by Shane Lee
“I’m not going to pull you all the way to town,” Monty told her as their mother brought the small wooden wagon to a stop by the house.
“Mom is,” Terra said, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
Delila smiled. “It’s been too long since I gave you a good wagon ride, dear. And I don’t want you overdoing it if you’re feeling sick.”
Of course his mother had noticed Terra’s strange behavior, too. Monty felt a little bad; maybe Terra was sick, and she just didn’t want to admit it so she wouldn’t get holed up in her room until she got better. It would explain why she kept dodging harvest work, when usually she loved to pull the corn from the parts of the stalks she could reach.
“All right. I’ll pull her,” Monty said to his mother. “But not all the way. You’re too old to ride in the wagon like a little kid.”
Delila was tying her small purse to the waist of her dress. “As I recall, Monty, you liked wagon rides just fine when you were her age. We’ll go to Kettle’s first. Audrey should have something to offer. And Terra, you can say hello to Ma Kettle.”
Monty held back a groan. Ma Kettle was, probably, the oldest person in the whole village of Irisa, and she talked nonstop to anyone who approached her. Terra liked her because she usually gave her gifts, just small stuff from around the Kettle’s general store.
He grabbed the handle of the wagon and tugged. Terra, who had sat up, fell backward with a little laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Let’s get moving,” Delila said, setting off at a brisk pace. “It’ll be dark soon.”
4
Irisa had three buildings with more than one story, and two of them were the churches, each on the opposite side of the town, to accommodate the size of the gatherings. The third two-story building was Kettle’s general store, which the Kettle family lived above.
The walk to the village had gone fast; his mother’s urgent gait and his own barely-concealed enjoyment in pulling Terra along had hurried them along, though he did make her get out when they were a half-mile from town. They approached Irisa from the wide northern opening of the main road.
Irisa swelled with just over a thousand people. The town was not big nor wealthy, but it housed many tradesmen, and was well-built. The streets were dirt but lined with smooth stone denoting walkways through the village. The homes themselves were wood and stone, with more of the latter on the wealthier side of town. There were tall lanterns at most corners, lit every night. The fires would dance on the clean glass windows of the houses around them, and smudge to a glow in the dirty ones.
At the far end of the main road was the office of the constable and the Judge, as well as several other town officials. It was a modest building that housed not-so-modest people. Judge Mullen wouldn’t spare Monty the time of day; he had tried to involve himself in the conversation when the Judge had talked to his mother about the farm, but it didn’t go well. He could learn a lot from the man, but Judge Mullen was not a willing teacher. Once Monty handled more of the farm, maybe he would be more respected. He’d have liked to go into the building and look around some.
But for now, they were going to the shop.
Kettle’s was toward the southern side of Irisa, opposite where they had come in, so they still had a bit of walking to do. Delila led the way, and Monty rolled his eyes as she ran into person after person that she knew; family after family she had to catch up with. People didn’t like the Dromm, but they liked his mother.
“Delila! When did we come to the farm last?”
“Is this Terra? So pretty. And Monty, strong like his dad.”
“So sorry about Montille, he was a good man.”
“Please come by our house, Delila, we have some nice shirts the children grew out of.”
Monty had been hearing the likes of these ever since his father had died. It had been saddening at first, then it had become infuriating; now, it had settled to annoying.
The last of these comments came from Meera Sand, the mother of a fairly well-off family who lived in the village. She was short, dark-haired, a bit plump, and often used more words than was strictly necessary.
She was a good friend of most town officials, but Monty didn’t think he had anything to learn from Meera Sand; just the sound of her voice got his hackles up, even if she was well-meaning.
Hers wasn’t the first charity offer they’d gotten, and it certainly wasn’t the first time Monty had heard his mother’s response.
“That’s very kind, Meera, but all is well,” Delila told her, which was mostly true, but she would say it when things weren’t so well, too. Like when, just after father had died, the butcher had given them a second package of beef hock with a small, concerned smile. Standing next to her then, Monty could practically feel his mother’s skin ice over.
