October 26th, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

Konni called for the family to gather around the fire between the house and barn. Mak sat on his usual stump, the largest one of the circle, and stared at the barn with a sour look on his face. The front wall and parts of the side walls were charred beneath the missing overhang. The doorway was blocked by a knee-high pile of splintered wood and ash, and the building was silent and empty. The hour before dawn had felt like a blurry nightmare, but the damage was real.

Jerri reported that the chickens were gone. She found no blood in their coop, but there were thousands of feathers strewn about. The coop itself was slightly damaged. The door was pulled from its hinges, and the fence gate was cracked. Easy fix. She also reported great holes in Mak’s bird coop he hadn’t noticed in the dark. Not so easy a fix.

Net sat across from him with deep dimples in his chubby cheeks. Just beyond the boy’s shoulder was the bird coop with both doors open, uninhabited. Mak looked away.

Each member of the family sat on the circle of stumps around a weak fire. Konni’s large spider pot hung over it, filled with bubbling porridge. The runny porridge of a rationing family.

A ray of morning sun shone onto them. It raised Mak’s spirit despite what had happened. The family sat in silence, each catching the breath they’d been holding since awaking in flames. Skylde had a nasty sliver in her finger. She got the old bucket, then. They shoveled porridge into their mouths and no one spoke.

Mak distributed responsibilities in his mind. There were many things to be done, even more than usual, and there wasn’t much time to do them. It might have already been too late for the winter crops, and the meat in the bird carcasses left behind wouldn’t last forever. There was also the dreadful thought that this may have only been the first of many such attacks. It was a thought he refused to share with his family, though he assumed it had crossed their minds.

Wings fluttered overhead. Mak’s eyes rose toward them, but the sun blinded him. He shielded his eyes with a hand and nearly choked on his porridge. Two blue jays flapped their wings and swooped into the coop, most likely disappearing into their nest. A pair of swallows soared in on motionless wings soon after. He watched with joy.

“What is it, Pa?” Jerri asked with a hand in front of her mouthful of porridge.

He put a finger over his lips to silence her, and pointed to the coop. All but Konni turned to regard the birds. The swallows perched on the peak. One pecked its own chest, the other swivelled its head in every direction, wary.

The two youngest children bounced in delight. Mak wanted them to keep quiet, but he was nearly bouncing himself, and the birds did not seem to mind. Plucker and the Dames would never come back, the saboteurs had made sure of that, but that some had not only escaped their wrath, but returned on their own accord was enough to sting the corner of Mak’s eyes. You’re growing soft with age.

“What do we do now?” Konni stirred the boiling pot. “Other than go to my pa’s rich, lush, safe lands, of course. I know that isn’t an option.” She glared at Mak during the final few words.

“I’ve said it already, Kon, we rebuild,” Mak couldn’t take his eyes off the perched birds. “Weaker families have survived worse.”

“Smarter families would have avoided the need to survive anything like it in the first place.” Konni’s dark eyes fell back to her porridge.

Mak ignored the remark and got to his feet. It was time to work. Sitting around only brought the opportunity to dwell. “If you ain’t proactive, you start noticing a lot more things to hate about life.” Pa used to say. “Konni, Sherik, I’ll need you to clean the barn. Get that blood out of there. Be careful. The building may not be as stable as it used to be.” He glanced at the bird coop. The sparrows had left the peak of the roof. He hoped they were inside. “Skylde, I’ve got the perfect job for you.”

She didn’t look up.

“Catch the birds in the coop and bring them to the barn,” Mak said. “They can’t escape from there and I think they’d enjoy it more than that tiny coop.”

“They’d enjoy freedom more.” Konni swirled a spoon through her water-thick porridge.

“We’ve lost enough animals, Kon,” Mak said. “I’d rather keep my birds.”

Skylde looked at him. Her blonde curls were darkened, heavy, and lifeless.

“Be careful, darlin’,” Mak said. “They like to peck.”

She turned and glanced at the coop before she could see his smile. One of the sparrows was perched on the back of Mak’s rickety chair inside. It stared back at Skylde as if it knew what she was planning.

“When you’re done with the birds, you can bring their nests into the barn,” Mak said. “They like having them in high places, so bring it up to the loft. Stick to the back of the building, there’s barely any damage there.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pa,” Sherik said. “I can take care of the birds.”

Mak raised a brow. “No. Skylde will. You’ll be busy helping your ma.”

Sherik mouthed a curse and made a fist. Mak ignored it.

“Net, my boy.”

Net stiffened attentively and awaited his father’s orders.

