by Hannah Ross
When Stephanie and Priscilla were young, they were irresistibly drawn to the working kitchen. It was there they could get a lick of a chocolate pie filling, or a pinch of sugary, buttery vanilla-scented dough. There they could surreptitiously lick the spoon while strawberry jam was slowly simmering in an immense pot over a back burner. Or they just sat comfortably on large sturdy kitchen chairs, observing Tilly's apron-clad form as she moved from one station to the next.
With the passing of years, and repeated scoldings from their mother, the visits of the Dahl girls into the lower kitchen diminished. At least, Stephanie learned to keep out. Priscilla learned to be more careful about her visits. The Dahl daughters weren't supposed to have anything to do with pots and pans. Their training lay elsewhere.
Now Stephanie experienced a sense of déjà vu as she descended the flight of wide stairs. She felt as if she were a little girl again and it was apricot marmalade making day, and she longed to taste some but was terrified of being caught and berated by her mother. For a moment, she wondered whether she would even find Tilly in the kitchen, but her doubts proved groundless.
Tilly was there, sitting by the table shelling beans into a large metal bowl. Only her slightly dejected look gave a clue to the recent happenings under the roof of Silver Oaks. Upon hearing footsteps, she looked up and stared in surprise. "Why, Miss Stephy!"
"Hi, Tilly." Stephanie pulled out a chair and sat down at the large table. "It's been a long while since I visited here."
A wry smile twitched the corners of Tilly's mouth. "Yes, 'tis true. Things have been quiet here in recent years. I'll never forget, though, how you and Miss Prissy stole into the kitchen that one time in the middle of the night and took hold of a whole pecan pie that I made especially for your Aunt Daphne, knowing her to be so fond of it. Not a bit of crust was left, and your mama was furious, but Miss Daphne laughed until she could hardly stand when she heard the story."
Stephanie could not help smiling. "Prissy goaded me into it. I would never have dared to do it myself."
"Yes, Miss Prissy was often the wilder one. I told your mama so. But you were both bad enough in your time."
Stephanie traced her finger along the grooves and notches in the old table for a few silent seconds before she said, "I just talked to Mom. She told me about your… your resignation letter. It isn't true, is it?"
"I'm afraid it is, Miss Stephy."
"Please say you'll think about it again."
Tilly shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry, but it's all settled, Miss Stephy. Silver Oaks is a grand old place, and there's too much work around here for me to keep up with. I need something smaller and quieter."
"If that's the reason, we can hire another maid to keep the upper rooms in order. Or to work in the kitchen under you. I can talk to Mother about it, and I'm sure we can work out something."
But Tilly kept shaking her head. "That's very kind of you, Miss Stephy, but it would be more trouble than I'm worth. Mrs. Dahl will be better off with a younger, more energetic housekeeper. I'm sure there'll be a dozen vying for my place by the end of a week."
"That's not the issue!" cried Stephanie. "It's not! Of course we can hire someone, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be you."
Tilly looked up from her bowl of beans, her expression softened. "Thank you, Miss Stephy, but you don't really need me anymore."
"Yes, we do! And you need us too, Tilly. Silver Oaks is your home. How can you think of never coming here again? Don't you remember many years ago you told us that you hope you'd stay always, that you never want to leave us?"
"It's… Well, when you and Miss Prissy were little, things were different. I wouldn't dream of leaving then. But you're all grown now."
Stephanie began to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes again. Ashamed, she tried to blink them away. "The truth is, Tilly that you would have stayed for Prissy, but you won't stay for me."
Tilly opened her mouth to protest, but Stephanie didn't wait for her answer. She jumped up from the table, furiously swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, and without another word, turned and hurried away.
6
________________________
Friday, March 21
Tom was heading to the barn when he met Ben, who was on his way back to the house after tending to the animals.
"Good morning," Tom said. "Up early again, I see. I'll be glad when these chilly mornings have passed."
Ben shrugged. "Then you'll be complaining about it being too hot."
