Season of Hytalia

by Jennifer Arntson

  Calish mumbled his thanks before asking, “What was the deal with Blue, anyway?”

  I swallowed a gulp of water, eager to state my suspicion. “I bet Marquette gave him a little vial of liquid courage to enforce his power over me. That woman is a real—”

  “Una!” Mother interrupted.

  “—control freak,” I finished my thought. “It’s not the first time he’s done that sort of thing to me. I mean, not that intense, but he’s been aggressive with me in the past.”

  “Really?” Marsh slammed the tip of his fork onto his plate.

  “Yeah, but honestly, I didn’t think too much of it at the time. He always seemed to have a way to make up for it.” I shrugged, not knowing if those last words were the ones I wanted, but it got the point across.

  “I wonder what he’s going to do next?” Marsh looked at each of us around the table.

  “I was thinking about that myself.” Calish swallowed. “I think we should fix the fence and secure it at night. Then we can let Rain guard the property at night without wandering off.”

  “Mountain wolves hate rain,” I reminded him.

  “Then we’ll build him a shelter,” Marsh suggested. “If we put it facing the road, he can watch but still stay dry.”

  Mother nodded her head.

  I sighed. “I don’t like the idea of him being outside all night by himself.”

  Marsh finished his meal. “It’s not like he’ll be out on some sandbar. He’ll be in the yard.”

  “That settles it. I’ll be building a shelter today.” Calish clapped his hands together, happy to have a task.

  “Don’t forget, little brother, we also need to pull the cart out of the gulch.”

  “Oh, right. I hope it’s not too damaged.”

  “Help me get it out. Then, while you build the shelter, I can work on the repairs,” Marsh offered. “We’ll probably have to use the ox to get it out; that thing is too heavy for the two of us to move by ourselves.”

  Calish nodded as he enjoyed his tea.

  “I’m proud of you boys.” Mother patted Marsh’s hand before standing to collect the dishes.

  “Oh, by the way,” I spoke up. “Those things Reinick promised are in the field across the road, under the trees.” The men glanced at each other. “Some of it is metal, it looks pretty heavy.”

  “If it’s metal, it’ll need to stay dry if possible,” Calish said.

  Marsh sat back in his seat, tapping his heel on the floor. “We could put it in the hay barn if someone wasn’t sleeping in there.”

  “I’m not going to force myself back in the house until Father invites me. I’ve disrespected him enough already.”

  “Oh, Calish.” Mother sat. “He’ll come around.”

  “I have no regrets.” He took my hand. “Still, it’s the proper thing to do.” I appreciated his subtle reconfirmation of his feelings for me. “We can put the things under the trees in Rebel’s pasture. There’s an old tarp in the rafters. We can cover it with that.”

  Marsh sprang up. “Sounds like a plan. We should go check it out before we get started.”

  Calish finished the rest of his tea. “Thank you for breakfast, Mother.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Anytime, my sweet boy.” She hugged him.

  I stood up to get my rain cloak.

  Marsh stopped me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To help.”

  “No way, sister. Not with a baby in there, you’re not.”

  “I’m pregnant, you oaf, not injured.”

  “Same thing. I don’t want you doing anything that will make it fall out. Shouldn’t she be in bed or something?”

  Mother laughed. “Goodness, Marsh! If being pregnant was such delicate work, humanity would cease to exist!” She turned to me. “That being said, you shouldn’t be troubling yourself with any heavy lifting in your condition. This time I agree with your brother. Let the men take care of this chore, little birdie.”

  Calish smiled at me. He was pleased that he didn’t have to add anything to the protest; I was already outnumbered. He leaned in and turned my face toward his. “You stay here where it’s dry.” He kissed me tenderly. “I love you.”

  Marsh opened the door. As the men left, I overheard him ask, “So is this how it’s going to be now that everyone knows about you two?”

  The door closed, and my mother and I were alone in the house. I sat there, trying to identify the chores we should complete while the men worked outside. I saw a few things that would keep me busy; however, I only wanted to work on stuff that could be completed before my father returned. It wasn’t because I was angry at him that I wanted to avoid him; it was because I couldn’t handle seeing his disappointment. To say he was ashamed of us was an understatement. I regretted the way he found out. The situation unraveled so quickly, we weren’t able to tell him the way we’d hoped to. Now that it was done, and Calish accepted Reinick’s offer, there was nothing left to confess. My father was right; our choices were made. Now we would be directed by them.

  “When do you think Father will be back?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say much to me this morning. I’m afraid he’s not ready to speak to me either.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

  She started washing the dishes. “I knew the risk I was taking, keeping this from him.”

  I stood up and grabbed a drying cloth to help her. “So, do you have anything you’d like to accomplish today?”

  “I think tonight we’ll have chicken for supper, which should take us awhile.”

  “I thought Father went fishing?”

  She passed me a dish to dry. “Your father may have told us that, but it doesn’t mean he did.”

  I tilted my head to the side, not understanding her comment.

  “His pole is still over by the door.” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Then what is he doing?”

  My mother handed me another plate. “Exactly what he needs to. Probably thinking. Sometimes the best thing a person can do is take a break and let things settle.”

