by EJ Wallace
At the mention of food, Jake's stomach growled. He was famished. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was until now. “What's on the menu?” Jake asked.
Ben laughed as the two climbed into the truck. “My girl makes me pancakes and eggs erry mornin’, smothered in butter and maple syrup, with a side of ice cold milk. It's what the body needs, some good old daily bread.”
Jake's mouth watered at the thought.
****
(Sophie)
Sophie yawned and wandered into the kitchen. Her stomach was growling angrily. When she opened the fridge, however, there was nothing in it. She frowned, irritated. She wasn't a morning person, and being hungry always made her irritable. A grandfather clock chimed behind her. It read 7am. The house was very still, but then Sophie heard the patter of footsteps on the wooden floor. Her heart quickened. Was it Jake? A shorter male appeared, cramming what appeared to be a cheeseburger into his mouth.
“Good morning, Zack,” Sophie said.
Zack nodded. His hair was matted, and his eyes were glazed. He was wearing sweat pants and a sleeveless gray tank top. “’Sup,” he said.
“Where'd you get that?” Sophie asked, eying his cheeseburger enviously.
Zack laughed. “I stopped in town last night and picked up a few. Ben and Mary only eat what comes off of the farm. So good luck finding anything worthwhile in there.”
Sophie frowned. “Ben. You mean your father?”
Zack shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, I'm going to the barn.”
“Okay... have you seen your dad?”
Zack nodded. “He's out chopping wood. He does it every morning. Tried to take me, but I told him that wasn't gonna happen. So he took your little boyfriend instead.”
Sophie's face flushed. “He's not my boyfriend. I don't even know him.”
Zack shrugged again. “Whatever.” he said, and walked towards the door.
“Don't you think you need a jacket? It's cold outside,” Sophie suggested.
“Nah, I'm hot enough to stay warm,” he said with a wink, then slipped out the door.
Sophie just laughed and shook her head. She wondered if that's how she acted at fourteen. Then her thoughts turned to Jake. She was surprised he agreed to go with Ben. He seemed so sullen, even worse than Zack. She wished she could help him. He seemed to be in so much pain, as if he were in some constant internal struggle. Most of all, she pitied him. How could a man with no past have no future? Even the fates hadn't given her an answer to that question. They had gone strangely silent as of late. Even her dreams had stopped. Which, truly, she was thankful for. They only tormented her. A sound of the door rustling snapped Sophie out of her thoughts. Mary walked through the door, covered in a thick coat, carrying buckets of water in both hands. Her cheeks were flushed ruby red. She smelled like outside, a brisk and bracing scent.
“Good morning,” Mary said with a huff, setting down her pails of water on the kitchen table.
“What are those for?” Sophie asked, confused.
“Breakfast,” Mary said, taking off her gloves and rubbing her hands together.
“Do the faucets not work?”
Mary shook her head. “No, they work. We just don't drink out of them. Dad doesn't trust city water. Says they put too many additives in it. We only use city water for showers and to wash dishes. We don't drink it or put it in our food,” Mary explained.
“Why don't you just boil the water? If you're afraid of impurities,” Sophie asked.
Mary shook her head. “Boiling it gets rid of germs, but not the chemicals, that's what he's more concerned with. So we get out own water, from the well. Our own food, too. Everything we put in our bodies comes from this farm, everything,” Mary said.
Sophie nodded. “Well, what do you eat around here, and how? I checked every cabinet and refrigerator, there was nothing.”
Mary gave her a strange look. “We make it ourselves...” Mary said, as if it was obvious. “I'm actually making breakfast now, do you want to help?” she asked hopefully, her eyes going wide and glittery. Sophie could never have told her no, even if she wanted to.
“Of course. What do you need help with? I can boil water, and once I made an omelet, well kind of. I microwaved an omelet I got out of a hotel vending machine,” Sophie admitted with a wry smile.
Mary laughed. “This is going to be harder than I thought. Well, we are going to make pancakes and eggs, my dad's favorite. Have you ever made pancakes before?”
Sophie shook her head. “No. But how can you make pancakes? I didn't see any pancake mix in the cabinets.”
