Farm Living

When the older children returned from the fields they all gathered for a hurried conference while they washed up.

“I think we should go.” Gerhardt said. “I don’t like the way the lady looks at us.”

“I think we should stay as long as they let us. We have food and shelter.” Mirabelle countered.

“She doesn’t like us,” Adolphus said. “And she serves onion porridge for breakfast.”

Bettina stuck out her tongue.

“It was better than your turnips, actually,” Claire said.

Bettina waggled her tongue back and forth, making a horrible face.

“Look,” Annabelle said, “she probably doesn’t like having six more mouths to feed or a great horde of strangers taking up all the space in her tiny house. That doesn’t make her bad. If you lot moved into my room I would be grumpy too. Even more if you were strangers.”

“I don’t like to impose,” Claire said.

“We worked hard today!” Adolphus said. “I don’t know about you house types, but we field hands were dashed helpful. I must say I’m a bit sore. All those times, back home on the airship, we flew above farms, you know, and all the farm hands stop their work and wave up at the airship… well, it all looked so jolly. It’s not so jolly on the ground, more sweaty and uncomfortable.”

“You’d better rethink your career as a farmhand, then.” Annabelle examined a fresh blister on her hand.

“I’m not a farmhand. I’m an explorer.” Adolphus thought a moment. “Which is also sweaty and uncomfortable, but not so repetitive.”

“She’s looking at us,” Gerhardt murmured.

“Wash Bettina’s face again,” Claire advised.

“No!” Bettina backed away, covering her face with her hands. “Clean!”

“Fine. Get behind Gerhardt’s ears.”

“What?” Gerhardt yelped.

Adolphus cheerfully pounced on his brother, holding his head over the basin. Mirabelle filled a ladle from the hot water barrel and poured it over the back of his head. Their victim spluttered and called them names, offended by both the scalding and the injustice.

“You know what I’ve been thinking, Claire?” Annabelle said.

“Boys never clean behind their ears?”

“If we keep moving, how will our parents find us?”

The matter was settled for them at dinner.

“Ung eee goooon,” Adolphus began. He stopped as Annabelle shoved her fork in his leg. It didn’t hurt, as the fork was made of wood, but he stopped, swallowed, and started again.

“Please convey to Mrs. Gwen,” he said to his fork-wielding sister, “that this roast is excellent, and she is a fine cook and thoughtful hostess.”

Annabelle translated, but Bettina looked at him through her eyelashes, brow wrinkled.

“Don’t worry, love,” Claire said to her. “He’s just being charming. It will pass.”

“No, this is really good.” He waved a laden fork. “First meat I’ve had in over a week!”

Gerhardt had eaten all his peas, and all the yellow mushy stuff. He always saved the best for last. He poked at the brown slab on his leaf plate, deciding where to start cutting, and gasped.

“It’s not meat,” he said. He turned his steak so the others could see it. Incised in the flesh were letters – ‘My’.

“What is that?” Mirabelle was furthest away from him.

“It’s the name I carved in our boat,” he said. “We’ve eaten our life raft. Now we’re stuck.”