“No.” Mom grabbed my shoulders and spun me around.
Caleb was staring right at me. Me and my now-snaggled poufy do.
I froze with hands in my hair like a baboon.
Caleb sauntered over with an amused grin. “You two are the loudest fire starters I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Minus the fire. Show me your technique.”
Mom placed the flint close to the straw, not my head, and struck it while I blew on the sparks.
“That’s pretty good,” said Caleb. “But let me show you how it might work better.”
He demonstrated, making smoke curl up before sprinkling it with dirt to extinguish it.
“Now you try.”
Mom and I did until, lo and behold, a tiny wisp of smoke climbed skyward.
“Woohoo!” I shouted. Unfortunately, I was still lying right beside the pile of straw, and our speck of a fire went out.
I refused to glance in Mom’s direction.
She cleared her throat. “Thanks for the help, Caleb. I’m sure Typhoon Tori and I can manage from here.”
He laughed. “Everyone gets excited about their first fire. Don’t blame her.”
I continued to lie where I was, blushing. “Thanks, Caleb.”
He nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you around, Tori,” he said, walking off to help someone else.
Mom nudged me. “He came to your defense,” she whispered. “So knight-in-shining-armor!”
“I guess,” I said with an eye roll. But my insides were doing a happy dance. “Let’s get this fire started.” I didn’t want to make Caleb feel like he’d wasted his time.
Instead of hunkering down, Mom stood up and brushed off her dress.
“You work on the fire while I check out the competition,” she said.
I goggled at her. “Are you serious? We shouldn’t even care how they’re doing until we can build ours.”
“I have faith in you. Besides,” Mom said with a wink, “if you mess up, it’ll give Caleb an excuse to come by.”
I mulled this over. “Maybe you should check out the competition.”
Mom grinned. “Be back soon.”
At the station beside ours, Dylan and Uncle Max already had a nice fire going. When Dylan saw me looking, he inclined his head and threw his arms open wide.
“Who’s the champ?” he bellowed.
“More like ‘who’s the chimp’?” I muttered, returning to my fire.
While I battled with the flint, an Angel-shaped shadow blocked out the sun.
“Please tell me you’re burning an offering to the god who destroys boy cousins.”
“Lord Dylan Killer?” I asked with a smirk. “No, I’m actually trying to start a fire.”
Angel kicked at the pile of straw. “Haven’t you had enough practice? How many fires have you made already?”
I rocked back onto my heels. “To me, it’s more about getting a feel—”
“So, zero.”
“Yeah, we may have set civilization back a thousand years.” I swiped at the flint with my knife. “I don’t get how this can be so difficult.”
“Use the filings.” Angel borrowed my flint, but instead of striking it, she used the blade to saw off silvery dust that coated the hay. “Try it now.”
I gave her a dubious look but did so, creating sparks and . . . fire!
Being careful not to shout it out of existence, I bent low and coaxed the flame to life with my breath.
“Ta-da!” said Angel.
“That’s amazing,” I said, watching the straw shrivel and brown under the extreme heat. “Why didn’t Caleb mention it?”
“Because he probably doesn’t watch YouTube,” said Angel with a smirk. “Like I said, I did a little research before we got here.”
“Well, thanks,” I said. “And if there’s anything I can help you with, just name it.”
She leaned closer. “Let’s just make sure Dylan doesn’t win the whole thing.”
We both turned to look at our cousin, who had a roaring fire going and had barbecued something over it. He cackled evilly and waved it at us.
“I guess this rabbit didn’t have any lucky feet!” he said.
Angel gasped and shielded her eyes.
“It’s probably not a real rabbit,” I assured her. “We would’ve smelled burning fur . . . .” I trailed off at the horrified expression on her face.
“I have to go inside,” she whispered, nearly colliding with Mom as she made her escape.
“Angel, honey, you okay?” Mom called after her. She turned to me with a frown. “What’s up with her? And Dylan, why are you cooking your socks?”