  My heart ached knowing I’d caused him so much pain. Perhaps if I continued to help the family, he’d find a way to forgive me.

  “I’ll do the chicken. Do you want one or two?”

  From the kitchen window, we both watched Calish and Marsh struggle to feed the long metal pipes through the split rails of the pasture fencing.

  “Definitely two.”

  * * *

  I placed a soup pot of water over the fire to boil before putting on one of the men’s raincoats. Butchering a chicken would be much easier in a jacket with sleeves versus a rain cloak. I never much cared for the killing part; however, the thought bothered me less than it used to. Besides, our laying birds had a productive run, and we had more than we could feed. To save some meant killing others. Sort of like the guard in the laundry.

  The chickens had been separated into two different coops earlier last season. We should have done it years ago. One had laying boxes, the other didn’t. Hens became dinner once they stopped producing eggs. It’s a shame that they haven’t figured that out. I tossed a handful of dried corn into each area, and the eager ones strutted to the pile just inside the hutch’s door. Chickens were not the smartest of animals, thank goodness, so my wolf-scent didn’t seem to threaten them as much as the feed excited them.

  I removed the closest hen without disturbing the others too much. Soothing her, I wrapped my hand tightly between her beak and her shoulders and dropped her body. With a quick jerking motion, I swung her around with my wrist, snapping her neck in an instant. One down, one to go. As I unlatched the hutch to pull out another bird, the dead hen ran about with her head bouncing off her own breast. The second bird gave me more of a challenge catch, but she too ended up running around with a dangling head.

  Using the farm bucket marked chicken, I washed the dirt and feces off the fowl. It always surprised me how messy chickens were. They never smelled part
icularly pleasing, except when cooked. I tipped over the pail to drain the soiled water before making my way to the chopping block to remove their heads. When the men did this chore, they killed the birds like an executioner. Decapitation didn’t suit me. I couldn’t hold them and cut their heads off in a single strike. My way took a bit longer but ended up far more humane than chasing a half-dead, injured chicken around the yard to finish the job, especially in the mud and rain.

  I laid them on the porch and brought the pot of boiling water outside. Wrapping twine around their feet so they hung upside down, I put both chickens in the hot bath. Anyone familiar with feathering a bird knew scalding them for a moment or two made it much easier to remove their feathers. When the time was right, I removed them from the water and hung them over the exposed roof trellis of the porch. Sitting on an overturned bucket, I plucked them both and put the pluckings in a colander to dry out. Feathers made a fine lining in quilts, pillows, and coats. Despite my effort to save them, they always ended up everywhere. Once the birds were naked, I slid the Chicken bucket under them and removed their entrails.

  The following steps were perhaps the most difficult and most critical part of the preparation of a chicken. Killing it was easier than making sure it didn’t kill us. It was delicate work but well worth it in the end. My mother had taught me how to remove the gizzards intact to avoid poisoning the meat. In time, I learned to do it quickly and competently. I didn’t care too much for them, although the men of our family loved them fried. Usually, my mother would chop them up and put them in the soup broth we’d make from the carcasses after a meal. Scavengers didn’t waste much, particularly when it came to food.

  Once I’d completed what I could with the birds upside down, I removed their feet. I added them to the other inedible entrails and emptied them into the pig’s slop trough. Their stomachs must be made of iron. They’d eat anything and never get sick. Done with all that needed to happen outside, I returned the chicken bucket to where I’d found it, right side up, to catch more rain for the next butchering.

  One last final rinse in the sink, and the preparation would be finished. Mother had the roasting pot on the counter to receive them, complete with vegetables and seasonings. After trussing the birds, I placed them inside carefully. While I washed my hands, Mother put them over the fire to cook.

  Pleased with my accomplishment, I sat down and took a break. It took most of the morning to butcher them by myself. Too bad dinner would take a fraction of the time to eat as it did to get it edible.

  “Are you hungry, Una?”

  “No. I’ll have some tea, if you have any.”

  She poured me a cup. “Thank you for the chickens.”

  “Glad to be useful.” I breathed in the fresh aroma of steeping herbs.

  “I wonder how the boys are doing out there,” she said, searching for movement through the kitchen window. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

  “We need to get the glass fixed so we can see the entry.” It had shattered last Atchem when the Authority’s Carrier walked uninvited on our land. It must have been one of the items on Father’s Talium list. Sometime between the time I was taken and when I returned, it had been boarded up. Windows were hard to claim, and as such, it might never get replaced.

  “Maybe the Authority will give us a new one,” she joked. “After all, it was their courier’s fault for waltzing up to our door. Do you remember that young man’s name?”

  “Kawl,” I answered.

  “Ah, Kawl.” She nodded knowingly.

  “If you’re going to blame him, you’ve got to blame the guys, too,” I corrected her. “They may have been fine-tuning the perimeter traps, but they should have known that one was way off before testing it.”

  “The kid is lucky he got hit with stones and not thistle spears! I still think he should supply a new window.”

  “You could send a note to Reinick.”

  Mother took a serious tone. “Not funny, Una.”

  “Fine, tell Calish to fix it, then.”

