Authors: Jamie McHenry
“It isn’t fair,” she said, swiping her hand into the white fluff. “You’re bigger. This is too deep.” Her attempt to capture the snow in her hand while stepping at the same moment made her lose balance. With a yelp, Leila tumbled into the snow and disappeared. After a frantic flurry of white powder and fur, she lifted her face above the snow, snorting it from her mouth and nose.
Chuckling, I walked carefully toward my sister. When I reached her, I offered my arm and lifted her to stand with a single tug. I brushed the remaining snow off her cloak and resumed my walk to the stable.
When I arrived, I moaned my disappointment at the meager pile of hay inside. “There won’t be enough for all of them.” I grabbed a pitchfork and dug into the pile. I tossed the clump over the fence, where the horses waited.
This was going to be a long day.
While I heaved another offering, Leila yelled and pointed toward the field. Pulled by Garrett, Father sat comfortably at the front of his wagon. Ethan stood in the back and balanced on a tall pile of hay while steadily tossing it over the sides. As the wagon rolled closer to us, horses from every direction scrambled for the offering.
“Father, come this way,” yelled Leila, grinning while jumping up and down. “He’s going to help us. Thank you, Father. Thank you.” She stomped toward the wagon and left me with her excited screams.
I leaned my pitchfork against the wall and walked over to Father. “I’m glad that you brought more,” I told him. “There isn’t enough hay in the stable.”
He smiled and brushed long straw from his beard. “Don’t thank me, yet. We’ll need to give them two day’s worth—all of them. It’s going to be a long, hard day.” He motioned to the reins in his hands. “Leila, climb up here and drive. Rhiannon, you and Ethan will help me empty the wagon.”
We did as Father ordered. Within moments, Leila was leading Garrett and the wagon while Ethan and I tossed hay over the sides. Father spread the hay around the crest of the snow, and kept the horses from biting each other in their excitement. When the wagon was empty, Leila drove us to the barn, where we refilled the wagon with hay. We had plenty for the season; Father always made certain of that. Once replenished with feed, we rode out again, this time farther from the house.
We emptied the wagon twice more. Every armful of hay gave me a reason to dislike the snow. Hard work kept me warm, but my arms were aching and weak; I could barely lift them to stretch. It was only midday, and most of the work remained.
During our next trip back to the barn for another load of hay, someone ran across the field toward us. I steadied myself against the wooden wagon rails for a better view.
“Who is that?” I asked, leaning over Leila.
Father squinted, wrinkling the dark skin around his eyes, and Leila slowed the horses to a sudden stop. I realized who was coming.
Cael yelled a hello and waved one arm in the air. When he reached the wagon, he leaned against one of the large front wheels and held up a large metal canister. “Do you—?” He panted and took several large breaths before continuing. “I came to help you.”
I closed my eyes and offered a silent thanks to Sean for his kindness. Although often annoyed by his younger brother, I was happy to see the young man arrive; there was a lot of work to do. Still winded, Cael twisted off the top of the canister, and drank heartily.
“Is that water from your family well?” asked Ethan.
“Yes,” Cael answered, lowering the jug and wiping his mouth. He held it up to me. “Do you want something to drink?”
As I reached for the container, Leila answered for me. “We all want some,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”
“Good work, boy,” said Father. “Who told you we would need help today?”
“There’s no trading because of snow on Taylor’s Ridge,” answered Cael. He climbed over the side of the wagon next to me. “I thought you might be busy, and since I was coming later, I decided to arrive early and help.”
As I dipped the container to my mouth, a flood of refreshment filled my body and replenished my strength. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment, before releasing the pain from my morning travails in a long sigh. I handed the jug to Ethan, whose persistent hands reached closer than Leila’s did. “That water is wonderful,” I said, nodding at Cael.
Father patted Cael on the shoulder. “Best water in the village,” he said, “from the best family.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cael was still out of breath, but smiled when he spoke. “I ran from your house. Keelia said you were out here.”
