Konitah - a Short Story
Page 2
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Early the following morning the twins woke their mother. “Mama! Mama! Tell us the story again!”
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Grabbing both of the boys and pulling them under the sheets with her.
“No! Stories are for bedtime.”
Nasho and Hamee lay still beside her. She gave them each a hug and jumped out of bed. “Come on, who’s hungry?”
The three of them raced off to the kitchen. Marilla built a fire. She put a small pot with water over the flames. Soon, as the water boiled, she made them porridge from the maize Uragi bought from dead Mister Coltar’s widow – Konitah’s mother.
After she fed the twins, washed and dressed them, she poured a few buckets of water into the bathtub. She soaked in it for half an hour, before she got out and dressed herself.
It was summertime. The apples and pears in the orchard in their backyard were ripe, ready for harvesting. Uragi planted a year ago some pear trees as well. This was the first year of picking pears too.
The twins were playing next to the baskets of fruit. Marilla was busy filling the third basket when her husband joined them, helping her.
“Where were you early morning?” She asked.
“I had to go into town, had things to do.”
She looked at Uragi. His answer wasn’t convincing, but she left it there and kept on picking fruit from the tree. “We have a good crop this year.”
“Yes, the fruit is beautiful.” He glanced at his wife. “I’m going hunting this afternoon.” Without waiting for his wife’s reaction, he took two of the baskets and carried it into the house.
Marilla stared at him before she grabbed the third basket and followed.
“Are you going alone?” She put the basket on the table and stared at him.
“No, Gutra and Jesto will join me.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You shouldn’t go into the woods, it’s dangerous.”
“We will be out of there before dark.” He took his bow and arrows out of the closet, along with his hunting knife.
With a worried look in her eye, Marilla unpacked the basket of apples. She began peeling them, cutting them down to size.
Glancing at her husband, she filled a pot with water and put it on the fire. “I will bake us a pie from some of the apples.”
He smiled. It was his favorite. “There is more than enough, can’t you bake two pies?”
She nodded, smiled back and put more apples aside. She would make jam from the rest. When the water boiled, she put the apples with some honey in the pot. The pears would be cooked up as well, to make jam and sold at the market in Brumahdor.