“Just one, Horace. Thank you. Kindly.” And she slid the wrapped meat back to the man without looking away from his eyes. Her expression was polite, but her aura bound him to meek silence.
She didn’t give the same freeze to Meera, but she was just as dismissive. Meera, who had been described by Delila as ‘kind, but bird-skulled,’ returned Delila’s thin smile with a wide one of her own.
“I know you’ve some shopping to do,” Meera said, flipping her hand at the wagon. “With the winter coming. Farming must be such hard work. No wonder you’re so big and strong.” This compliment landed on Monty, who nodded along.
Terra, bless her, started to walk ahead of them, so their mother said a quick goodbye to Meera and they continued south to Kettle’s.
“I wish people would just let us be,” Monty said to his mother.
“Don’t say that,” Delila admonished. “The people in Irisa are very thoughtful. You should be so lucky.”
“But...” Monty looked toward the retreating figure of Meera as she trundled to the east side of the village. “Meera annoys you to the grave. That’s what you said.”
“Hmph.” Delila shot a look at Monty. “Don’t repeat things like that. That stays within our home.”
“So you don’t like her.”
“Monty,” Delila said. “It’s not about that. Everyone deals with grief in their own way, and everyone else thinks they know what other people need. You thank them for thinking of you, and then you let it be. Do you understand?”
In all honesty, Monty replied, “Not really. Terra would like a new shirt.”
“If Terra wants a new shirt, then I will get her one.” His mother’s words were short; clipped. “I will decide what my family needs.”
Aware he was treading on dangerous territory, Monty didn’t pursue the issue. He pulled the wagon along while his mother called ahead to Terra and told her to get back with them before she got lost, which made Monty think of the Dromm.
“Stay by me,” Monty said to Terra when she came back.
“I hope Ma Kettle has somethin for me,” Terra said, energy in her feet. A trip to the village seemed to be just what she needed to come out of her lethargic spell.
“She’ll have something,” Monty assured her, glancing at the sprawling building of the Irisa officials as they strolled by it.
Kettle’s rose above the surrounding little shops unimpressively. The Kettle family seemed to focus all maintenance and upkeep on the lower half of the building, which served as the store. Well-stained wood; clear-lettered signs; shining, clean glass in the windows; all united by a habit of keeping the door wide open all day unless it was too cold outside. It was friendly and welcoming. The top half, where the family lived, well; you might forget it was even there.
Irisa was not densely populated. The few people going in and out of Kettle’s meant it was a busy day, busy enough that even Ma Kettle might be doing some form of work, at the protest of her daughter.
Monty noticed worry flit across his mother’s face, quickly replaced by exasperation as Terra ran ahead again and bounded up the steps to the entrance landing.
“Guess she really wants those chickens,” Monty joked, and D
elila responded with a distracted smile. He pulled the wagon to the side of the store, the empty wire cages they had brought for the new chickens giving a hearty rattle as the wheels came to a stop. He dropped the handle to the ground, where it rested alongside three others.
“Terra, wait for us!” Monty called, and she stopped just in front of the open door, in the way of a man exiting. The man walked around her, Terra oblivious as she watched her family come up the steps. Delila held out her hand for her daughter’s, and Terra begrudgingly took it as the three of them went inside Kettle’s.
For a small village, Kettle’s was a large store, as travelers off the main road made up a good portion of its business. Monty watched his mother’s eyes scan over the shelves and hanging baskets of goods, mostly looked over by the bustle of customers inside. Her fingers rested on the leather hide of her purse.
“Keep an eye on Terra,” she told Monty, letting the young girl’s hand free as she spoke. Terra immediately headed to the back of the store where Ma Kettle usually sat. “I’ll look into the matter of the chickens.”
“Let me talk to Mrs. Kettle. I mean, Audrey,” Monty said. “I can handle it.”