For the first time, I noticed his bare feet and rolled my eyes. “I told her it wasn’t rabbit.”
Dylan cackled again and turned away.
“Huh?” Mom’s forehead wrinkled but quickly ironed out when she spotted our fire.
“You did it!” She hugged me.
“Well, Angel helped,” I said, placing a couple of random twigs on the fire. “But I think I can manage from now on. What did you learn on your little scouting mission?”
Mom sat beside me. “Well, apparently Great-Cousin Meg and her husband have a nanny who steals from them, and Half-Cousin Jeff has a liiittle bit of a gambling problem, which—”
I put a hand on her arm. “What did you learn about their competitive skills?” I amended.
“Oh!” Mom tilted her hand from side to side. “Right now, I’d say we have a pretty good chance against almost everyone. Step-Niece Tamara can get a fire going quick, but since she’s afraid of them, she immediately screams and puts it out.”
“She’s afraid of fire?” I repeated. “What is she, a scarecrow?”
“She’s also afraid of heights and pushy salespeople,” said Mom.
“Hmm.” I poked at the fire. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”
Mom stared at me. “How, darling? Take her to the roof and try to sell her a car?”
“You said we have a pretty good chance against almost everyone,” I said. “I’m guessing Angel’s family and Dylan and Uncle Max are the real competition.”
“Bingo.” Mom fired a finger gun at me. “Dylan doesn’t act very bright, but he has moments that make me wonder if that’s all it is—just an act.”
I looked past Mom to where Dylan and Max’s fire station had been. All that remained was a smoldering pile of ash and a stick holding two barbecued socks.
“You should put out that fire,” said Mom, nudging me. “We have some more tasks to learn before supper.”
Since it was a small fire, I grabbed a cup of water sitting on the ground and splashed it onto the flames. They shot up higher, and I squealed. Mom yanked me back and kicked dirt at the base, smothering the flames.
“What was that?” she demanded.
I lifted the cup and sniffed. A strong odor of kerosene made me cough and gag. “Gas!”
“How can that be?” she asked.
“I’ll give you one guess,” I said.
I went in search of a faucet for some actual water to wash my hands. Instead, I found Caleb.
“Hey, I saw that fire you had going!” he told me. “Nice job!”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. I decided not to mention just how big it got. “Filing off some of the flint helped.”
He nodded. “I didn’t want to suggest it, since you only get once piece to last the whole time you’re here, but that’s a quick way to do it.” He eyed my hands. “If you’re trying to clean up, we have a pump by the servants’ quarters.”
I followed him, and he rolled up his sleeves to get the pump going. While I ducked my hands under the water, he worked the handle. Something on his wrist glinted in the sunlight.
“I didn’t know colonial men wore bracelets,” I said, wiping my hands on my dress.
“A few did,” said Caleb. “But this is more a family pride thing.” He held the bracelet out for my inspection. It was a piece of black braided leather with a strip of copper attached in
the middle. The initials PR were stamped in the copper.
“This reminds me of my dad,” I said, touching the outline. I explained about his flattened-coin collection. “What do the initials stand for?”
“Paul Revere,” said Caleb. “He’s one of my ancestors.”
“Paul Revere?” I gawked at him. “The Paul Revere? As in ‘The British are coming!’?”
“So you’ve heard of him,” said Caleb with a grin. “Most girls aren’t impressed by that.”
I made a face. “Well, I think we established I’m a bit of a nerd, so . . .”
“I like it,” said Caleb.
“Oh.” My cheeks warmed. “Cool. So . . . uh . . . where did you get the bracelet?”
“I made it,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “If you want, I can show you, and you can make one with your dad’s initials.”
A broad smile crossed my face. “I’d love that.”
Caleb smiled back. “Great!” he said. “Can you meet me here after supper, or will you be busy?”
“It’s the imaginary 1600s,” I said. “What would I be busy doing?”