“Search the chicken coop for any unbroken eggs and bring them to the barn,” Mak said. “We may be able to hatch some chicks if it’s not too late.”

Net nodded quickly and smiled.

“I’ll fix the steam plough.” Mak glanced at the tool shed. “I don’t think it’s too late to replant. We might have smaller product than usual, but at least it’s something.”

“We should ask Mister Greenshore for help,” Sherik said.

Mak nearly berated him for the suggestion but the boy couldn’t have known. Mak had never told the children what he’d seen at Daun’s farm. “We only ask for help with tasks we can’t complete ourselves.” He looked to Jerri who sat half-asleep on her stump. “Little lady?”

Her eyes flashed wide, and she shook herself awake. “Yes?”

“I’ll need you to go down to Picklewood. Visit Handyman Jak’s shop and ask him to deliver supplies. I’ll have you write a list. Tell him you’ll be back sometime in the winter to do his favour.”

She pursed her lips.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Let Sherik do that,” Konni said. “He’ll be safer out there.”

“Nothing’s going to happen in town, Kon.” Mak would never send his little lady into what he thought might be danger. “The danger is here, as you can see.” He pointed to the charred barn. “I’ll need Sherik by my side if those fools return.”

Konni was going to protest, but Jerri spoke first. “It’s fine, Ma. I can do it. I’ve gone to town and back hundreds of times. Jak wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Besides, I can take care of myself too, you know.” She brandished a small fist.

Mak’s heart filled with warmth. He wanted to jump across the fire and embrace the little lady. Why couldn’t Sherik be more like that? She showed pride in working for and defending the farm despite her yearning for the city. The boy just did what chores he was given and nothing more.

Konni shook her head. Her lips moved as if trying to formulate the perfect rebuttal, but she gave up after locking eyes with Mak. She knew he was too stubborn to persuade. She rolled her eyes and left her stump for the barn. “Skylde, take the porridge off the fire before you play with the birds.”

Another bittersweet victory. On one hand, he was doing what he knew was right for the family and the farm. On the other hand, he was losing Konni. She barely spoke to him anymore, she slept on the edge of the bed, making midnight activities virtually nonexistent, and she argued every decision he made. “Hate me now, thank me when I succeed.” Pa’s words rang.

He regarded his children around the slowly dying fire. “We’ll make most of the repairs tomorrow when we get the supplies from Jak. Both coops, the steam-plough’s wheels, a few touch ups on the barn…”

The three youngest nodded, and Sherik spoke. “Not if those guys come again.” The others exchanged concerned looks.

“If they come back, we’ll be ready,” Mak assured them. “I’m not sure how yet, but I swear to you, they will regret the next step they take on our land. Now get to work. We won’t let these railroad bastards tell the Garde family how to live, will we?”

They seemed genuinely encouraged. They cheered and left their stumps with vigour. Mak wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. I may have lost Konni, but I can’t lose the children. I can’t defend the land without them.

Skylde and Net started for the coops, and Sherik joined his mother in the barn. Jerri stretched her limbs, preparing for the long walk to town. Dammit, I forgot she’d have to walk. And she’d still accepted the task without question. Mak put an arm around his daughter and escorted her to the front of the house. “Let me get you some food before you leave.”

“I’ll be fine, Pa,” she said. “I could pick berries along the way. It’s not that far. I’ll stop at the bakery once I get there. I have a bit of coin, but I’m sure Missus Brelda will give me a nice discount.” She winced. “Especially when she sees my robe.”

Her grey sleeping gown was coated in dust and ash. There were strange rings where water mixed with dust and dried, and there was a small tear near her navel that exposed her white undershirt.

“You could change before you go.”

She shook her head. “I’ll just get dirty again during the walk.”

“Let me get you a water skin at the very least.”

She looked to the sky in thought. “Sure. I’m a little parched as it is.”

Mak stepped into the house and was hit by an overwhelming sense of comfort. Some demonic force pulled his eyes to his disheveled bed, and a second wave of comfort came over him. The sick realization that he would not be able to lay there until the sun made its long journey through the sky made his shoulder ache and his head pound.

He ignored the feeling as best he could, took a water skin from Konni’s cookery, filled it from one of the large wooden tankards of river water they gathered every night before bed, and tightened the lid. He spotted Parren’s knife that he’d stored on a high shelf above his bed and snatched it.

Jerri waited patiently, moving a small stone with her foot. She smiled when he exited the house. He gave her the water, and after making sure they were out of sight of the barn, handed her the knife. She looked up at him with large eyes and raised brows.