“I need you to stay with your sister.” She gestured to Terra, who was now out of their view.
Another day, Monty might have argued with his mother that he should be the one to get the chickens and talk to the Kettles—wife and husband Audrey and Henry. He would have said it would be good for him to have this experience, to learn the family business, to learn how to dicker like his mother could, and to gain some respect from the people in Irisa who still thought of him as a kid from one of the Dromm farms.
But today, his mother was on edge from the death of the chickens and Terra’s good-natured rambunctiousness and Meera’s well-intended, insufferable outreach, so Monty just said, “Okay,” and pardoned himself past a few patrons in the search for Terra.
He saw her slip around a family of three on her way to the opposite side of the store. Brushing past the same three, he spotted Ma Kettle, who was in fact not working today. Her daughter and son-in-law must have managed to convince her to just stay and rest in her chair, or maybe they had paid some kid from town a light coin or two to help during the end of the season. Either way, Terra was right there, and Ma Kettle was already talking to her.
As much as Terra focused on getting some trinket or other from Ma, she really did love listening to whatever she had to say. Ma Kettle had good Dromm stories; surely more than anyone else had. And she would ask Terra what she had done since she had last seen her. Monty surmised that she missed having younger children of her own, even though she had several grandchildren.
“...help Monty with the corn because I didn’t feel like it this time,” Terra was saying, perhaps sounding a little too proud of the fact that she had shirked most of the harvest.
“You do have to help your family, sweetheart,” Ma Kettle chided, giving a little shake of her head.
“I know,” Terra said. “I think I’m sick.”
“Oh, and here’s Montille!” Ma Kettle raised her eyes to Monty as he walked toward them.
“It’s Monty, Ma Kettle,” he corrected her, but warmly. Ma Kettle was old and garrulous, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharp, almost surprisingly so. She appeared slight and misty-eyed, with her long gray hair done up in a sizable bun atop her head, but she didn’t forget things, and he’d seen her lift a bushel of potatoes bigger than Terra. She was raised a working woman, and she never let those roots escape her.
“You can be Monty to the young ones,” Ma Kettle said. “I like a proper, full name. I let you all get away with calling me Ma this and Ma that, but that don’t mean I can’t have my privileges!”
Monty grinned inwardly at the thought of Ma Kettle lumping in his mother (and Audrey and Henry) among those young ones. “That’s okay, Ma. You can call me Montille.”
“You do remind me of your father, you know. You both do.” Ma Kettle surveyed the siblings, sitting back a bit in her stiff wooden chair to get a full look at Monty. “Got his eyes, the pair of you. And you, Montille, you’re a well-read boy, just like him. Not a lot of farmers are.”
Terra, who had heard this from Ma Kettle about a hundred times, didn’t respond, but Monty gave the old woman a smile.
“Anyway. Terra, you were telling me about the other day.” She put her attention back on the girl.
Terra immediately started up again. “I wasn’t sleeping very good...”
Monty resigned himself to listening to the two of them go back and forth for the next five minutes, or ten minutes, or hour, or day. He glanced around. His mother was off to the side of the counter, talking to Audrey Kettle. He wished he could hear what they were saying, but they were too far away.
“...that’s when Monty found me. I didn’t even know where I was!”
Monty froze. No, Terra, you didn’t.
“In the Dromm forest?” Ma Kettle said, drawing back a bit.
Terra nodded. “Yeah. It was really scary. I just went to sleep in my bed and then I woke up in there. And I thought I saw—”
“Terra.” Monty spoke her name with weight. “Come on. We have to go. Sorry, Ma.”
“Aw,” Terra started, but Monty grabbed her hand.
Ma Kettle looked closely at Terra, not blinking her eyes. She softened when Terra smiled. “It’s a busy day, lovely girl. Here, take this, and make sure you help your brother with the harvest.”
Terra brightened with about three shades of delight when Ma Kettle produced a little carved wooden doll; a girl’s figure about two inches tall. It was a rough piece of work, but for the wonder in her eyes, Terra might have been handed the key to the whole store.
