Chapter 5
We walk back to the farm soon after, and when the house comes into sight, there’s a dog sitting on the porch near the front door.
A few more steps confirm my suspicions. It’s the stray dog from the village alley who managed to get away with one of the balls. The brown-and-white one with the large build, peaked ears, and blocky head.
I let out a little squeak when I’m close enough to see that he still has the bouncy ball in his mouth.
Mason gives me a quick glance. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles.
“How did he find your house?”
“I went and got him.” I have no idea why he’d be embarrassed by this admission, but he clearly is. “Felt bad for the poor fella. He stays outside most of the time and sleeps in the barn. He won’t be any trouble to you.”
“I’m not worried about him being trouble.” There’s a silly ache in my throat, so strong I raise a hand to it. “I’m so glad you rescued him. I went back the other night to give him some scraps, but I couldn’t find him. I was worried.”
“So you don’t mind?”
“Of course not! I’ll give him a bath, and he can come into the house.”
“Don’t know if he wants to come in. I tried to get him inside, and he refused. Too scared, I think. But he seems happy here, and he’s definitely safer. As long as you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” I can’t help but beam as we reach the porch and the dog comes over to greet us with anxious excitement, wagging with slow, hopeful swipes of his tail. “Hey, buddy. I’m really glad to see you.”
I pet his big head. His ears perk and his wagging accelerates.
“What are you calling him?” I ask, straightening up to look back over at Mason.
“I’ve been calling him Bill.” He was watching me with the dog, but now his eyes are focused downward again.
“Bill? Why Bill?”
“No reason. Just the first thing I thought of. We can call him something else if—”
“No, Bill is good. I like it.” I scratch behind the dog’s ears. “It’s nice to meet you, Bill.”
So now there are three of us living here.
Me, Mason, and Bill.
My bed is comfortable, and it’s a luxury to be able to close a door before I sleep, but I still toss and turn most of the night.
Too much has happened so quickly. The room is unfamiliar. And I keep hearing sounds from outside that surprise me.
The village is utterly quiet at night because of the enforced curfew, but here on the outskirts, I hear sounds of the farm animals and wildlife outside my window. Not loud or unpleasant noises at all. Just different.
As soon as I hear a creak of a floorboard in the morning, I jump out of bed and pull on my old gray dress and work boots. I have to wait for Mason to finish in the bathroom before I use it, but then I get ready for the day.
He told me he does morning chores before breakfast, so I head outside to find him in the barn.
He’s milking a cow, the liquid spraying into a container that’s half-pail, half-jar.
“Mornin’,” he says without turning his head. He either heard or otherwise sensed my approach. “It’ll be a couple of hours before I’m ready for breakfast.”
“Oh, I know. I was hoping to at least watch so I can start to learn how to do some things.”
He pauses from squeezing the cow’s udders and turns to look at me. “You don’t gotta do any of this. There’s plenty to do inside.”
“I know you said that, but I’d still like to learn. So, if I have extra time, I can help. Or if there’s an emergency or something.”
I don’t say it, but I’ve already made a pretty clear assessment of the domestic needs of this house.
Cooking for me, Mason, and Bill will be easy compared to what I’ve been used to.
Lorraine and Aria were whiny and demanding, while Mason and the dog gobble up everything without a word of complaint.
Mason wears one set of clothes a day. In fact, this morning he put on the same clothes he wore yesterday.
So the weekly laundry will be probably a quarter of the labor I’ve been doing.
And cleaning won’t be difficult either since Mason works outside most of the day.
If I only do the inside work, I’ll have hours of spare time nearly every day. And that won’t be nearly enough to earn my keep in such a good living situation.
“Okay. If you’re sure. Don’t want you to think I took you on as a laborer or something like that.”
“I don’t think that at all. I want to learn. I can just watch for now so you don’t have to go to the trouble of teaching me.”
“I don’t mind teaching.” He motions toward a corner of the barn. “Grab that extra stool, and I’ll show you how to do this.”
In addition to milking the cows, we also feed them and the chickens and collect the eggs that were laid overnight.
I like the cows with their soft eyes and flappy tails, and I like the chickens with their feathers and industrious pecking and demanding clucks.
Bill appears after a while, snuffling over near his food dish on the porch and then galloping over when he spots us so Mason can throw his bouncy ball a few times.
