9781465768841_

The Hayfield

Prologue

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a slight motion, and think that I have moved her. But when I look back I watch, amazed, as her eyelid slides closed and then open again. Maybe, just maybe. I rub faster, moving the quilt over her entire body, drying her hide, causing the rough hair to stick up in whorls and spikes. Her eye begins to move in its socket. Outsized in the tiny head, it wanders as if trying to find some point of focus. The lashes flutter closed and then open again. I rub. Come on, honey, come on.
Billy is back with the cow, scratching her ear and talking to her again, though I cant make out the words. He is watching me, us, and his hand works faster at the cows ear, as if to keep pace with my rubbing.
The calfs head jerks up off the ground, startling me, but goes immediately back down. I lean down and put my head to her chest once again. The heartbeat is stronger, regular now, and I can hear the intake of breath beneath her ribs. I think shes going to make it, Billy, I say, hearing the excitement in my voice. If I can get her on her feet, I think shell make it. Her head has come off the ground again, and she holds it up, trying to look around. Her eye focuses on me, and I feel her ribs rise as she takes a deep breath. She stretches her neck forward, and tries to bawl, but ends up making a coughing noise instead. Like someone trying to talk under water. Her lungs must have trapped some fluid from inside the sac, and I lift her up bodily and tilt her head down at the ground. Clear, pinkish liquid appears on her brown nose, and drops noiselessly onto the quilt. She begins to struggle in my arms, and I set her carefully onto her spindly legs. They promptly collapse, and she falls sideways.
As she struggles back up, Billy says, Dad?
When I look back at him, he is still scratching at the ear. But his free hand is pointing out in the direction his mother went, at small, dark shapes moving steadily up the road toward us. Growing as they come, the shapes gradually transform themselves into dogs. Fanned out across the road, they move at a stiff trot. In the lead are five large animals, jaws open, tongues lolling. Behind are five or six more, shifting in and out of view as they move. All of them run silently behind their shadows, nosing the blood scent.

Early Reviews of The Hayfield

The Hayfield is a compactly written novel with believable characters and an unusual setting. The novel takes place in California, the state in which I reside, however I was so baffled that I went to a map and felt compelled to locate the routes driven by the main character.
This is a personal history with overtones of survival, addiction and divorce. The characters evoke emotional ties to the reader when the issues get "too close to home".
Barbara Blum

Set in rural Northern California, this sweeping emotional novel resonates with the struggles of a young couples hopes, expectations, and eventual shattered dreams. Good read!
G. Gilbert, President Midwestern Distribution Company

I finished The Hayfield last night - read longer than I meant to, but got caught up in the drama of it all and "couldnt put it down"!
I really did like it, especially the second half, which is often the case since it takes time to develop the characters and make the reader care about them. And I found nothing unacceptable in it. In fact, I liked the fact that it was free from a plethora of objectionable language.
By the way, I loved the Epilogue, as it was life-affirming and ended on an upbeat of hope for Franks future. I am rooting for him all the way!
This book would make for a great discussion for a book club! Not only is it well-written with vivid descriptive passages, but the characters are well-developed and there are some surprises along the way.

Marilyn Crosby

...(*_*)9781465768841_

The Hayfield

Prologue

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a slight motion, and think that I have moved her. But when I look back I watch, amazed, as her eyelid slides closed and then open again. Maybe, just maybe. I rub faster, moving the quilt over her entire body, drying her hide, causing the rough hair to stick up in whorls and spikes. Her eye begins to move in its socket. Outsized in the tiny head, it wanders as if trying to find some point of focus. The lashes flutter closed and then open again. I rub. "Come on, honey, come on."
Billy is back with the cow, scratching her ear and talking to her again, though I cant make out the words. He is watching me, us, and his hand works faster at the cows ear, as if to keep pace with my rubbing.
The calfs head jerks up off the ground, startling me, but goes immediately back down. I lean down and put my head to her chest once again. The heartbeat is stronger, regular now, and I can hear the intake of breath beneath her ribs. "I think shes going to make it, Billy," I say, hearing the excitement in my voice. "If I can get her on her feet, I think shell make it." Her head has come off the ground again, and she holds it up, trying to look around. Her eye focuses on me, and I feel her ribs rise as she takes a deep breath. She stretches her neck forward, and tries to bawl, but ends up making a coughing noise instead. Like someone trying to talk under water. Her lungs must have trapped some fluid from inside the sac, and I lift her up bodily and tilt her head down at the ground. Clear, pinkish liquid appears on her brown nose, and drops noiselessly onto the quilt. She begins to struggle in my arms, and I set her carefully onto her spindly legs. They promptly collapse, and she falls sideways.
As she struggles back up, Billy says, "Dad?"
When I look back at him, he is still scratching at the ear. But his free hand is pointing out in the direction his mother went, at small, dark shapes moving steadily up the road toward us. Growing as they come, the shapes gradually transform themselves into dogs. Fanned out across the road, they move at a stiff trot. In the lead are five large animals, jaws open, tongues lolling. Behind are five or six more, shifting in and out of view as they move. All of them run silently behind their shadows, nosing the blood scent.

Early Reviews of The Hayfield

Marilyn Crosby

...

Filtros

Max Gordon