Fearful Harvest 2
The night was unusually dark. Strange and unnatural. There was weight to the atmosphere of this night. Heavy and laced with foreboding. The children were urged to simply utter their prayers and that was that. His wife had been advancing in her pregnancy, so the chair had become more and more of a constant companion.
Today the rocker on the front porch had not born her weight at all. She had stayed inside because of a small complaint. 'The baby was agitated' as her description had best been translated. He had rested a hand on her womb and felt troubled by the movements of the baby. It was as if the child could find no comfort but was rather troubled by something, scared even. The children had not played today but had set to their chores as if they were being watched by something.
They finished rather early and sequestered themselves into the house and kept looking out the windows at any angle they might find. The animals had been rather somber and quiet. The mother cow had been rather calm instead of unruly, and the farmer had gathered his milk with ease, but he was not the happier for it. The bulls had ben strangely looking around and stayed protectively near the cows and calves. They had given no trouble to the farmer, but he felt concerned about what could happen when night fell. It was a sad thought that the barn had not room enough for the whole herd.
He had placed what he could inside, but he had to get the horses too. The herd of cows took forever because he had to place only so many while keeping the others out. He wearily retired to the house and ate his dinner. That was when he stiffened realizing that he was not quite finished. And he was not going to ask the children to leave their beds. He armed himself, pitifully in his mind, and hurried to shut the door on the house.
"Should I be worried?" His wife's parting statement from where she rested in the dining room. It chased him and the hatchet he held towards the horses. Quickly he gathered the reins and halters, though the animals needed little coaxing, as if sensing something was wrong. They followed the lead horse he held into the barn and got to the stalls in ready fashion without a fuss. He quickly made to the doors and shut them for safety's sake.
Then he was off and hurrying for the porch and the door. He hurriedly entered and shut and barred the entrance. His weary wife sat there in silence. Her poor knitting was hopeless beside her; all day had she been attempting to do something with it before giving up and then starting anew. Her hands just could not make the thread and needles move upon this day. And the only peace she had was when her pregnant form was enshrouded by a blanket. With the baby covered, she had felt agitation of the life within settle somewhat.
Still she said it best not try any further attempts with the yarn lest she hurt herself, for she nearly had several times already. She looked at him oddly and only then did he realize why. "You brought the pitchfork from the barn?"
"…Yes," he quietly said, his voice strange to him. Somehow, he couldn't seem to recollect having even picked it up. The hatchet was with him, still, but he had left the barn with the other farm implement to. He moved his wife closer to the fire and chimney and joined her in another chair.
"No sleep tonight," he whispered. "Somehow I just know there won't be."