Montana Promise
Copyright© 2026 by Komiko Yakamura
Chapter 7
August came in hot and relentless. The wheat turned from green to gold, heavy heads bending in the heat. Every morning, Elias walked the field, checking the kernels, waiting for the exact right moment to harvest. Too early and they’d lose yield. Too late and they’d lose it to weather or birds or any of a dozen disasters that could strike.
“Soon,” he said one morning at breakfast. “Maybe three days. Four at most.”
Ellie Mae nodded, making notes in her ledger. “We’ll need help. There’s no way the two of us can harvest forty acres alone.”
“I was thinking of asking John. If he’s up to it.”
“His leg’s healed enough for light work. And they could use the money.” She tapped her pencil against the page. “We should pay fair wages. Two dollars a day plus meals.”
“That’s generous.”
“That’s right.” She looked at him. “We’re not going to be the kind of ranchers who exploit their workers. We pay fair or we don’t hire.”
He loved her fierceness. Loved how she saw the world in terms of justice and fairness, not just profit and loss.
“Fair wages it is,” he agreed.
That afternoon, they rode over to the Brennans’. John was in the yard, practicing walking without his crutches. He still limped heavily, but he was moving under his own power.
“Elias! Ellie Mae!” Sarah came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. “What brings you by?”
“Business,” Elias said. “We need help with harvest. Thought John might be interested.”
John’s face lit up. “You serious?”
“Dead serious. Two dollars a day plus meals. Light work—you’d be loading the wagon, not swinging a scythe. Probably a week’s work, maybe ten days.”
“When do we start?”
“Three days. Maybe four.”
John looked at Sarah, who nodded enthusiastically. “We’re in,” he said. “And thank you. We’ve been ... things have been tight since the accident.”
“That’s what neighbors do,” Ellie Mae said, and Sarah smiled at the familiar phrase.
They also hired two men from town—drifters looking for harvest work. Elias knew them slightly, knew they were hard workers who didn’t cause trouble. With five people working, they could get the wheat in before weather turned.
The night before harvest, Ellie Mae couldn’t sleep. She lay in the darkness, listening to Elias breathe beside her, thinking about everything riding on this crop. If the harvest was good, they’d be secure for another year. If it failed...
“Stop worrying,” Elias murmured. “I can hear you thinking.”
“How do you know I’m worrying?”
“Because I know you.” He pulled her against him. “The wheat’s good. The weather’s holding. We’re going to be fine.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can know that we’ll face whatever comes together. That’s enough.”
She burrowed into his warmth, letting his certainty ease her fears. He was right. Whatever happened, they’d face it together.
Harvest started at dawn. The air was already hot, promising a scorching day. Elias and the two hired men—Pete and Sam—moved through the wheat with scythes, cutting it in rhythmic sweeps. John loaded the cut wheat onto the wagon, moving slowly but steadily. Ellie Mae and Sarah followed behind, gathering any stalks that were missed, tying them into sheaves.
It was brutal work. By mid-morning, everyone was drenched in sweat. Ellie Mae’s back ached from bending, her hands were raw despite gloves, and chaff had worked its way into every piece of clothing she wore.
But the wheat was coming in. Golden and heavy and perfect.
At noon, they broke for dinner. Ellie Mae and Sarah had prepared food the night before—cold chicken, biscuits, pickles, apple pie. They ate in the shade of the cottonwoods, too tired to talk much, then went back to work.
By evening, they’d cleared maybe five acres. Thirty-five to go.
“Good first day,” Elias said as they watched Pete and Sam head back to town. “We keep this pace, we’ll be done in a week.”
John was limping badly, his leg clearly paining him. Sarah noticed and frowned.
“You overdid it,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurting. Don’t lie to me, John Brennan.”
“It’s just sore. Nothing some rest won’t fix.” But he winced as he climbed onto their wagon.
After they left, Elias turned to Ellie Mae. “He’s going to cripple himself if he keeps pushing that hard.”
“I know. But they need the money. And he needs to feel useful again.” She sighed. “We’ll keep an eye on him. If it gets too bad, we’ll send him home.”
That night, Ellie Mae was too tired to even climb the ladder. She fell asleep at the kitchen table, her head pillowed on her arms. Elias carried her up to bed, and she barely stirred.
The next day was the same. And the next. Cut, gather, load, haul. The work was endless, mindless, exhausting. But the wheat kept coming in, pile after golden pile.
On the fourth day, John’s leg gave out.
He was loading the wagon when it buckled. He went down hard, crying out in pain. Sarah screamed. Elias got there first, with Ellie Mae right behind.
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