“I don’t know.” Caleb scratched his head and grinned. “That fire took an awful lot of your time.”
“Hey!” I playfully pushed him.
He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Since it won’t take you any time at all to start a fire, I’ll expect to see you here after the canary pudding.”
I made a face. “And I will be here before the canary pudding.”
Caleb laughed. “It’s made with lemons, not birds. I promise.”
Eli whistled for all of us to gather around to learn a new skill, but I was only half listening. I wasn’t sure what made me more nervous . . . canary pudding or a kind-of, maybe date with Caleb.
“Because that’s what it is, right? A date?” I asked Mom later. We were up in our room, sprawled across the bed as comfortably as our gowns would allow. I’d just filled her in on my conversation with Caleb.
“I’m not sure,” she said with a frown. “I’ve never dated a colonial gentleman. I guess it depends on if he offers you a bouquet of corn and polishes his shoe buckles.”
I rolled my eyes. “He didn’t ask Angel as far as I know, so it might be a date. But it could just be because I admired his bracelet.”
Mom patted my leg. “Yes, honey, that’s it. He’s interested in you because you have the same taste in jewelry.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “So it is a date.”
Mom groaned and rubbed her temples. “Does it really matter?”
“I need to know. How I act will depend on whether or not we’re just friends or something more.”
“Why don’t you quit worrying so much and just enjoy it?” asked Mom. “Live for the moment.”
“Says the woman who freaked when Funk saw her in a bathrobe.”
Mom popped me across the face with a pillow.
“You’re lucky I can barely move in this dress or I’d get you back,” I said. “I think my sweat made it extra starchy.”
She leaned toward me and wrinkled her nose. “It made it extra something, anyway.”
“What?” I ducked my head into an armpit. “Whoa!”
In the ripeness category, I could definitely give Dylan a run for his money.
“I need deodorant,” I said, getting off the bed and heading for the bathroom door.
“Um . . . Tori? Slight problem!” Mom called after me.
I stopped halfway and whirled to face her. “We don’t have deodorant!” I gasped. “And I have to meet Caleb after canary pudding!”
Mom frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Do the canaries make the pudding, or . . .”
I grabbed Mom by the shoulders. “Focus! What do I do?”
“Take a shower and try to not lift your arms,” she said.
I turned my back to her. “Here. Untie me so I can wash off this stink.”
Mom helped me out of the dress, and I made a beeline for the bathroom. Inside was a large copper tub. And no plumbing attached.
“Looks like you have to smell worse before you can smell better,” said Mom, picking up an empty bucket and holding it out.
I sighed. “Forget it. I saw some roses on the nightstand. I’ll just rub them under my arms.”
“Or maybe you could give Caleb a bloody nose,” said Mom. “That’ll keep him stopped up for days.”
“You do realize I will never take any of these ‘brilliant’ ideas of yours seriously?” I asked.
“You took graveyard hide-and-seek seriously,” said Mom. “And if I recall, you enjoyed it.”
She had me there.
“At least now I get why colonial women always walked around with bunches of flowers,” I said, selecting a few roses from the vase. “So they could bury their noses and avoid the stink of civilization.”
I swiped a few handfuls of petals under my arms and turned to see Mom doing lunges.
“What are you up to?” I asked. “Nobody can see your legs in that dress.”
“Well,” said Mom, huffing with each drop, “I figured that if I sweat like crazy and maximize my BO, you’ll smell better by comparison.”
I smiled at her. “Awww. Really? That’s disgusting but sweet!”
Mom winked at me and breathed deep. Then she coughed. “Yep. I’d say I’m almost there.”
Ten minutes later, we joined everyone for dinner, smelling of roses and rankness. If anyone noticed, they were polite enough not to say anything, although Angel’s nostrils twitched when I sat beside her.
“Be honest,” I whispered. “Do I stink?”
Angel reached for a plate of grilled leeks. “Not if I don’t breathe.”