Mary laughed. “Come on, I'll show you. Oh, and you might want to put a coat on.”
“A coat. Are we picking up some pancakes from the store? Because I don't have a license and you're too young to drive,” Sophie said.
Mary rolled her eyes. “Just come on.”
Sophie followed Mary outside. It was snowing, but strangely warm. The air was still, insulated by the fresh snow. There was no wind, and the sun's rays leaked through the cloud cover just enough for Sophie to feel it on her face.
The two made their way to the barn. When Mary opened the door, Sophie heard the sounds of thumping, followed by grunts and heavy breathing.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sophie asked.
Mary rolled her eyes. “Yes, Zack slamming his head against the walls again. That's all he ever does anymore. Instead of HELPING ME AROUND THE HOUSE!” Mary yelled the last part of her sentence, trying to get Zack's attention.
Zack was coated in sweat, glistening. He stopped hitting the punching bag and turned to Mary. “What?” he asked.
“Oh nothing,” Mary said, her tone pointed, like a dagger. “Sophie and I are just making breakfast. You know, the breakfast you are going to eat later, even though you didn't help make ANY OF IT.”
“I don't have time for that. Besides, cooking is a woman's work,” Zack said, then went back to hitting the punching bag.”
Mary shook her head and looked at Sophie. “Are all boys this stupid?”
Sophie smiled and nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Here,” Mary said, after rummaging through some things in the corner. She handed Sophie a pail and a basket.
“What are these for?” Sophie asked.
Mary lined Sophie's basket with a little hay, then took her pail and scooped oats into it from a bag in the back of the barn. “Hand me that pail,” Mary said. When Sophie did, Mary filled it with seeds that were next to the oats. “Oh, dangit! I forgot the milking pail.” Mary said with a snap of her fingers. “Would you mind?” she asked.
“Huh?” Sophie asked, shocked. “Milking pail? Just what are we doing?”
Mary laughed. “You need milk to make pancakes, and the butter, too. We're all out.”
Sophie groaned. “You make your own butter, too?”
Mary nodded. “Yep, the thickest, creamiest butter around. Anyone in town will tell you.”
Sophie's stomach growled in protest. “Do we ever get to eat any of the food we're making?”
Mary laughed. “Eventually. The boys will be back in about an hour, hour and a half. We should have it ready by then. First, though, we have to get the eggs, feed the chickens and the cows, milk the cows, then shake the butter and mill the grains for flour.”
“Mill the what?” Sophie asked in horror. “Where do you get the energy to do all that without something to eat? It's like you need breakfast so you have the strength to make breakfast.”
Mary handed Sophie the two pails of feed. They were heavy and awkward. Every time she walked, a bit of seed would spill, especially when they were back outside. By the time they got to the chicken coop, Sophie was coated in sweat and ready for a shower. When she said she would help Mary, she didn't realize what she was getting herself into. Why hadn't she just gone back to bed?
“Come here with the seed,” Mary said. Sophie waddled to her, and Mary plunged a hand into the bucket, rustling the seeds around.
“Rise and shin
e,” Mary said with a grin. “This always wakes up the hens. They know when it's feeding time.” Mary threw a fistful of seed on the aluminum siding of the coop, and suddenly the chickens inside sprang to life. They jumped up from their nests squawking and squabbling, pecking each other to get at the seeds before the others scooped them up. Mary laughed as she spread the seeds. “They're adorable, aren't they?”
Sophie winced as one chicken raked another with her clawed feet. “They're something...” she agreed.
Mary put down the pail. “Now hand me that basket, would you? The one with the hay in it.”
Sophie did as she was told.
Mary made her way towards the nests with the basket. The first nest had three eggs in it. They were a shade of brown, with speckled shells. “This is why you feed them first,” Mary said. “The hens forget all about the eggs when it's feeding time. But try getting at them otherwise, and she'll peck you until the cows come home,” Mary explained.
Sophie frowned. She had eaten plenty of eggs, but when she bought them pre-packaged, wrapped with market-designed logos, she never stopped to consider where they came from. But now, the thought of eating one of the hen's babies made her stomach turn. “We are taking their children...” Sophie said.
