Page 26 of Homestead

After a couple of gulps of milk, he says, “I was gonna do some fishin’ this afternoon when I get back. Maybe we can have some fish to eat this weekend.”

“Okay. That sounds good.” My stomach twists in nerves. Another thing I don’t know how to do. “I might need a little help in prepping the fish to eat. I’ve never done that before.”

“Oh sure. I’ll show you how. It’s kinda gross but not too hard.”

I’ve done plenty of other gross things in the past five weeks. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle the fish too.

“What you gonna do today?” Jimmy asks after another minute. He’s done with his sandwich already.

I have about a third of mine left, and I’m already full so I pass it over to him.

The first few times I offered him my leftover food, he quizzed me to make sure I wasn’t still hungry, but he must have realized I only give it to him when I’m actually done eating. He accepts it with a mumbled thanks and takes a big bite.

“I’ve got to bake bread this morning. I used the last of what we had on breakfast. I checked and we have all the ingredients. You’ve got a big sack of flour you’ve barely used.”

“Mom kept telling me to make bread with it, but even if I knew how, I never had time.”

“That’s what I figured. I’m pretty sure I can do it on my own since your mom taught me.”

“Okay, that’ll be good.”

“What’s the weather look like today?”

“Pretty good. It didn’t even frost last night, and the sky is clear. Think it will be sunny and mild.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll work on laundry too since the sun will be out. I hate hanging it up inside. The clothes always smell smoky and kind of musty. Do you mind changing out of those jeans before you leave? They really need washing.”

He looks down at himself in surprise, like he wasn’t even aware of what he’s wearing. He’s probably not. He’s in the habit of grabbing whatever clothes are closest when he gets up in the morning, so he’s been wearing the same jeans all week. “Oh. Sure.” He pops the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and then polishes off his milk before he stands up. “I’ll do that right now.”

* * *

The day is long. Very long. And it seems longer because Jimmy is gone for most of it.

My first attempt at bread is a definite flop, but I try again, and the second time I manage to come up with two fine-looking loaves.

While they’re baking, I start the laundry, working on the back deck because the sun is out and it’s not too cold for early December. And this way I won’t slop water all over the kitchen floor.

I get going, scrubbing each piece of clothing from our hamper against the washboard and then rinsing and wringing them out.

I barely remember to get the bread out of the oven in time and am relieved when I set them out to cool.

They look and smell just right. Thank God I’m capable of doing something well.

Then I have to return to the laundry. By the time I finish all the washing, it’s midafternoon. I completely forgot about lunch.

I’m scrambling around to find the clothespins to hang the wet clothes and towels on the line when a voice surprises me.

“Chloe? Chloe, I’m back!”

I run out of the spare room with the pail of clothespins and see Jimmy in the doorway, looking pleased and relaxed. “Oh hey. How did everything go?”

“Good. My dad had plenty of help, so it wasn’t too hard. Then we had a good lunch and hung out for a while.”

For some reason—for no good reason—I feel a sharp pang of hot resentment in my chest. He clearly had a good day. He had some easy work, which apparently he wasn’t even really needed for, and then what must have been a long, leisurely lunch. He’s not even out of breath, so he obviously didn’t hurry on his walk back home.

And I’ve been slaving away, stressed and exhausted, every minute of the day so far.

I don’t express any of my internal response. It’s not fair. Jimmy regularly works very hard, and his labor and his family’s help are the only reasons I’m safely housed and fed at all. He’s allowed to have a slightly easier day occasionally.

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