  She didn’t respond. I knew I’d crossed a line when she left abruptly, tending to something in her room. Regretful for my calloused comments and uncomfortable in the silence she sentenced me with, I put on my rain cloak and headed out to check on the boys. I didn’t see them in Rebel’s field, nor did I see them across the road. Relying on my newly acquired senses, I concentrated on the sounds around me and narrowed in on their voices.

  I found them still working to move the horse cart.

  Calish huffed, “Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, adjusting my cloak to keep rain from getting on my face.

  Marsh stood in the gulch, digging at the roadside wall with a thick stick. “The damn thing is stuck in the mud.” He stabbed the makeshift tool between the spokes in hopes to free it.

  “If the ox pulls it this way, it’ll break the wheel in half,” Calish said. “We only have one spare, and we need it to replace the other one.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Here, you take him.” He handed me the wet rope cinched around the ox’s horns. “Don’t let him move, I’m going down into the gulch with Marsh.”

  “You should have come to get me sooner,” I hollered as the thunder cracked above us.

  Calish rolled his eyes. “I tried, but somebody saw you with the chickens and wouldn’t let me.”

  Sitting on the edge of the road, he scooted himself into the water carefully. Wading next to Marsh with calculated steps, he accepted his brother’s aid.

  “You’ve got to straddle the two walls, or you’ll go under.”

  Calish lost his footing and slipped into the water.

  Marsh roared with laughter as Calish’s head popped above the surface.

  “Like that?” Calish wiped the water from his face. Spitting dirt off his tongue, he mumbled, “I blame this on Blue.”

  “Oh,” Marsh quipped, “I didn’t know we were adding more reasons to hate that stupid farmer. We should make a list so we don’t forget anything.”

  Together, they worked the mud away from the wheel, so much so that the cart slipped a bit deeper into the gulch. Both of them struggled to stay above water. More than once, they lost their footing and clambered to reposition themselves for a better toehold.

  “Can’t you just take it off?” I asked.

  “We can’t get the hub off, thing’s rusted tight,” Calish answered.

  That was probably their first thought. I should just stand here and keep my mouth shut.

  Marsh had an idea. “What if I hold the wheel up a bit, you get as much dirt off as you can, and then Una can lead the ox away?”

  “What if you can’t lift it high enough?”

  “Then you help me,” he replied. “We’ve been out here for how long? If this thing’s not coming out now, we’ll be screwed when the soil dries out and hardens around it. It’ll break now, or it’ll break then.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point.” He slicked back his curls, seeming already defeated by the cart.

  “I’m going to take this raincoat off first,” Marsh said, standing in muddy water up to his armpits. “For some reason, I’m still getting wet.”

  “They don’t make raincoats like they used to.” Calish chuckled, taking his off too.

  “You ready, Una?”

  “Ready!”

  “On three,” he said. “One, two…”

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  “What?” Marsh grunted.

  “Are we actually pulling on ‘three’ or do we pause after three and then pull?”

  They answered at the same time with different instructions. They looked at each other and then changed their minds, announcing the opposite answer they’d just given.

  “Pull on three! On three, not after,” Marsh clarified.

  “Got it!” I tilted my head down to keep the rain off my face.

  Calish shouted the count again. “One, two, three!”

&n
bsp; I pulled the ox, but he wouldn’t move. I pulled and pulled, but he just stood there.

  “Go, Una!” Marsh barked.

  “He’s…not… moving…” I growled, pulling with all my might.

  “Smack his ass!”

  I ran down the side of the ox and slapped him with an open hand so hard it stung. It didn’t faze him at all. He merely lifted his leg and shifted forward a half step.

  “Do it again!” Calish shouted through the increasing rain.

  I smacked the beast until my hand went numb. I must have hit him a dozen times before the creature moved. The men grunted as they struggled to push up on the wheel. It finally came free, rolling along the edge of the gulch. The wheel turned out of Calish’s reach, but Marsh, being taller, guided it until he lost his leverage and fell face-first into the water. I tugged at the ox until he dragged the disabled wagon into the center of the road.

  They celebrated in the water as if they’d just won some sort of competition. When they tried to get out of the gulch, the next obstacle revealed itself. It seemed the broad ditch was harder to escape than they expected it would be. They couldn’t seem to find a decent handle to pull out, despite helping one another to do so.

  “Come over here.” I waved the end of the ox’s rope at them. They waded the length of the gulch, and now having proper leverage, they pulled themselves out of the water one after the other.

  Calish emerged first. With muddy water streaming down his face, he smiled. “Thanks for the help, my love.”

  “You’re welcome.” I accepted his kiss on my cheek.

  Our brother puckered up and made kissing noises with his lips. Taking the opportunity to turn the joke around, I cocked my head to the side and, in my best baby voice, pouted, “Oh, Cal. He wants you to kiss him, too.”

  “Too bad for him,” he said, shaking the water from his ears.

  Marsh shuddered at the thought. “Please tell me you came to tell us lunch was ready.”

  “No, but Mother and I can put something together while you two clean up,” I answered.

  Calish agreed. “Let’s get the big guy back to the pasture.” He tugged at the ox, leading him over the bridge with the cart in tow.