Tom laughed. "True. All the animals set?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess I'll go chop some wood."
"There's no need to. I'll do it."
Tom looked at him with round eyes. "Really? You just split firewood yesterday."
"I know."
"And milked the cows, changed the goats' bedding, and caulked the cracks in the barn wall."
Ben shrugged. "Who cares? It's work. It keeps me busy and outside. If I sit by the fire all day long I'll go stir-crazy."
Since his return from the Ravens' camp, Ben was prone to sporadic fits of moodiness and restlessness, and hardly found it in himself to participate in the songs, storytelling, play-acting, woodworking, and other indoor occupations that served as the camp's amusements.
The advance of spring and accompanying thaw lightened spirits, put an end to the winter's cabin fever, and turned the whole camp out of doors, until yesterday's unseasonable return of frigid weather and a storm that covered the camp and the entire surrounding area in a thin blanket of snow, forcing people back indoors. This annoyed everyone, but Ben became downright sullen and desperately longed for any sort of change.
"You know what?" he said after a pause. "I'm thinking of taking some stuff for trade in Resurrection Town."
Trading with the Legals was a relatively new pursuit for the Wild Children, one they found increasingly useful and profitable since the town was founded. It began with furs. Ever since the Great War and the depopulation of most of the nation, wildlife thrived, providing an abundance of the rich winter pelts of wolves, foxes, rabbits, and even squirrels. Elisa, who was said to love four-legged creatures far more than humans, was at first vehemently opposed to any trading in pelts. But when a fox proved to be a persistent threat to the camp's poultry last winter, and when it was finally brought down by one clear shot, Mac pointed out it would be meaningless and wasteful to throw away its fur. A lone wolf that set its eye on the camp's goats met with the same fate, as did a few weasels trapped in the poultry house. Eventually, even Elisa saw the benefit of fur trading.
The camp also traded in all sorts of goods scrounged on trips to abandoned towns, along with wood-carved items made by Mac, and other homemade odds and ends. They were not dependent on this exchange, but it made life a lot easier, compared with having to find or make everything from scratch, as they did for many years.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "You want to go to Resurrection Town? Now? Today?"
Ben spread his arms. "Even with the cold and snow, getting there and back shouldn't be too difficult. And it should be warmer near the town."
Tom looked doubtful. "Hopefully. But you still need to get there and it'll be a long ride."
"Will you come with me?" As much as he craved solitude, Ben knew the journey to Resurrection Town should not be attempted alone. "Maybe Pat will have some work for us. And we can probably stay at my parents’ place on the way back."
"Sure. Someone's got to keep you in check. And only a fool would pass up the chance to eat whatever your mom's cooking." He clapped Ben on the back and disappeared inside the house.
Ben lingered outside for a few minutes, trying to get some order into his thoughts. Underneath the veneer of sober resignation, there were other feelings about his last visit to Raven. Resentment lingered, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. I felt like such an idiot to have rushed to her side only to discover how little she needed me. He sighed and shook his head. Be reasonable. She
's a camp leader. She can't constantly need someone who isn't there. She has to make do with whoever is available. And he certainly looked available. He sighed again, accepting that it would take time to let go, and headed into the house.
* * *
"I can't believe how fast the temperature dropped," Tom said.
"That happens sometimes on clear nights. Elisa showed me an old book about weather once. Warmth goes up into the sky when there are no clouds to keep it close to the ground."
Tom grunted. "And if there were clouds, they'd probably have dumped more snow on us."
"I'd rather deal with cold than more snow. I've kinda had my fill of the stuff this year."
"So have I. And the horses. You were right. They're still out of shape."
"They are. It would have been nice to ride hard and make it to town later tonight, but risking the horses would be stupid."
"And maybe fatal if Elisa or Raven ever heard about it."
Ben laughed. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to face either of them if we hurt a horse." He sighed. "I tell you, I hope we never have another winter like we did this year."
"Seconded. But at least we made it here."