“We’re headed to the barn for another load,” said Father. “Hang on. Leila—” he turned forward “—drive us ahead.”
Leila had been eagerly waiting her turn for a drink. She glared back at Ethan before releasing the wagon’s long hand brake and nudging Garrett with the reins.
As my father turned in his seat, Cael shouted at my brother. “Hand the jug here, Ethan. I’ll pass it forward.” He reached toward my brother and grabbed the narrow neck of the canister. “Are you thirsty, Neal? Would you like some water?”
With a grunt, Father smiled and accepted his offering. But instead of drinking, he grabbed the reins from Leila and handed her the jug. She grinned as she finally enjoyed some nourishment.
When we arrived at the large barn doors, I tried to exit the wagon by stepping over the sideboard, but Cael sat on its outside edge, blocking me. So I slid to the rear and dropped to the ground. Then I ran across the trampled snow and heaved a door open while Father maneuvered the other.
Cael leapt down and strutted to the open barn. “Take a rest, Rhiannon,” he said, flashing a grin. “We’ll have this loaded quickly.”
He grabbed a pitchfork and scooped a bundle of hay into the back of the wagon. I had to leap back to keep from being struck.
“You’re a great help, Cael,” said Father, tossing another huge pile onto the wagon. “He’s right, Rhiannon. Enjoy a moment of rest. We’ll finish this load.”
The two men looked like they had worked together for years, tossing the dry grass in a coordinated effort. I stood helplessly next to Ethan, who gawked at the pile of hay—already larger than our previous hauls. Cael heaved a final load onto the back and stabbed his pitchfork into ground. He stepped back, admired the tall pile, and closed the barn door in unison with my father.
Father grinned and patted Cael on the shoulders. “Up,” he commanded, motioning to the wagon. He stepped onto the front bench and waited while Ethan and I scrambled aboard.
After an endless jostle of slow, bumpy travel across the field, the wagon stopped. Excited to resign my uncomfortable position against the hay pile, I leapt down into the snow. With the same active movement as at the barn, Cael leapt to the ground and rushed to the back of wagon.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s battle this beast.” With a loud yell, he began singing.
I heaved myself to my feet, brushing myself off while staring at Leila and Ethan. We smiled at each other—this was one of my father’s drinking songs. Father began to sing along with Cael, scooping hay in rhythm with their music.
As I reached into the large pile of hay and began to gather some, I caught a glimpse of my sister laughing behind us. Ethan had joined Father and Cael in the harsh melody.
Despite its annoyance, Cael’s method for improving the day worked. The music lightened the mood and soon the wagon was empty. While Leila drove us back to the barn for another load, Cael, Father, and Ethan continued a chant about whiskey, swine, and the old smokehouse. Determined to keep my dignity, I could do no more than smile politely while Cael sang loudly and stared at me from across the wagon.
“What do you think?” he asked, pausing during the next chorus. Father and Ethan continued to sing. “Could I be a bard?”
I smiled again. Trying to keep the imminent explosion of laughter contained, I shook my head. Cael could be amusing.
“Do you know these songs?” He stared at me. “I’m certain Sean has taught you.”
I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “I’ve only heard them from Father.”
“No!” Cael stretched his face in disbelief. “That can’t be. Where do you think I learned them? Sean and I have forgotten many nights thanks to strong drinks and these loud songs.”
I felt my face warming, and shook my head energetically. “That doesn’t sound like Sean,” I told him. “He doesn’t like to drink.”
“Ho!” Cael slapped his knee and pulled on my father’s shoulder. “Did you hear that, Neal? Your faerie daughter thinks Sean doesn’t like to drink.”
Father turned around and smiled. I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with Cael, or just thinking about ale. Regardless of the reason, I was upset. Father sang louder and more off-key.
