Colonial Madness (6 page)

“It's called reading,” I said. “You should try it.”

“I have! How else would I have known that it takes fifty containers of ice cream to fill a bathtub?”

“That was the best sundae ever,” I said with a smile.

“I still think we could've broken a record,” said Mom. “Too bad that hairy bar of soap fell in it.”

I made a face. “Seriously? After I just ate a pigeon?”

“Sorry.”

We finished getting dressed and tied on our bonnets.

“How do I look?” I asked.

“Ready to win the Miss Colonial America pageant,” said Mom, grinning. “Let's see if your future husband approves!”

She hurried out of the bedroom with me on her heels.

“Mom, wait! Don't you dare!”

Angel popped her head out of a bedroom across the hall. “What's going on?”

“Mother-daughter embarrassment hour,” I said, studying her face. “Are you wearing eye shadow?”

She shook her head. “Fireplace soot.”

“
That
doesn't sound like a bad idea at all,” I said.

“Sue me! I don't have access to any of my hair or makeup products.” She turned to Mom. “Please don't embarrass your daughter or I'll never hear the end of it.”

“Oh, relax,” said Mom. “I wouldn't do anything to blow her chances. If anything, I
boost
her attraction factor.”

“Creepy thoughts should stay in our heads,” I reminded her. “Besides, we need to keep our eyes on the prize.”

No sooner had I said this than Caleb appeared at the foot of the stairs, talking to one of my relatives. He glanced up and smiled when he caught me looking. I would've tumbled the rest of the way down if Mom hadn't grabbed the back of my dress.

“Something tells me,” she whispered, “that we have different ideas of what the prize is.”

G
reat-Aunt Muriel's estate was even more enormous than I thought. In groups of ten, Eli led us to the highest viewpoint, a widow's walk on the manor's rooftop.

“You've seen the servants' quarters,” he said, pointing to the buildings behind the manor. “Beyond the cherry trees to the right are the barn, chicken coop, vegetable garden, and physic garden.”

Dylan snorted. “Physic? Pretty sure you mean psychic.”

I turned to him. “ ‘Physic' is an older term for medicinal plants, dummy. What the heck would a psychic garden be?”

Dylan blinked at me. “Where gypsies grow their tea leaves.”

Eli cleared his throat. “Farther afield be the corn rows and the fruit orchard.”

Angel leaned over the railing of the widow's walk and pointed to the left of the manor. “What's that?”

We all looked at a line of barren ground interspersed with straw-filled circles of stone.

“That,” said Eli with a grin, “will be your first lesson.”

We followed him back to ground level, where he motioned for the rest of the family members to follow to the barren expanse. In under one minute, he'd struck a fire, and in under two he'd lit a torch and was waving it around.

“Fire,” he said, “is one of the most important things a colonist can have.”

“Fire represents life,” whispered Mom.

“You watch too much
Survivor
,” I whispered back.

“Fire gives you heat, light, a way to cook food, and a way to protect yourself from predators,” Eli continued. “Luckily, the colonists had already discovered
this
.” He held out a tan rock.

“Actually, I think cavemen discovered those,” said Angel.

“Perhaps,” said Eli with a smile. “But they didn't know what was inside.”

He placed the rock on a tree stump and struck it with a
sledgehammer, shattering it to pieces. Then he picked one up and pointed at the dark-gray interior. “Flint. Strike this with steel, you get sparks. Let the sparks settle on dry grass, you get fire.”

Motioning for us to follow, he crouched beside one of the stone circles where a knife and polished piece of flint were also waiting. He repeated his instructions and demonstrated on the straw, blowing on the sparks to ignite a fire.

“In less than five minutes, half your worldly problems are solved,” he said.

Mom turned to me. “He's right, you know. If we caught the dress shop on fire, we wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.”

I shushed her.

“I'd like you all to try lighting a fire at least twice,” said Eli. “My son, Caleb, and I will be walking around to assist.”

At the mention of Caleb, my stomach fluttered, but I kept my face emotionless. The last thing I needed was Mom's relentless teasing. Instead, I chose one of the stations and went to work striking a knife against the flint.

“Watch your fingers,” said Mom. “I'm pretty sure if you lose one, the colonial cure is to chop off the rest.”

“Your grasp of history is terrifying,” I told her, making sparks fly. “Get ready to fan the flames.”

“Got it,” said Mom, getting down on all fours.

I struck the flint several times until a large spark landed in the straw. Mom took a deep breath and blew with all her might. The straw scattered everywhere.

“Not so hard, Big Bad Wolf!” I said, scooping it back into a pile. “You're not evicting the Three Little Pigs.”

“Oh, blah.” Mom took the flint and knife. “I'll make the sparks, and
you
blow on the fire with all that hot air you've got stored up.”

She struck the flint once, and several sparks settled on the straw. I puckered my lips and barely breathed on the sparks. More rained down around me, and I jumped back.

“
What
are you
doing
?!” I shouted, batting at my hair to make sure
I
hadn't been sent alight.

“You weren't going to get any life out of those little sparks,” she said. “You needed more.”

“So you thought you'd start a fire on my
head
?”

“Calm down,” said Mom. “I would've put it out before it reached your scalp.”

I continued to tousle my hair, certain I smelled something burning. “You can be such a—”

“Caleb,” said Mom.

“No,” I said. “Such a
pain
.”

“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.