Jack Of All Trades ✓ | steampunk, dragons, trickery

Chapter 2.3: Home Smartbuggle Home

The house was spick and span as Margorie had been cleaning it. Jack let his eyes wander to the shabby pink curtains none of them bothered to change after their mother left. It was her favorite color. Despite that she left them with an ugly curse that only cursed Jack, there was still motherly sentiment in their hearts. They all still loved her in their own ways, of course. And, they had this talk many times.

He grazed his eyes then across the room to the kitchen. The wooden walls had to be taken down or their forgetful father would burn the house down.

That would have kept the original will without question, Jack thought, not that I want him to die.

The exposed pipes hissed as Margorie busied herself in the kitchen while 'Pop and Jackie, why don't you talk men's things at the table while I get the muffins.' At home, he was always Jackie. It annoyed him. He was a successful businessman in all ways possible. He wasn't Jackie. He was Jack.

He noticed the pictures had been taken down. The place where they hung for many years had left a mark. A clean mark. That part of the wood looked brand new while the rest of it suffered from erosion over the years. The pictures would have been family pictures including their mother. For years, they weren't taken down. It was a recent thing. He wondered why. Jack felt eyes prickling his skin. His father was now looking at him, finally aware of his son's presence.

"How's the gallery?" His father Emmett sat up in his reclining chair a little to blink his eyes, looking at Jack. The middle-name namesake looked like he had been seeing Jack this entire time and not a day had gone by since last.

"Good. There will be another next Tuesday."

"Next Tuesday," Emmett rubbed his chin, feeling for the non-existent beard. "Today is Tuesday."

Jack shook his head. "Wednesday."

"Of course."

"Are you voting next Monday?"

"Tuesday, no, there's no election."

Jack grimaced. The forgetfulness had gotten worse. "The election Pop. Did you decide who you'll vote for?"

"I don't like Norstrom." Emmett furrowed his bushy blond eyebrows. "I like Palestone. The man knows what's good for the country. Bloody bastard Norstrom."

Norstrom wasn't running this time. That was last time. Emmett was getting mixed up with last year when Palestone first became minister. But whatever, Jack sighed, at least he would vote for Palestone who was indeed running again this time.

"How's the farm, Pop?" He changed the subject. "How's—"

"The farm," Emmett's hollowed voice rasped, "do you know how long this farm has been in our family?"

This story again. Jack couldn't even count how many times he heard it, but he knew if he didn't let his father talk, it would make him angry and when he got angry, his heart rate went up. When that happened, he had trouble breathing.

"Tell me Pop. I seem to have forgotten." He leaned forward.

"Pah!" His father spat. "Ungrateful son of mine. The Ogswolds have been in the Stretch for the longest. We have lived in Guther before any other bloody farmer came to Hobbersmead. Generations upon generations. You are the eleventh, Jackie. The eleventh son to live on these lands. You know why it's called the Stretch?"

Jack pretended to ponder. "Hmm, because it stretches between the mountains?"

"Right. Endil has layers of mountains and land stretching between them. Striped. The Stretch we live in, Hobbersmead, is the oldest farmland."