“Perfect.” I pressed my arms against my sides. “Would you mind passing the ham?”
“You want me, a vegan, to hand you a platter of chopped-up pig?” she asked.
“Or I could reach across you and get it myself,” I said, lifting my arms.
Angel jumped into action and even slid several slices of ham onto my plate.
“Anything else?” she asked. “Some more pigeon, perhaps?”
I gave her a withering look. “Just some vegetables, thanks.”
She scooped them onto my plate, and I did my best to eat with my arms tucked against my chest.
“You look like a Tyrannosaurus rex,” she said. “And you don’t actually smell that bad. Not compared to your mom anyway.”
I snickered. “The things she does for love.”
“What?” Angel leaned back in her chair and looked around. “Funk is here?”
“No! Me.” I explained about Caleb, and Angel batted her eyelashes and pursed her lips.
“So sweet. But since he’s from colonial times, is your mom okay with you dating a 340-year-old?”
“Ha!” I pointed at her. “So it is a date!”
“Sounds like it to me,” said Angel. “I wasn’t invited, and I smell way better than you.”
“That settles it.” I scarfed down my ham and left my vegetables behind. “I have got to take a bath.”
“Good luck. There’s no running water,” said Angel.
“No,” I said. “But there is some water in the kitchen that someone set aside for coffee.”
I checked to make sure everyone was still engaged in dinner, then crept into the kitchen. Several pails of water sat next to the open hearth, waiting to be boiled. Surely nobody would miss one.
I hoisted a pail in one hand and grabbed a scrap of soap from a shelf of cleaning supplies. Then I snuck through a side door and up the stairs to the bathroom. It was the coldest, quickest bath I’d ever had, and the soap wasn’t exactly supermarket quality, but it took away the stench.
The clothes were another matter.
Luckily, in the wardrobe was one more dress each for Mom and me. I had a feeling it was supposed to wait until next week, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I ran my fingers through my hair and checked
my reflection in a mirror before creeping back downstairs. From the looks of things, everyone was finishing dessert, and the place at the table where Caleb sat was empty. My heart beat a little faster as I brushed past Mom and squeezed her shoulder before heading outside.
Caleb was standing next to the water pump and smiled when he saw me. I returned his smile and walked a little faster.
“You came!” he said. “We were wondering what happened to you.”
“We?” I stopped in my tracks as Dylan stepped out of the shadows beside Caleb.
Nope. This was definitely not a date.
Chapter Six
Family fun time,” I said with a forced smile. “Neat.”
Caleb cringed and shrugged. “Your cousin heard us talking, and apparently he’s really into making things with his hands.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please. The only thing he’s ever made with his hands is a fart trap.”
“Any guesses about the catch of the day?” asked Dylan, holding out his cupped palm.
Caleb wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “Let’s just head to the craft hut.”
He led the way to a tiny shack I hadn’t noticed on the opposite side of the manor. Outside it was planked wood, but the walls inside were a mix of woven wicker and cement.
“Wattle and daub,” Caleb corrected me when I mentioned it. “The wattle is the wood strips woven together, and the daub is the filler.”
I scratched at it with a fingernail. “Mud?”
“And horse droppings.”
My hand snapped back.
Caleb grinned, watching me wipe my fingers on my dress. “I probably shouldn’t tell you what you’ll be starting most fires with. And that is where the magic happens.”
He nodded to a glowing coal pit against one wall, and I realized just how warm it was in the room. Several deep clangs sounded beside us, and we spun around. Dylan had picked up a hammer and was striking a row of hanging metal discs, one after the other.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Dylan the Destroyer on drums!” he shouted to an imaginary crowd.
“Don’t!” Caleb snatched the hammer away. “Nobody’s going to buy those plates if they’re warped.”
“Nobody’s going to buy them anyway,” said Dylan, pulling one off its hook. “They’re too dirty to eat off of.”
“They’re not for holding food,” said Caleb. “They’re decorative.”
Colonial Madness Page 5