One Woman War | Inglourious Basterds/Original Story

Chapter 1

Waiting for the warm morning breeze to pass, I picked up another clothespin from the wicker basket lying among the long, green grass at my feet and gently clipped it over the cloth of the dress and the line of thick twine we had running from one tree to another just behind the house. Making sure the dress was secure so it would dry properly, I repeated the process with the rest of the damp clothes I had with me before stepping back and watching as the bright beams from the sun shone down on the hanging clothes. With how warm the sun was considering it was still only early in the morning, I reckoned everything would be dry in a few hours tops. 

Wiping a small bead of sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I placed the clothespin basket into the larger one I had used for the clothes and picked it up. With the basket balanced on my hip, I held it in place with one hand and used the other to push open the back door. Hearing the loud creak from the old, wooden door, my mother looked up at me from where she was doing dishes at the sink and smiled.

"Everything all hung up?" she asked sweetly, turning her attention back down to the pot she was scrubbing. 

"Yes," I answered as I placed the basket down beside the door and moved to pour some water into a cup from the pitcher on the table. "Are Dad and Micah still out hunting?"

My mother lifted her gaze from the pot momentarily to stare out the window at the thick woods that the property backed onto. "They are, yes." she nodded. "They left a little later this morning than normal but I suspect they should be back soon."

Lifting the cup of water to my lips, I took a sip and felt as the cold water rushed down my dry throat. I hadn't been outside that long, but the sun was so warm and the breeze brought such little relief that any work outside today would be brutal. I wondered how Dad and Micah were doing; maybe they were okay because the tall trees provided shade, but I doubted it was enjoyable weather for hunting nonetheless. 

Not long after I had finished my water and had set the glass back down the echoes of two familiar voices began to drift into the small farmhouse we called home. "I wonder who that could be." I mocked, knowing that my brother and father always bickered after hunting. They both had short tempers as it was, and after being out for hours trying to find something to eat, usually with little success, the slightest thing could set either one of them off. 

Pulling open the back door, I waved as the two figures in the distance walked closer and closer to the house. Micah was carrying both his and Dad's gun in his hands while Dad had what looked like a few rabbits in one hand and a small bird in the other. 

"That's not bad." my mother came up behind me, wiping her hands with a dish towel. "We've made do with less before."

"The rabbits are from the traps." my dad huffed as he moved the bird to his other hand with the rabbits and ran his dirty fingers through his thin hair. "Was shit hunting out there this morning was what it was. Too damn hot out. All the animals who know what's good for 'em are all hiding in the shade."

Micah, who was clearly exhausted and overheated, pushed passed me and Mom to get into the house. "Maybe if we just went into town like a normal family we wouldn't have to get up at the crack of dawn every morning for nothing more than a few rabbits and a pathetic excuse for a bird." 

Mom rolled her eyes as she hit Micah with the towel in her hands when he walked past her. "You know why we can't do that." she reminded him. 

Micah was younger than I was by eight years, and at fifteen years old he still had trouble grasping the true severity of why we did what we did. When the Nazis had first invaded France there were uncertainties about what that really meant, but after slowly watching Jewish family after Jewish family around us get taken away, some even killed in the streets, the decision to move to the country wasn't much of a decision at all. It was a necessity for survival, was how my dad put it.