Though the shelter left something to be desired in the way of protection from cold and wind, it was roomy enough to share with the horses, which they didn't want to leave outside on account of the wolves. The horses were ushered into the 'animal half' of the building, which contained some months-old manure that some previous travelers hadn't been meticulous enough to shovel out, and some equally old but well-preserved hay that was dry and clean enough to be used as both food for animals and bedding for humans. There was a rough stone fire pit in the middle of the earth floor, and some kindling and logs, which Ben and Tom used to make a fire. They pulled out their traveling rations, which consisted of something like pemmican the camp members learned to make by trial and error, and soon were done with their supper and ready for bed.
"Mmm. Sleeping in a stable," Tom remarked, spreading his sleeping bag over the bed of hay. "Well, never mind, as long as we're rewarded on the way back by a stop at your folks'. I hope they're home. Or at least your Ma is and she made one of her pies. Never tasted anything more delicious than her pies."
"I know. You do full justice to each meal. Heck, you eat so much the button of your pants usually threatens to pop off."
There were no windows in the shack, nor any openings save the big door and the smoke-hole up in the roof through which the wind could be heard howling. Ben zipped up his sleeping bag as tight as he could. Though he had been impatient to go, he missed their cozy longhall, where a merry fire was sure to be burning and everyone was snug and warm as they settled in for the night, and longed for the comfort of his parents' farmhouse. Then his thoughts turned to the Ravens, to Raven, and whether she was warm enough in her hide tent.
Is she fixing the flap more tightly across the opening? Adding more wood to the brazier? Does she have Taylor in the furs with her, keeping her warm? He shook his head, wanting to drive out such thoughts, but could not. I stepped out of the way. It was the right thing to do, but I wish I didn't have this ache in my heart when I picture her in someone else's arms. He spent a long time alternately indulging and trying to banish the tantalizing thoughts until he finally drifted off to sleep.
7
________________________
Saturday, March 22
It felt much more like spring on the outskirts of Resurrection Town. There was little snow on the ground, and some trees were already showing fresh buds and young leaves.
It was so long since breakfast they were famished, and directed their mounts to the diner. Ben entered to say hello and check their prospects of meals and accommodation for the night, while Tom stayed outside with the horses.
Pat was busy cleaning his glasses with a piece of old, soft flannel and beamed when he saw Ben. "Why, look who's here! Don't tell me you made it here on your own."
"I'm here with Tom. We need to find a place for the horses."
"You can leave the horses out back in the little lean-to, and I'll get them some leftover hay from the Farm Supplies yard."
Once the horses were taken care of, Ben and Tom turned their attention to their empty stomachs. As always, the place was moderately populated by the crowd of local workers, most of them Legals who recently moved to Resurrection Town in search of opportunities. Most were bent over plates of deep-fried chicken and potato rounds.
Ben and Tom found a place at the back and sat down. They had no money, but knew Pat often needed help with a project and would be glad to have them stay for a few days. Sure enough, he strode over to their table bearing a plate of chicken wings, potatoes, and sausages.
"Tuck in, boys." He held up a hand. "No, don't thank me. The lunch crowd is almost done anyway. This stuff will go stale by evening, and we don't serve stales around here."
They didn't need to be told twice. Each heaped wings on his plate, accompanied by a mound of rounds, and garnished with a few sausages.
Tom picked up a wing and bit into it. "Mmm, that's good," he said with his mouth full.
The food they ate here on their rare visits was very different from the venison, fish, milk, and vegetables that formed their diet at the camp, and the rubbery fake steaks and lumpy mashed potatoes they vaguely remembered from the orphanage. It wasn't as good as the meatloaf and pies Ben's mother was famous for, but it was nevertheless a very welcome meal on a cold day, though Ben wished for a little less grease.
"I didn't expect you guys in town anytime soon," Pat said, placing a napkin dispenser on the table. "I'm glad to see you either way, though. We're making some renovations to the storage rooms, and if the lumber and stuff gets here, I'd be happy to have a couple more pairs of hands if you can spare the time."
