“That’s for Mister Mosel!” she scolded.
“No need.” I huffed an unhappy laugh. “He’s already gone.”
“To the barn, you mean?” Across the tiny room, Mother gestured to the open window.
I rose and rushed over. Sure enough, Kit stood in the dirt patch beyond the barn door. The sun’s glow seemed to warm his dark clothes as he bent over the massive plow blades, striking sparks along the edge.
Mother folded her arms, looking happier than I’d seen herin some time. “He’s been up for hours,” she said. “Had time enough to feed the chickens and gather eggs, milk the cows, and mend that broken section of fence in the far pasture…”
I squinted across the yard to where Kit carried on as if my responsibilities were his. It made me look a bit bad, to be honest.
Mother’s words registered belatedly.
“What broken fence?” I asked.
She turned to me with the indulgent smile she reserved for when she had to repeat herself. “I asked you about it a month or so ago. Before your father…” Sudden tears caused her eyes to glitter, and I immediately regretted asking.
“What else needs to be done, Mother?” Reaching into my boot, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencil. “I’ll make a note.”
It was more than a note. I had a list by the time Mother was done detailing every large and small project in need of my attention. Worse than the sheer amount of work was the familiarity of it. This was not her first request.
I flipped back through weeks’ worth of drawings showing tall and squat buildings in the town square of Forstford, Kit’s hilltop cottage casting a long shadow in the sun the morning after the rainstorm, and the horses and spotted cows I’d drawn a hundred times. In the midst of that, I found another list almost identical to the one Mother just finished dictating. Not a single item had been crossed off.
Sayla came alongside me holding the plate of food I’d been shooed off of minutes earlier. “Take this to Mister Mosel, won’t you? I’m sure he’s worked up quite an appetite.”
Reluctantly, I took the plate and flatware, then headed out the door.
Kit saw me coming long before I reached him. He stood and wiped his forehead on a rag he must have found in the barn, then dried his hands with it as well. His pale skin glistened with sweat despite the cool temperature.
As I came into range, his lips curled in what might have been a smile, though it was more likely relief at seeing the offered breakfast.
“You’re a bit of a late riser for a farm boy,” he said. “I thought your lot was usually up with the sun or the rooster’s crow.”
Father had been. Merrick, too. I’d decided years ago that they used my propensity for sleeping late to avoid bringing me along on the morning chores. I’d knocked over one too many full milk pails while yawning or stumbling around drowsily.
I couldn’t help but notice the plow blades, immaculately clean and slick with oil. The sight stirred up bitter feelings in me, another reminder of how far I fell below the standard for a man, even in my own home.Especiallyin my own home.
“I had a restless night.” I held out the food. “Are you hungry? My sister seems to think you need to feed your broad, blacksmithing shoulders.”
“I could eat.” Kit walked forward and took the plate. The look on his face shifted nearer to cheerful. He seemed happy, but I certainly wasn’t.
He glanced around, looking for somewhere besides bare ground to sit. I waved him toward the barn, where hay bales were stacked near the open door. We walked together, and he settled into a comfortable position while I stood by.
“Thank you for tending the animals,” I said grudgingly. “And fixing the fence. My mother thinks you’re quite a blessing. I’m not sure she’ll let you leave.”
Kit stabbed the fork into a pile of eggs. “You weren’t the only one who had a restless night. I needed something to do with my hands.”
“AndIneed your work ethic. Then maybe things wouldn’t be”—I swung my arm in reference to the land stretching around us—“like this.”
Kit tracked my gesture while chewing. “Well, if there’s anything else, I don’t mind lending a hand if you need it.”
I thought about the checklist penciled now two separate times in the pages of my sketchbook. Several of the tasks required more hands than mine alone, but I’d been too stubborn to ask Merrick for one more favor. Before Father died, he’d called a family meeting to discuss the future of the farm. With Merrick so often gone, it made sense to relieve him of the responsibility for things at home. But Merrick didn’t see it that way and flew into a rage about being robbed of his birthright and seeing his legacy passed into incompetent hands.
The last thing I wanted was to prove my brother right by showing my own weakness. He knew it too well already.
“How do you know so much about farmwork?” I asked Kit, my forehead creased. “Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a Bone Man or blacksmith would dabble in.”
“I stayed with a farmer for a while some years back,” he muttered.