Cael continued. “Didn’t you see Sean at the last Celebration? I’m surprised he didn’t fall into the fire. He could have—”
“Please don’t,” I interrupted. I felt myself flushing with anger at Cael’s thoughtlessness. “I don’t want to hear that.”
“What?” Cael ignored my request. “It’s true.” He started to sing again, and then stopped. “Believe what you want, now. You’ll find out the truth, later.”
Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to fall. I hated getting so angry that I felt out of control. I looked away, not wanting Cael to see that he had succeeded in upsetting me.
With a loud laugh and a louder chant in song, Cael smiled politely and slapped me on the leg. He nodded and turned away.
The men’s singing, which never ceased throughout the afternoon, had changed from a convenient distraction, to an annoying and loud irritation. Every time I tried to ignore them, their harsh verses singed my thoughts and stuck to my memory like honey. Cael’s teases never left me, and his words about Sean vexed my thoughts. My arms burned and my hands were red and cut, but I was hardly aware of them in the face of Cael’s words. Instead, I stared at the stretching violet shadows that trailed behind the wagon against the snow. It had been a long day.
“Go inside, girls,” said Father, when we arrived at the barn the final time. “Get yourselves cleaned up and then help your mother make a meal. Ethan, sweep out the back of the wagon once we roll it inside.”
After quick goodbyes, Leila and I ducked between the rails of the fence and stomped through the snow toward the back door of the house. I was exhausted, while Leila seemed full of energy; she was inside before I had traveled halfway there. When I arrived at the door, I carefully untied my bootlaces before stepping free and onto the dry wooden floor inside. I pounded the boots against the outside of the house, sending a splatter of ice into the air. My feet were dry; I was thankful for that, but they hurt just as much as my arms.
In the dining room, Leila stood near the fireplace, warming her hands while removing layers of thick wool and leather. I joined her and placed my boots close to the hearth. Then I unbuttoned my cloak. The warmth of the fire filled me with a surge of energy. I stood quietly, absorbing the heat while rubbing my hands together. My fingers had numbed in the cold, and now—because of the fire—they stung as warming blood returned.
“Is your father coming?”
I turned to answer; Mother stood at the counter, watching us. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was so cold, I forgot to say hello.”
“That’s understandable, dear. You look like you were working hard.”
“I was,” I told her. “And yes, Father is coming. Cael was helping us. He’ll eat with the family.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Once you are warmed, Leila, will you change and help me prepare the table? I’ve been baking biscuits.”
“Oh, I could eat a dozen warm biscuits!” Leila jumped from her spot near the flames and rushed to the hall. She disappeared around the corner. When given a chance to bake, Leila had never turned it down. She loved the smell it brought to the house, as did I.
I reached into the fireplace, and using a gloved hand, lifted the steaming metal cauldron from a hook above the flames. I removed the pot and carried it toward the hall. “Thank you for the bath water. Should I save some for Ethan or Father?”
Mother gestured no from the kitchen; she was obviously busy. In addition to the evening meal, there was plenty to prepare for the celebration feast. Our camp always filled with eager villagers, who scrambled for a taste of my mother’s meals. She was the best cook in the village, and no one argued that fact.
I tiptoed down the hall and carried the pot to the bathing room, upstairs. After setting it in the dark, I rushed back down for a lighted candle. When I returned to the room, Leila stood in the doorway looking for something.
I shook my head and produced the candle. “No you don’t, Leila. I’ll be first. I need to practice as soon as the meal is finished.”
If Lela protested, I never heard or saw it. Instead, I rushed into my room and chose a warm gown and a towel from my closet. When I returned to the bathing room, Leila was gone, and the steaming water was safe in its place. I placed the candle on the stone counter and closed the door behind me.
Finally. Alone at last, I released a sigh that echoed off the wooden walls where my shadow danced. I filled the washbasin with the steaming water, and after stepping out of my musty work dress, I grabbed a sponge to wash.
I caressed the top of my shoulders with the rough edge of the sponge. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” I whispered. My words bounced around the little room and mingled with the steam.