"We're happy to help," Ben said as Tom nodded.
"Glad to hear it. You want to stay in our spare room again while you're here?"
"That'd be great, Pat. Thanks."
"You came to trade?"
Ben nodded. "We brought some stuff. Not as much as last time, though."
Pat nodded. "Well, I'll leave you guys for now. Step over if you need an extra helping. There's plenty to go around."
For the next few minutes, Ben and Tom munched in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until the shadow of a stranger loomed over them.
"Mind if I sit down here for a bit?"
Ben looked up and saw the man was tall and slim, with thick, neatly parted hair the color of barley. His clothes, shoes, and gold-rimmed spectacles all indicated that he wasn't just a Legal, but someone who spent most of his time within the Boundary. He had little in common with the carelessly dressed settlers in their shapeless overalls, stained sweaters, and muddy boots." No one's here to tell you where you can sit," Ben said.
The man nodded, pulled out a chair, sat down, and leaned on the table. "You guys are from out there, from the camps, aren't you?"
Ben and Tom exchanged a glance.
"Suppose we are?" Tom asked. "What's it to you?"
The stranger did not seem bothered by his lack of warmth. "Sorry. I forget my manners. I'm Peter Hughes, a private entrepreneur."
"A private entrepreneur," Ben said. "What does that have to do with us?"
"I've been working on... various projects. And I came out here to Resurrection Town in the hopes of meeting some of you, the Wild Children. I've been here two days, and saw nobody but Class A and B settlers so far. It only just now occurred to me that I might have done better looking around the countryside, but the prospect isn't very appealing this time of year. So it's a stroke of luck for me, really, to find you here."
"Why's that?" Tom asked, turning the bottle of ketchup in his hands.
"Because I believe that collaboration between us could be mutually profitable."
The two friends gave him a suspicious look. "You should speak English," Ben said.
Hughes grinned an apology. "You're right. I've been thinking about this for so long that I forge
t not everyone is familiar with my ideas. Can I buy you a drink?"
Ben shook his head. "No need to, but we're ready to hear you out."
"I've believed for a long time that those in government are all wrong about how they're dealing with the Wild Children. The abandonment of the old policy, and the opportunity given to those who choose to return to the Boundary and get a Class B citizenship was a good notion, but one that's hardly practical, or even very tempting, given that so many of you have established pretty good lives out here."
"Yeah, we have," Tom said. His glare matched the defiance in his voice. "And we'll get along just fine without citizenship of any class, thank you very much."
"I'm sure you will. The government is making a big mistake by not treating you as a separate entity. One that has much to offer."
"We're not offering anyone anything," Ben said, still on his guard.
"No, but you could. You come here to trade, I've heard. What do you have? Furs, I suppose?"
Ben nodded. "Yeah. We have a few pelts and a bit of other stuff. Not a big trading mission, but we don't mind."
"And what do you get in return?"
"Stuff we use for building and farming, mostly. A lot of the equipment from before the War is getting rusty."
Peter nodded. "I don't imagine the settlers here in town can afford to be very generous, though. Some of the private businessmen within the Boundary could be far more helpful."
Ben frowned. "Private businessmen? You have nothing to do with the White Tower?"
"I don't represent the Tower, if that's what you're asking, though I have some mighty useful contacts there. As I told you, I'm a private entrepreneur, and the White Tower hasn't been very kind to private entrepreneurs. The Van Wullen clan pulls so many strings behind the scenes and controls so much of the market, it's hard for others to compete. Not impossible, but harder than it should be. Though things might change if Ted Connor becomes president."
Ben didn't understand much about Boundary politics, but he vaguely recalled the Van Wullens were allied with Alexander Dahl. He stared at the opposite wall, where a large election poster of Ted Connor was pinned up. The candidate wore a bright smile. Light reflected off the bald patch on the top of his head and his shirt buttons strained against his bulging belly.