MAYFLOWER

CHAPTER TWO

Glinda was pleased for her errand and to be able to hurry out of the kitchen that was mercilessly in the grip of the smell of boiled cabbage. She sniffed her arm and frock and turned her nose as the smell was with her. There was a stiff wind that would help her be rid of the smell and fat drops of rain that would be persistent but not troublesome. It was not the only reason she was pleased to be out of the kitchen. The work was uglier than had been threatened. The heat from the wood-fired ovens and then the ice of the pantry conspired to make her feel sickly. Her body ached because she did not rest. There was no chance to be idle with the watchful eye of the old maid and the carters who brought the constant supply of flour, egg crates, sacks of beans, potatoes to be peeled, carrots to be shaken of dirt and washed, strangled chickens, and of course the cabbages. There was hardly room to move and she either rubbed against the old maid or knocked her head on one of the pots or large spoons that hung from pegs hammered into every available spot on the low beams.

She scampered along the dirt path that was ribbed by tree roots. She passed a dozen cottages and the outermost stone wall to be out of the village. Her hands were white from kneading bread and she wiped them as she moved.

The old maid had cussed like an old man, held the tin upside down, and showed it to Glinda. The herbs were in a garden across the creek where they grew well. She passed a farmer wearing a thick woolen coat and a hat pulled hard down over his head. He had only an eye for his flock as he guided them to a nearby meadow. His look reminded her that it was colder than she had thought. There was a moaning wind coming directly from the ice peaks of the distant mountains. She should have brought her own coat but was too far along the path and furthermore did not want the scolds from the old maid for the return. As much as she could not warm to the old lady, they would be working sixteen hours an old-Earth day in the dining hall kitchen and a survivable relationship had to be established.

The work had been busy and the old maid was relentless in making sure the dining hall fed those it was supposed to feed. The elderly that no longer cooked for themselves, the resting watchtower lookouts, the schoolchildren that came in as one chaotic mess, the quiet clergy, and others that she did not know why they were there, but ate heartily like the rest. The stern face of the old maid did not change. She checked no timepiece and cooked and directed by instinct. In truth, she was not that old – if thirty-five old-Earth years was not considered old. And she had a proper name. It was Katje. Yet, from Glinda's own, not distant, schooling and lunch visits to the dining hall, she was always known as the old maid. Most of all, it was the appointment Glinda least wanted. Was she to become the next old maid? She was told her schooling was what it was and this is what she qualified for. Her poetry did not count and she was not from a farming family. She could work in the markets when they happened but she was to be at the beck and call of the old maid all other working time.

Glinda hummed. She always preferred being outside pulling the peas from vines than shelling them on a stool under a roof. The path dipped as it came to the creek. She followed the steps down so that she was standing alongside the running water and looked for the best series of stones to make it across. She bent for a moment to lower some fingers into the clear water. It was chilly. Another sign that the cold-times being talked about were coming. Her father had explained in his hard-bitten fashion that no one really understood how the seasons of the planet operated. It was said that there were two. One was mild to warmish, good for crop growing, and of an indefinite number of old-Earth years. And the other was a somewhat colder period that was maybe short or maybe long. No one knew. He insisted that he did. And that it would be much worse than what was thought. The cold like he had predicted had not come. "But it would," he said.

The patch was up an incline and in an area of black dirt surrounded by tightly fitted stones to keep the rabbits away. It was somewhat darkened by the overhanging trees with enough branches pruned to allow the dim sun to grow the herbs. She studied the array of colors, sat for a moment to rest, and rubbed her hands together. It was really getting colder. Maybe, her old man was right and something much worse than a mild winter was looming.