As Mason is letting the cows out into the pasture, I take our newly collected eggs inside as well as the pitcher of milk we reserved for today.
It’s oddly satisfying to make an omelet with a few of the eggs we gathered this morning. I slice bread for toast with butter and add the leftovers of the ham we ate for dinner last night to the omelet.
I’m plating up our breakfast when Mason comes inside to wash up and take his seat at the small table in the kitchen. I set his plate with a glass of milk in front of him, checking his expression as I do.
“That looks real good,” he says, glancing up at me. “My eggs never turn out so pretty.”
This makes me chuckle as I sit down with my plate and milk. “It just takes practice. Eggs are easy.”
“Well,” he says, holding a forkful to his mouth, “they’re easy to make edible. They’re not easy to make like this.”
I’m pleased with the compliment. And I’m pleased with how the toast and omelet taste. And I’m pleased with the hums of appreciation Mason makes as he eats.
Overall, it’s a pretty good morning.
I spend most of the day scrubbing every inch of the kitchen, since it’s clear it hasn’t had a deep cleaning in quite a while.
Mason works in the barn all day. There’s a lot more to the work here than feeding and milking. He has to tend to the animals’ health and churn butter and make cheese and package it for sale on market days and cut and roll hay.
Today he’s working mostly on butter. I discover this when I go get him for lunch and then again for dinner.
My stew with rolls and cheese are a success at dinner. He has two helpings, and if I weren’t already planning to save the leftovers for lunch tomorrow, he might have had a third.
He works hard, and he clearly likes to eat.
Or maybe it’s because he’s enjoying having a better level of cooking than he’s been used to lately.
Either way, it’s intensely gratifying. That he’s enjoying what I cook for him so sincerely.
When he finishes his second bowl, he leans back in his chair and rubs at his thick brown hair. It’s too long. It’s curling down around his neck and falling over his forehead.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask him, still working on the last of the stew in my bowl.
“No, that was great. Thanks.” He clears his throat, dropping his eyes.
He’s self-conscious again. I can recognize the look now. Like he has something to say but is reluctant to say it. “What is it?” I ask to help him along. “Did I do something wrong today?”
“No!” His head and eyes shoot up. “Everything is perfect as far as I’m concerned. I just wanted to make sure that… that it’s all okay for you. I know it’s a lot of work. It’s different from living in the village. But do you think… Are you still okay with the… the situation here?”
“Oh.” I’m hit with another one of those waves of pleasure as I realize he’s not thinking of his own contentment. He’s thinking about mine. “Honestly, I had the best day I can remember.”
“Yeah?” His eyes search my face.
“Yes. Sure, there’s a lot to do here, but it’s easier than it was doing chores for Lorraine and Aria. Plus you’re not so demanding, and you don’t complain about everything. So it’s a lot better doing things for you. I—” I cut myself off, my cheeks warming.
“You what?”
“I like it. So far. I like being here.”
His shoulders relax. There’s something that almost resembles a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. “Okay. Good. I like having you here too.”
I’ve gone through Mason’s wardrobe and pulled out all the pieces of clothing with rips or lost buttons, so after dinner I take the smaller chair in the living room and start mending them.
Mason has gone out to do the evening chores and get the animals ready for the night, and when he returns, he takes the larger chair, stretching out his legs and reclining his head.
“What do you normally do in the evenings?” I ask him.
“I don’t even remember.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve worked every minute of the day since I’ve come back here, so I usually just did a half-assed washup and collapsed in bed when I was done.”
I giggle at his choice of words. “So you’re done earlier today than you used to be?”
“Hours earlier. It feels like a day off.”
“Good.” I’m smiling down at the shirt as I stitch up a torn seam. “I’m glad it’s helpful to have me here.”
“Why would you think it wouldn’t be helpful?”
“I assumed it was. But it’s nice to have confirmation. I’ve…”
He watches me, silently waiting for me to complete the sentence.
So I do. “I’ve gone a really long time working for other people without anyone acknowledging what I do for them.
I’m not clever and fearless like Annabelle.
I’m not brave and brilliant like my father was.
I have no unique skills or gifts. I’m not used to feeling like what I do matters, so it means a lot to know that you appreciate it. ”