brother said. “It is our farm, too. What are you suggesting?”

Pulling the notebook from his pocket, Roger flipped through it until he came to the pages now covered with rows of crisp notations. At the same time, he treated Hetty to a conspiratorial smile.

“Maybe,” he suggested slowly, “it’s time we nudged Alec into the modern world.”

“MacCRAE BROTHERS AGRICULTURAL EQUIPMENT, MARKDALE, P.E.I.” read Andrew aloud as he watched the large crate being hauled into Alec’s barn. Now, Andrew waited in anticipation as he watched his father pry it open. They’d been waiting more than a week for the delivery. When the last nail came loose, the whole side of the crate fell away, revealing a complicated-looking machine inside.

“Strange-looking contraption, isn’t it?” Andrew commented. Though he was puzzled by the shiny bowls and the pump with a handle on it, all nested carefully in packing straw, he was more than prepared to admire anything his father thought the farm should have.

“Yes, indeed,” laughed Roger, even as he spotted Hetty on the march towards them. “The most modern milking machine there is.”

“Roger!” Hetty called out. “Roger, this telegram just arrived for you.”

She held out the bright yellow envelope, which Roger calmly took as though he were accustomed to receiving telegrams every day.

“Thank you.”

As Roger set about tearing open the envelope, Hetty stepped over to the open crate and peered at the contents. When she realized what it was, she pressed her hands together in satisfaction.

“Oh, oh, isn’t this wonderful?” she exclaimed, even though she couldn’t tell one end of the contraption from the other.

Andrew, ignoring Hetty, had his eyes riveted on his father and the telegram.

“Where’s it from?” he wanted to know, already feeling apprehensive.

Hetty, while still examining the milking machine, was also keeping an eye on Roger’s changing expression. In her experience, telegrams were usually connected with emergencies of the most inconvenient sort.

“Not bad news, I hope,” she ventured, for Roger was reading quickly, his brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth drawn in.

“It’s the mining project.”

Now a look of panic touched Andrew. “You don’t have to go, do you?” he asked, his voice growing small. South America was such a long, long way away.

Roger was saved from answering by the arrival of Alec and Felix on the scene. Alec was worn out after a long day at Amos Spry’s, and it showed on his face. The first thing Alec spotted was Roger and Hetty with their heads together. The second thing he spotted was the crate.

“All right, what are you up to?” he asked warily as he bent down to look into the crate. “What the heck’s this thing?”

“Hetty and I thought it was time you came out of the Dark Ages and adopted more progressive farming techniques,” Roger told his older brother calmly, tucking the telegram into his back pocket.

Alec stared at his brother, then at the milking machine, then laughed aloud in disbelief.

“We can’t afford a milking machine,” he shot back. “Besides, these things may work in theory, but they’ve been nothing but trouble for dairy farmers.”

Just as Hetty had suspected, Alec was going to object. Providing reinforcement, Hetty positioned herself stoutly at Roger’s side.

“Now, don’t fret, Alec. I’ve already paid for it. Yes, out of the King trust account.”

For no reason anyone could fathom, Alec lapsed rather abruptly into silence. Roger took this as a victory for modernization and pressed his advantage.

“Alec, we are living in changing times,” Roger declaimed expansively, and with more than a little condescension towards his brother. “Technology is revolutionizing the lives we lead, both in the city and the country. If you fail to keep up, you simply won’t survive.”

“We only have three cows, Uncle Roger,” Felix piped up, getting straight to the point.

“Exactly,” Roger replied, as if this made his argument. “What you need is twenty or thirty.”

“Twenty or thirty!” Felix shuddered at the very thought. All he could imagine was himself spending the rest of his childhood trying to milk them.

“It’s not a dairy operation I’m running, Roger,” Alec added, having found his voice again and making a visible effort to keep cool.

“You have to specialize in order to turn a reasonable profit,” Roger replied, again with that patronizing air of the expert addressing the untutored. “You have to look at the farm as a business.”

Hetty, determined not to be left out of this glorious march into the future, added her voice to the chorus.

“Roger and I have been discussing plans to improve the entire—”

“Now hold your horses, you two,” Alec burst out, unable to believe his ears. “I run this farm. You could at least include me in these discussions.”

“Don’t be silly, Alec,” his sister said dismissively. “You would never have agreed to it.”

Mottled red began to climb up Alec’s neck. He was struggling hard to control his rising temper.

“Well, if you two are such experts in agriculture, maybe you should run the farm.”

“Well, maybe we should be running this farm,” Roger shot back bluntly, as much as saying out loud that Alec was hopelessly behind the times

Now Alec exploded completely. He jerked away from the crate and shook his finger forcefully at his brother.

“Let’s get something straight here, Roger. You got the education, I got the farm. Now I don’t interfere in your affairs, so don’t you meddle in mine.”

With that salvo fired, Alec turned on his heel and strode off towards the house, leaving the little group temporarily speechless.

Felix, ever loyal to his father, immediately set out to follow. But before he went, he marched over to Andrew. “I think he means it,” he muttered. Then he quickly sped off out of the barn.