Mary shook her head. “No. There aren't any males in this coop. They're kept in a separate one. These eggs aren't fertilized. These hens could sit on them for a hundred years, and nothing would ever come out.”
“Oh. That doesn't seem so bad then,” Sophie said, secretly relieved. She loved the taste of eggs. “It's kind of sad, though. That the hens sit on the eggs, whether they are fertilized or not, always expecting a child, but never getting one.”
Mary scratched her head. “Jeez, never thought of it like that. That is sad. I've seen a few chicks hatched though,” Mary offered. “The hens get old and die, and Dad had to breed new ones. Not very often, though. I've only seen one hatching. I named them all, too, even though Daddy told me not to, but they were so cute. I can't remember who is who anymore, though,” Mary said with a frown.
Soon enough, their basket was filled with over a dozen eggs, and the chickens had stopped squawking. They were too filled with seeds to make any more noise.
The next task really pushed Sophie's threshold, almost past the brink. “I'm not touching those things,” she said.
Mary laughed. “Why? They're just udders.”
They looked disgusting. “It's so swollen...” Sophie said, her face twisted.
“That's the milk,” Mary offered. “Have you ever had fresh milk before? I mean, real milk?”
“No,” Sophie admitted.
“That explains why you don't want to do it. Real milk is so much better than the stuff you get at the store. You'll see. Come on, it's easy. Just grab an udder and pull on it, not hard, gently. Milking is actually kind of fun,” Mary said.
Sophie hesitated, but she couldn't bear to see any disappointment in Mary's big, googly eyes. “We have very different definitions of fun,” Sophie said as Mary positioned the bucket under the cow, who was happily munching on a pail of oats.
Sophie tentatively touched the udder. It was repulsive, leathery, with spindly hair on it that dug into her palm. She gritted her teeth, though, and bore through it. The udder felt plump, engorged with liquid.
“Do you feel how firm it is?” Mary asked.
Sophie nodded. “Yes.”
“That's how you can tell that she's ready for milking. Now just give it a little tug.”
Sophie pulled, ever so gently. Almost instantly, milk came gushing out of the udder, spattering into the pail below. Sophie recoiled. “Is it supposed to come out that fast?” she asked, shocked.
Mary laughed. “Yup. Means she's healthy, aren't you, girl?” Mary said, patting the cow behind the ear. “Just keep going until the pail is filled. You're doing Bessie a favor. She doesn't like carrying all that extra milk, it weighs her down.”
Sophie tugged on the udder once more, and the frothy white liquid spewed out again. Mary was right: it was kind of fun. It took no time at all to fill the pail. Actually it was very easy, but lifting the pail was a different story. The milk was heavy. Sophie grunted as she pulled it from beneath Bessie.
“Wait,” Mary said. “You don't have to do that yet. See that frothy stuff on the top? That's the cream. We scoop that out to make butter,” she said. Then Mary grabbed a ladle and a mason jar. She used the ladle to separate the cream from the milk, then plopped it into the mason jar.
“I thought you churned butter,” Sophie said. “In some kind of big wooden thing.”
Mary shook her head. “No, that's old fashioned. Shaking is easier. Watch.” Mary screwed a lid on the jar and gave it a good shake. “It takes a while, though, and you will break a sweat.”
Mary kept shaking the jar for a minute or two, then paused to check it. At first Sophie couldn't notice any difference in the liquid. Soon, though, it got chunky, and eventually it was less of a soup and more of a solid.
“Okay, done,” Mary said, wiping the sweat off of her brow. “Now the best part, the taste test,” she said with a smirk, unscrewing the lid. Mary stuck a finger in the butter and scooped out a big glob. “Want some?” she asked.
It was weird to think about. That she was going to eat something that had just quite literally came out of an animal, right in front of her, but it did look good, and Sophie was hungry... Sophie sucked the butter off Mary's finger.
“How is it?” Mary asked, beaming.
Sophie's face lit up. It was so light and fresh, so silky, but not salty. “It’s very creamy.”
Mary nodded. “I told you. Bessie makes the best butter on Earth.”
