Free Honey's Farm by Iris Gower

curl that hung down from the pins that held her hair. ‘And perhaps an apple pie to follow?’
    â€˜I’ll see to it,’ Fon said, hating herself for her timidity. Why didn’t she demand to know what was going on? She was part of this farm now, wasn’t she?
    It was young Tommy who supplied the answer. ‘Mr Ian Evans is coming to see if the bull is suitable,’ he explained.
    â€˜Suitable?’ Jamie echoed scathingly. ‘My bull is the best old Evans will find in these parts. Near a ton-weight of beef in that one. Fed the best hay and the best mangolds, treated like a prince, him.’
    Jamie looked at Fon, his eyes shining with laughter. ‘And always eager to serve is that one.’
    Fon felt the colour come into her cheeks as she looked away from her husband’s playfulness. Jamie left the table with a suddenness that startled Fon.
    â€˜Come on, Tommy, boy, there’s enough to be done before Evans brings his cows over. Let’s try to get the work finished early, because it will be all talk and beer-drinking later on.’
    When Fon was alone in the kitchen she stood for a moment looking around her, a feeling of anger stirring within her. What did Jamie think she was, a machine? Why hadn’t he warned her there, would be company? Then she could have planned the meal in advance. Now she would have to rush about like a scalded hen to get things done in time. She rolled up her sleeves with a sense of purpose; the more she did before Patrick woke, the better she would fare.
    Later, as she set out the table with a snowy cloth kept especially for visitors, Fon brushed back her hair wearily and congratulated herself on her achievements. The beef was falling apart, so succulent was it, and the hot spicy aroma of apple pie had begun to permeate the kitchen.
    â€˜There, Jamie O’Conner,’ she said, folding her arms across her thin body, ‘see if you can find fault in that!’
    Tommy came panting up to the door. ‘The master’s asking will you bring a jug of beer out to the stalls, missis,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Old Evans’ thirst is well known in these parts – drink any man under the table, him.’
    â€˜But . . . the meal is ready,’ Fon called, but Tommy was already retreating across the yard, his thin legs covering the ground in huge strides, his shoulders hunched in a way that told of his anxiety to please. This man Evans must be a demanding customer indeed, Fon mused, a well-paying one too.
    Fon glanced at Patrick. He was playing happily with his wooden animals on the floor, but she dare not leave him in the kitchen with the fire stoked up to heat the oven and the hot food standing ready on the large hob. With a sigh, she fetched the beer from the cold pantry and placed in on a tray with the heavy mugs.
    â€˜Come on, Patrick,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and see Daddy.’ The little boy rose eagerly enough and followed her outside into the sunshine, chasing the ducks from his path with swooping kicks of his small feet.
    Fon heard the bellow of the bull and shuddered, glad that the huge creature was penned behind one of the stalls. As though in reply there came the mournful bawling of a cow, sounding as though she was in pain.
    She carried the tray to the side of the stall just in time to see Jamie releasing the black bull from the shining steel ring that held him.
    The bull pawed the ground, nostrils flaring in and out, as though the creature was in the grip of a terrible anger; the evil eyes gleamed, and then, in a sudden movement, the huge bull mounted the cow, which was standing patiently waiting.
    Fon felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She was being silly, and she knew it; to farmers this mating of the animals was a business transaction and nothing more. She had come to the farm as a shy, untried young girl, but since then she had become used to the ways of the farm, and the bull was just