“Just in case whoever did this is crazier than we thought.” Mak spoke low. “You won’t have to worry about it. Especially if you have the knife.” He winked. “Don’t ever tell your ma I gave this to you.” He wanted to tell her whose knife it was, but he didn’t want to tell her how he’d gotten it, so he said nothing.

Jerri laughed and tied the white cords of her hat beneath her chin. “I won’t tell anyone. And I’ll use it well.”

“I hope you don’t have to use it at all.” He hugged her. “Do you have that little notebook you’re always carrying around?”

She dropped the knife into the deep pocket of her robe and pulled the leather-bound notebook out. A coal pen was stashed in the middle of the pages.

Mak listed off the supplies they would need, and Jerri wrote them down as quick as he spoke. She closed the notebook, dropped it in with the knife, and started for Picklewood.

* * *

Near dusk, Mak knelt in the tool shed with both doors open to allow a breeze to sweep through. He tightened a few bolts and removed one of the main rods that tied the engine to the wheels. He brought the steel rod to his work bench and began hammering the large bend out. The vandals had not purposely damaged anything but the wheels on the steam plough, as far as he could tell, but the engine had taken some damage from the fall.

Mak went over his family’s finances while he hammered. He had a little under seventy dollars saved up in total. He did quick counting in his head. The six iron wheels, a few pre-made metal hinges, nails, and all the wood needed to repair the roof, not to mention the delivery charge, would easily cost about fifteen dollars, that was with the expected discount from Jerri’s help.

That would leave them with fifty-five dollars which would have to last until next year’s harvest. The tax collector would come by then. He’d take a good thirty from them, most likely. Taxes had been outright unfair since the new governor took office, not that they were ever truly fair to begin with. It was one of the reasons Terryl Seeker and his ship full of brave sailors first left the old country. Mak cleared his throat and rallied his thoughts.

Money was going to be a problem, but perhaps not as big a problem as food. The others had completed their initial jobs. Konni sat at the fire, stirring another spider pot full of porridge. Her face was somber as she swirled the runny dish with a long wooden spoon.

Skylde was in the cellar, salting the meat from the Dames.

Sherik sat across from his mother, cleaning Lady Marlay’s barrel. Makes you feel tough, eh boy? Let’s hope you stay tough if you ever have to use it. Mak closed the door that faced them and returned to hammering out the kink in the rod. It required soft, precise blows lest he damage it further. He wished the boy would make himself more useful. He could be raking the burnt grass like I told him to.

The boy! Mak remembered the twenty dollars he’d tried to hide in the barn. He was supposed to bring it to the mayor this morning. Mak decided to let the boy keep it, at least until he learned the truth of its acquisition. If the little fool stole or earned it in other criminal ways, worse would happen than simply having to return it, but if he somehow came upon the money honestly, it could be useful for them.

He finished hammering the rod and reinstalled it. Only the wheels were left to fix. Jerri should have been back by now. He figured she’d converse with some of the townsfolk, or perhaps she’d helped Jak with his taxes. Mak laughed. The little lady was bold enough that she might have even stopped at Mayor Bass’ to file an appeal to Guvson’s document which he would’ve done had the mayor mentioned it.

He stayed on his knees after installing the wheels and wiped sweat from his brow. Something cracked on his skull, sending an insulting pain through his bones. A rake fell before him. He unleashed a storm of curses and thrust the rake back where it belonged. It took everything not to throw it against the wall.

Net entered the shed, just in time to hear Mak’s cursing. He stood in the doorway, frozen with wide eyes but he held back a laugh. His hands were covered in dirt and he nearly brought them to his mouth to hide his growing smile. “Don’t curse, Pa. I planted carrots in my garden. We’ll be fine.”

The cursing stopped. Mak messed the boy’s hair and gave him a loving pat on the shoulder. His tiny garden in front of the house was normally used for herbs like parsley and garlic, and Net often experimented by planting flowers. He was surprisingly good at finding the seeds of a wildflower and helping it grow. Konni’s former garden was in good hands.

The pain from the rake subsided, and Mak’s expression softened. “Good job, boy. We won’t go hungry if the whole family is working together. You’re right. We’ll be just fine.”

Net’s cheeks dimpled at that.

“Want to see how this thing works?” He pointed to the steam plough.

Net nodded and clapped his dirty hands.

It better work… The carriage portion of the plough was surprisingly light once the boiler, engine, and the plough itself were removed. Mak lifted it onto two blocks of wood so that it sat two feet from the ground. He ridded the engine of its rods, installed it back onto the carriage, and secured the boiler to the engine. He grabbed two buckets and handed one to Net. “Let’s go to the river. One trip should do, we won’t need much just to test it.”