“Thank you, thank you, Ma!” she said. “It’s so pretty, I love her!” And she broke free of Monty’s hand to give the old woman a hug. Terra’s hair rustled like it was blowing in the wind, then settled down over her back.
“Oh! Saints, it’s not all that. Go on, now.” Ma Kettle didn’t return her hug, but Terra hardly noticed. She bounced away with Monty, eyes glued to the small toy in her hands.
Delila was still talking with Audrey. Monty steered Terra away, back out of the store and into the corner of the raised landing, out of the way of people coming and going.
“Are we leaving?” Terra asked, finally lifting her head from the doll.
“No.” Monty got down on one knee. “Terra, why did you go and tell Ma Kettle about the Dromm? I told you not to tell anyone.”
“You said not to tell mom.” Terra crouched, making the stiff wooden figure walk along the ground. The arms moved back and forth, but the legs didn’t.
Monty bristled. She wasn’t wrong, but still. “You know better than to tell somebody from town you were in the Dromm woods. And telling her that you just woke up there! She’s gonna think you’re some kind of a...a changeling.”
Terra gripped her toy in her first, looking up at Monty. “Am I a changeling?”
“No. You’re not a changeling,” Monty growled, aware that she was teasing him and taking the bait anyway, “but you know what some people think about the Dromm. Especially older folks like Ma Kettle. And if you tell people you’re waking up in the Dromm, they’re gonna think...it’s just, it’s not a good thing to go blabbing about, you get it?”
“Yeah,” Terra said, playing with her toy again.
Monty didn’t want to tell her that Ma Kettle talked to everyone, and that keeping things private wasn’t counted among her skills. Not to mention that there were other townspeople around who might have heard what she said. Terra wouldn’t get it. Or worse, it would make her scared enough to tell their mother what had happened.
“Just don’t tell anyone else about that, okay?” Monty said, putting a finger under her chin and pulling her head up to look at her. “That is a secret for me and you only, you got it?”
Terra nodded, her eyes going wide as some of the situation’s gravity settled on her.
“Tell me.”
Monty let his breath out. “I’m sorry, Terra. It’s just important. Come on.” He stood. “Let’s get back inside.”
They found their mother just as she was saying goodbye to Audrey. “She doesn’t have any chickens,” she said to both of them, but mostly to Monty.
“Should we...see if the neighbors want to sell?” Monty suggested. It seemed no whispers of Terra’s story had reached her ears.
Delila shook her head. “Audrey said she will be getting some day after next and she’ll set two aside for us.”
“Where’s she gonna put ‘em?” Terra asked.
“She’ll just keep them safe, dear,” Delila responded. “And we’ll come back and get them.”
“I’ll pick them up,” Monty immediately offered. He didn’t want Terra coming back so soon and risk her talking about the Dromm again. And it would be nice to do some farm business on his own. “Save you the trip.”
His mother nodded. “That’ll be fine. Thank you. Let’s get back home, now. We don’t need anything else.”
“In the wagon, Terra,” Monty said, hopping down the steps and pulling it away from the wall. The wheels creaked. “We’re still gonna have some daylight to pick corn.”
5
The harvest continued that evening, and this time Terra did help. Ma Kettle’s influence on her stretched all the way back to their farm, it seemed; even in the blinding wake of her new toy. Amused, Monty wondered if he’d ever be able to get that kind of respect from Terra. Thinking about how she had almost immediately broken their tacit promise of secrecy about the Dromm, he figured it wouldn’t be for a long time.
The sun dipped lower and lower as he, Terra, and Delila paced through the rows of corn, plucking ears from the stalks and stuffing them in the harvesting sacks. The burlap was old and worse for wear, but resilient, and Monty relished the familiar weight of the bag as it filled with the crop. The leafy stalks cast spiky shadows on him, and corn silk clung to his hair and clothes.