The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

should be playing on his court. Maybe it should be left, undisturbed, as a shrine to him. However, Tom had no such compunctions. He grabbed a ball and started shooting baskets. He was a slightly smaller version of me—not quite as tall, not quite as quick. But give him a couple of years.
    “Let’s have a game,” Tom said, as Kate and Ed took turns shooting with Tom.
    Archie had already disappeared up into the hay bales. The only fair way for the rest of us to play two on two was for Kate and me to take on Tom and Ed. That was all right with me, since it was just for fun. Actually, Kate was almost as tall as Ed and looked a lot more like a basketball player than he did. And she could shoot. It was too bad Carter didn’t have a girls’ basketball team.
    Tom chose to guard Kate, which left Ed on me. Ed played a bowling ball defense, which could be effective if I didn’t keep out of his way, as fouls were rarely called in the barn. But I was taller and quicker than he was and didn’t have any problem getting shots. So I concentrated on feeding the ball to Kate and setting picks, so that she could drive by Tom for easy layups. Having a girl score on him would keep him from getting too smug. On defense, Kate was all knees and elbows and gave Tom a hard time, while I played Ed loosely because he couldn’t shoot worth a damn.
    Kate and I were the first to twenty. It was obvious that Ed didn’t want to play anymore, so Tom took Kate up to the top of the haystack and showed her how to slide down the steep slope. I looked at Ed to see if he wanted to join them.
    “Let’s go up in the hay bales,” Ed said.
    I thought I had outgrown making forts out of hay bales, but if that’s what he wanted to do. I led the way up the bales to where Archie was busily dragging around the hundred-pounders with great effort, using a hay hook he had found, and creating a hideaway for himself.
    “How do they get the bales in here?” Ed asked.
    I had watched it being done. “The other end of the hayloft opens up,” I said, pointing to the end by the road. The bales are brought up on a conveyor belt. Once they’re up here, there’s an apparatus like a large fork that can pick up multiple bales at one time. The fork is transported by a rope and pulley system to this end of the barn where the bales are dropped. Then they have to be stacked by hand.”
    I pointed out the end of the rope that came down from the peak of the barn and rested on top of the bales in coils. Ralph and I had swung out over the basketball court on this rope, but I didn’t consider it a safe thing to do, particularly for Ed, who didn’t seem to be all that coordinated. I didn’t want to be responsible for him getting hurt, so I didn’t mention the possibility.
    “And the loose hay?”
    “Is brought up on a conveyor belt and dumped. Although carting loose hay around is less efficient than baling it. Once that pile is gone, I don’t think they’ll create any more. Then the sliding days of Tom and Kate will be over.”
    I added the last because I saw that Tom and Kate were already going down the slide in tandem, Tom behind with his arms around Kate. Did I feel a tinge of jealousy? I had never been able to work that fast with a girl.
    “When will all this hay be gone?”
    “Most of it will be used this winter to feed the cows on the next farm. The owner has the use of the barn and farms the land also. Why this sudden interest in farming? Are you thinking of taking it up?”
    Ed smiled. “Yeah, I’d make a great farmer. If I could only figure out which end of the cow to milk. No, I was just wondering, because when the hay is gone, you could set up a full-sized basketball court with a basket at each end.”
    “By that time, I’ll be getting ready for college.” And presumably be back living with my parents.
    “Are those things heavy?” Ed asked Archie.
    Archie, who was sweating as much as we basketball players, gave the hook to Ed, who tried to lift a bale.
    “Whew, they weigh a ton,” he said.
    Another reason why he wasn’t cut out to be a farmer.
    “You wouldn’t be able to make a fort that was very deep,” he continued.
    “Not without a lot of work,” I said, from the superior position of someone who had stacked hay bales five-high on a wagon pulled behind a baling machine.
    “I guess it would be impossible to dig down to the floor right here,” he said, walking over to the wall that the bales abutted.
    I followed him. “That’s about