They passed Konni at the fire. Her porridge was complete. Mak’s stomach rumbled at the sight and smell. He nodded to his wife, but she never looked up.

“Plough working?” she asked.

“Didn’t try it yet.” It was the longest conversation they’d had that wasn’t an argument in a while.

Lady Marlay leaned clumsily against Sherik’s empty stump. Where is he now? He knows better than to leave the gun like that.

He stormed to the river, Net ran to keep up. Beside the barn, Sherik raked. Mak looked back to the tool shed. The rake must have been displaced whenever Sherik had come to grab the other, leading it to fall on Mak’s head. How does he always find a way to make me hate him and love him at the same time?

They filled their buckets and returned to the tool-shed. Mak left Sherik in peace. He could berate him about the gun later.

Mak set his bucket down and hoisted Net, who still carried his. “You see the little hatch on top of the boiler?”

“Yes.”

“Open it and pour the water in.”

The hatch creaked open, and water echoed as it poured into the hollow metal boiler. This particular model worked on fizzore rather than coal, so it didn’t require fire to create steam.

Net handed him the empty bucket, and Mak crouched to reach for the other. His legs shook with Net’s weight still in his arms. The boy poured the second bucket, and Mak set him back on his feet.

He reached into a sack on the top shelf and pulled out a chunk of fizzore. It was an expensive mineral mined in the North. It reacted with water quickly and brought it to a boil, creating large amounts of steam in short time. The rock was red, just like the steam it created, and it was pierced with hundreds of little holes, like a leaf eaten up by worms. He put it on the work bench and hammered it lightly.

“Why are you doing that?” Net’s chin rested on the work bench and he watched the process closely. His eyes flinched with every strike of the hammer.

“We only need a tiny bit to create enough steam for our test,” Mak said. “This stuff lasts pretty long, but its expensive. We need to conserve it as best we can.”

Net nodded deeply, absorbing each of his father’s words. It reminded Mak of himself at that age.

“You ready?” Mak put the fizzore he wouldn’t need back in the sack and held the tiny nugget between his thumb and forefinger.

Net smiled and hopped up and down.

He held the nugget over the open hatch. “If this thing goes crazy, I want you to run out of here as fast as you can and get your ma.”

The boy nodded slowly and side-stepped toward the door.

Mak dropped the nugget. It splashed, and he could hear the water boil before he got the hatch closed.

The boiling water was loud in the small shed. “The steam should build up in there,” Mak pointed to the boiler and spoke in a raised voice, “and push out through this pipe and come down here.” He crouched and pointed to the engine. “The steam causes two pistons to move and those are what make the wheels turn.”

Net stared at the machine in awe.

“It should start—”

The engine chugged. The rate increased until it was fully running. Mak and Net cheered and shook hands. He brought Net to where he could see inside the carriage and pointed to the biggest lever. “If this thing had wheels, we would just need to pull that lever to go forward. The farther back its pulled, the faster the vehicle.”

Red steam filled the shed. “What’s that?” Net pointed to the wheel inside the carriage.

“It’s a steering wheel. It’s how you go left or right.”

“And that?” He pointed to another lever.

“That decides if the plough is up or down.” Mak sat the boy in the carriage, earning a massive smile in the process. “Pull that lever when I say ‘go’, alright?” He pointed to the only one yet to be named.

“The little one?”

Mak nodded. He rose to the tips of his toes and unlocked the hatch on the boiler. “Go.” Net pulled the lever and the engine slowly came to a stop. Mak opened the hatch, releasing a thick cloud of red steam. The engine sounded as it should, with no strange pops or sluggish moaning noises.

“Finally, a bit of good news, eh son?” The steam dissipated a little, and the tool shed was quiet again. Birds outside and Konni’s crackling fire reclaimed the air.

“Why did they do this?” Net’s smile was gone.

Because I’m a stubborn man who should have listened to your ma, he thought. One of pa’s quotes came to mind. “The stubborn man often regrets his perseverance, especially when he ignores good advice along the way.”

It was the first time his pa’s quotes had contradicted each other. On one hand, his pa’s teachings told him to stay on the farm and fight at all costs. On the other, he was told to listen to Konni and leave. He’d never doubted his pa’s words until now. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Pa?” Net’s voice broke the train of thought.

He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Some men will stop at nothing to get what they want. They don’t care who they hurt along the way either.”

“What kind of man would act like that?” Net asked. “It doesn’t sound very proper at all.”

“Evil men, son.” Mak said. “They exist. I hate to tell you that, but it’s true. Some men refuse to take the freedoms of others into account. That makes them evil.”

“Is that man evil?” Net pointed out the open door that led into the crop field.