Page 9 of Homestead

So I’m happy as I go to wash breakfast dishes with Paula. Genuinely excited about the day.

But then Laura tells Greta that she has a bad headache this morning and asks if it’s okay if she trades her chore for breadmaking.

Her chore is laundry, which is the absolute worst.

Greta tells Laura that the trade is up to me, so Laura comes over with wide blue eyes and trembling lips to ask if I would please trade breadmaking for laundry because she feels so bad.

I don’t entirely believe her story of the headache. Even after only four weeks, it’s not difficult to recognize that Laura is someone who is in the habit of maneuvering events for her benefit. Plus, since I first arrived, I’ve sensed bad vibes from her in my direction. As if her sweetness is just an act and she secretly doesn’t like me.

In fact, I distinctly remember a cold look from her on the very first evening when Jimmy and I came in to dinner from outside.

I’ve never given her any reason not to like me. Maybe she’s just one of those girls who loves drama and is always in search of a rival. I remember them well from back when I was in school.

So I’m not convinced of her headache and suspect she just wants to get out of doing the worst chore.

But I’m new here. I’m living on charity. And she’s established—almost part of the family.

I can hear Grandpa’s advice sounding in my head. Always stay on people’s good side if you need them. A pretty girl like me can’t fight for what I need, so instead, I need to convince people to give it to me willingly.

I have no power here. None at all. And the last thing I need is an enemy.

So I make myself smile. “Sure. I’m happy to trade. I’m sorry you have a headache.”

Laura thanks me profusely with that cloak of false sweetness that grates on me so painfully I force myself not to cringe.

Then she leans over and whispers in a confidential tone that’s completely inappropriate to the nature of our relationship. “I really appreciate it. Jimmy and I will probably take a walk this afternoon, so I want to be feeling better for that.”

She waits for a reaction from me, but I have no idea how she thinks I should respond.

I don’t care if she’s going to take a walk with Jimmy. I didn’t realize they were a thing—and I can’t help but think he could probably do better—but he’s barely been on the periphery of my life since the first night I arrived here, so it’s of no concern to me.

Laura is very pretty—tall and slim with red-brown hair and striking blue eyes. I always feel kind of short, dumpy, and washed-out next to her. So Jimmy probably likes how she looks.

I blink and say, “Okay. I hope your head feels better before then.”

“I’m sure it will. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

I really don’t like her, but I shake it off. Petty grievances can’t matter to me anymore. I have much more important things to focus on.

Like figuring out life in this new world without Grandpa.

And now I’m stuck with laundry today, and that’s the absolute worst.

* * *

It’s late in the afternoon and everyone else has finished their chores, but I’m still hunched over a large tub, scrubbing shirts and underwear against the washboard.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been spoiled. As a child with pale blond hair and round, rosy cheeks, I looked and was often treated like a doll. Grandpa always called me “Chloe, doll,” and that’s how I was viewed. Even after Impact, his ingenuity and traditional gender views saved me from any manual labor. I’m not strong. I’m not tough. I’m not skilled at anything except smiling and acting nice. But still…

I’m trying to do the job I was given without complaining even if it means they’re starting to eat dinner while I’m not even close to done.

It’s better than starving, and I’ve finally figured out how to rub the fabric against the washboard without scraping my knuckles and getting blood everywhere.

Because I’m focused so intently on my work, I gasp when someone suddenly sits down on the bench beside me. I blink a few times before I process that it’s Jimmy.

I haven’t talked to him since he saved my life that first day. He’s been around on and off these past weeks, but he never speaks to me.

“Hi,” I say since he’s sitting there on the edge of the bench, staring at me mutely.

---