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Source written for Revision Library (original, copyright-free). An extract from an original modern tragedy, Act Two, Scene Three, composed for the purposes of A-level drama study. This text is not extracted from, and does not paraphrase, any published or in-copyright play.
THE LAST HARVEST
Act Two, Scene Three (extract)
1 (The yard of Fenwick Farm. An October afternoon; the sky is the colour of a bruise. Above the valley, crows lift from the elms in a black, wheeling cloud and do not return.)
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3 (EDMUND VANE, fifty-eight, stands at the yard gate, a lantern unlit in his hand. ROSALIND, his daughter, watches from the porch. WILL COAKLEY, the farmhand, leans on a hurdle, chewing a stem of grass.)
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5 ROSALIND: Father, the river's over Marsh Bottom already. Enoch Prewitt rode down to say the sluice at Yardley broke at noon.
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7 EDMUND: Enoch Prewitt would ride down to say the sky had fallen, if he thought I'd give him supper for the telling of it.
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9 ROSALIND: The cattle are still in the low meadow.
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11 EDMUND: Then the low meadow is where they'll stand till I say otherwise. I have brought thirty harvests off this land, and not one flood has had the cheek to cross my fences while I watched them.
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13 WILL: Beggin' pardon, master, but the old dyke's not held since your father's time. Widow Cole says the crows haven't roosted on the elms these forty year, not till this morning.
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15 EDMUND: Widow Cole. (He laughs, short and hard.) A woman who reads doom in a kettle's whistle. Will Coakley, take the lantern and see the gate is barred. I'll not have Fenwick land run by the fright of old women and the flapping of birds.
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17 ROSALIND: (Quietly, to herself) It is not the birds I am afraid of, Father. It is you, who will not hear them.
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19 EDMUND: What's that?
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21 ROSALIND: Nothing. (She comes down into the yard.) Move the herd tonight, and lose an evening's grazing. Leave them, and you may lose the herd, the meadow, and the name of a man who was warned.
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23 EDMUND: I built this farm out of clay and stubbornness, girl, and I'll not be told my judgement by a slip of a daughter who has read too many of her mother's storybooks. The river has tried Fenwick before. Fenwick has always won.
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25 WILL: (Aside, to Rosalind, as EDMUND turns to go) Every farmer who ever drowned said much the same, miss, the night before the water came up over his boots.
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27 ROSALIND: Will. Fetch the men from the bottom field, quietly, and bring the herd up by the top track. Do it without asking him.
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29 WILL: And if he asks me why the beasts are moved?
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31 ROSALIND: Tell him a daughter's fear weighed more than his pride. He may forgive you for it. He will not forgive the river.
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33 (WILL exits. Thunder, distant. EDMUND stands alone at the gate, looking out over the darkening fields, the unlit lantern still in his hand.)
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35 EDMUND: (To himself, half in wonder, half defiance) Thirty years the river has crept to my fences and crept away again, like a dog that knows its master's boot. Let it come tonight, if it dares. Let it see what Edmund Vane will yield, and what he will not.
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37 (He does not light the lantern. Behind him, unseen, the first crow returns to the elms, alone, and is silent. Blackout.)