filled the Constable in on what had
happened since they’d last seen him. Without Ma to shoo him away,
the children were more talkative than he’d ever known them to be.
He was surprised to hear Titania join in as well.
Narrow retold the
story of their arrival, exaggerating Pater’s movements for
laughs.
"How is Pater?" he
asked. "Where is he?"
"He’s fine. Out
somewhere," said Porkchop.
"He was pretty
sick this winter, though," said Jelly. "Bad fever."
"And raving like a
loon," Titania added.
"He’s going to
miss out on some great eats," said Jones, sniffing the air.
Santa had started
to cook. Titania’s goose roasted over the fire pit outside and
chunks of deer meat slowly stewed in a huge pot on the wooden
stove. Stomachs rumbled at the smell of meat and onions. PC Pierre
washed his hands of the deer's blood before he tended to
Josephine.
They were soon all
gathered around the table. The children were too busy eating to
hold a conversation over dinner but when they were done and Santa
had made raspberry mint tea, Narrow took up where’d left off in his
tales of Pater and the farm. He even ran to his pack in the loft to
dig out the drawing they’d found tacked to Pater’s door on their
first day.
"We stay out of
his way and he stays out of ours," Porkchop said with a shrug.
"So far, so good,
eh?" PC Pierre smiled.
Porkchop smiled
back, caught herself and looked down at her mug.
"Well then," said
the Constable, "since you didn’t get one, you deserve a proper
welcome."
He put the box of
gifts he’d brought on the table: large cloth bags of salt and
flour, two jars of honey, three large rounds of goat cheese, a slab
of pork fat, and a large glass jar of cider vinegar.
Santa and Jelly
immediately thanked the Constable. Jelly was thinking of the
tinctures and marinades she could make with the vinegar; Santa
hefted the slab thinking of tomorrow’s breakfast, frying in pork
fat. Narrow opened one of the jars of honey and dipped his finger
in then passed it around. Santa dipped in hers and brought it to
Mixer’s mouth. His eyelids were beginning to droop but he accepted
her finger and sucked on the sweetness.
All evening he’d
flitted from one sibling’s thoughts to another but in the jumble of
mixed conversations and the sleepiness brought on by a busy day and
too much food he wasn’t able to separate things out.
While the rest of
them cleaned up, Porkchop took PC Pierre on a tour of the farm.
"It’s going to be
a lot of work," said the Constable as he surveyed the fields.
Porkchop
nodded.
"Forest says
there’s some winter left but we’re ready for an early spring
planting. We’ve done just fine up to now."
PC Pierre looked
at his feet.
"I’m sorry I
didn’t come. I checked on you from the lookout post at the cabin a
couple of times. I didn’t see any cause for worry."
Porkchop thought
that she would have done the same thing if she had been in his
shoes.
"But there is
something I need to tell you. It’s about Pater."
"I thought that
wasn’t your place."
The Constable
blushed.
"This isn’t just
about him. You said he was sick this winter and if something were
to happen to him, well this would concern the farm and me. But it’s
more complicated now that you’re here."
Porkchop stopped
at the far end of the field and looked expectantly at him.
"A few years ago,
long before you came here, Pater got sick. It sounds like what he
had this time, fever, delirious. He probably would have died if I
hadn’t shown up. I stayed with him for three days. One night he
started screaming and screaming and he wouldn’t calm down. He kept
saying that he didn’t want his boy to have his farm if he
died."
"You mean Pa?"
"Uh huh. On the
day that his fever broke he got angry at me, accused me of knowing
his secrets. Wanted to know everything he’d said to me so I told
him what he’d said about the farm and your Pa. I also told him that
if he wanted someone else to get his land, he could write
happened since they’d last seen him. Without Ma to shoo him away,
the children were more talkative than he’d ever known them to be.
He was surprised to hear Titania join in as well.
Narrow retold the
story of their arrival, exaggerating Pater’s movements for
laughs.
"How is Pater?" he
asked. "Where is he?"
"He’s fine. Out
somewhere," said Porkchop.
"He was pretty
sick this winter, though," said Jelly. "Bad fever."
"And raving like a
loon," Titania added.
"He’s going to
miss out on some great eats," said Jones, sniffing the air.
Santa had started
to cook. Titania’s goose roasted over the fire pit outside and
chunks of deer meat slowly stewed in a huge pot on the wooden
stove. Stomachs rumbled at the smell of meat and onions. PC Pierre
washed his hands of the deer's blood before he tended to
Josephine.
They were soon all
gathered around the table. The children were too busy eating to
hold a conversation over dinner but when they were done and Santa
had made raspberry mint tea, Narrow took up where’d left off in his
tales of Pater and the farm. He even ran to his pack in the loft to
dig out the drawing they’d found tacked to Pater’s door on their
first day.
"We stay out of
his way and he stays out of ours," Porkchop said with a shrug.
"So far, so good,
eh?" PC Pierre smiled.
Porkchop smiled
back, caught herself and looked down at her mug.
"Well then," said
the Constable, "since you didn’t get one, you deserve a proper
welcome."
He put the box of
gifts he’d brought on the table: large cloth bags of salt and
flour, two jars of honey, three large rounds of goat cheese, a slab
of pork fat, and a large glass jar of cider vinegar.
Santa and Jelly
immediately thanked the Constable. Jelly was thinking of the
tinctures and marinades she could make with the vinegar; Santa
hefted the slab thinking of tomorrow’s breakfast, frying in pork
fat. Narrow opened one of the jars of honey and dipped his finger
in then passed it around. Santa dipped in hers and brought it to
Mixer’s mouth. His eyelids were beginning to droop but he accepted
her finger and sucked on the sweetness.
All evening he’d
flitted from one sibling’s thoughts to another but in the jumble of
mixed conversations and the sleepiness brought on by a busy day and
too much food he wasn’t able to separate things out.
While the rest of
them cleaned up, Porkchop took PC Pierre on a tour of the farm.
"It’s going to be
a lot of work," said the Constable as he surveyed the fields.
Porkchop
nodded.
"Forest says
there’s some winter left but we’re ready for an early spring
planting. We’ve done just fine up to now."
PC Pierre looked
at his feet.
"I’m sorry I
didn’t come. I checked on you from the lookout post at the cabin a
couple of times. I didn’t see any cause for worry."
Porkchop thought
that she would have done the same thing if she had been in his
shoes.
"But there is
something I need to tell you. It’s about Pater."
"I thought that
wasn’t your place."
The Constable
blushed.
"This isn’t just
about him. You said he was sick this winter and if something were
to happen to him, well this would concern the farm and me. But it’s
more complicated now that you’re here."
Porkchop stopped
at the far end of the field and looked expectantly at him.
"A few years ago,
long before you came here, Pater got sick. It sounds like what he
had this time, fever, delirious. He probably would have died if I
hadn’t shown up. I stayed with him for three days. One night he
started screaming and screaming and he wouldn’t calm down. He kept
saying that he didn’t want his boy to have his farm if he
died."
"You mean Pa?"
"Uh huh. On the
day that his fever broke he got angry at me, accused me of knowing
his secrets. Wanted to know everything he’d said to me so I told
him what he’d said about the farm and your Pa. I also told him that
if he wanted someone else to get his land, he could write
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