Sophie smiled. Mary was a sweet girl. Smart too, in a rustic sort of way. She knew much more about food than Sophie already, and she was only eight years old. Looking in her big eyes made Sophie's heart swell with warmth. It was a melancholy sweetness, it ached, but so wonderfully. It nearly made Sophie cry. Why did her mother die? Why did bad things always happen to good people?
The final task was milling the grains. Which was very difficult. Mary used a rolling pin and a wooden slab to crush the grains into powder. That was how they made flour, she explained. The process took quite some time and produced very little flour for your troubles. Sophie didn't mind, though. It was nice spending time with Mary. The task was repetitive, but soothing. She felt peaceful, her mind clear, crisper than it had been in a long time, maybe ever. No longer was it plagued by the visions, muddled by an unending stream of information. The turbulent waters of her mind went still.
“Mary, can I ask you something?” Sophie said as they cleaned up after themselves and made their way to the kitchen, ready to prepare their meal with their hard-earned ingredients.
“Sure.” Mary shrugged. “Anything.”
“What was your mom like?”
Mary looked up from the bowl where she was mixing eggs, her face scrunched in concentration. “It's hard to remember. I remember what she looked like, kind of. She was very pretty, and had a nice smile. She took us to church a lot, too. We would go every Wednesday and Sunday, for morning and afternoon service.”
“Oh,” Sophie said. “Do you still go?”
Mary shook her head. “No. When Mom died, Dad just kinda stopped doing everything. We used to go to a big pot luck in the town square every month, too, but Dad stopped going to that, too.”
Sophie frowned. “I'm sorry. Maybe we could go one day.”
Mary's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. “You mean it?”
Sophie felt a twinge of apprehension. An event like that was a lot of commitment, and the potential for a lot of eyes. That's when Sophie remembered who she was, what she was. Her past wasn't a spot, but a stain. There was no removing it. It was as impossible as bringing Mary's mother back. Some scars stay with you forever.
“How did your mom die?” Sophie asked.
The hot pan sizzled as Mary dumped the eggs in it. “I didn't see it,” Mary said. “But
Zack told me she just kind of fell one day. In the field, while she was bringing lemonade to my dad. The doctor said it was something called an aneurism. He said it's where your brain just stops working right one day. He said it could happen to anyone, at any time, for no reason. When Dad found out how she died, he got really angry. He called Dr. Hoffman a quack. Whatever than means. They haven't talked for a long time actually, not until you guys came along. Dr. Hoffman was the one who looked at your friend. He's a nice man, helped me a lot when I got chicken pox. I think Dad stopped blaming Dr. Hoffman, though.”
“Well, that's good,” Sophie said, adding water to the flour.
“Yeah.” Mary nodded. “I think he blames God now.”
Sophie gasped. “Mary! Don't say that.”
Mary shrugged. “It's true. He thinks God took Mom from him. To punish him for something. His past, I guess.”
“That's ridiculous,” Sophie said. “I hope he will realize that your mom's death was no one’s fault. This stuff just happens.”
Mary shook her head. “No. Everything happens for a reason. That's what Dad says.”
Soon, the pancakes were ready and the table was set. One plate stacked with a steamy pile of them, another with eggs and some bacon Mary had pulled from the cellar. Besides each plate was a tall glass of milk, fresh from the cow. Sophie knew, because she had milked it herself.
Sophie sighed in satisfaction as she admired her handiwork. It had taken all morning, but she felt like she truly accomplished something.
“They should be here any minute now,” Mary said. Only moments later, as if by magic, Sophie heard a jostling at the door knob outside. Sophie looked at Mary in awe. Just who was the one who could see the future here? she wondered.
Chapter 6
(Sophie)
A week had passed since Sophie and Jake had set foot in Ben Campbell's humble abode. It didn't seem like it. Out here, in the endless fields of snow, time seemed to stand still. Even her gift seemed to sleep. She hadn't been plagued by a vision or a dream in days. Though, there was often quite a bit of work that needed to be done around the house: cooking, cleaning, and stocking. Sophie had come to expect it, and maybe even to look forward to it.
