Blood

19. Housekeeping

Hedges is amazing. When I got back to the cabin, lantern light glowed from the old cracked windows and good smells wafted from the chimney along with the welcome scent of a hot fire. I stepped inside and stopped to stare. He'd found an old flower-print apron and put it on, and he was stirring a pot at the old wood-burning stove. Someone had left split firewood stacked near it, I noted, so he hadn't had to go out in the dark and gather wood. That was good. When big things are going wrong, I think it's helpful to notice any little things that happen to go right.

He had a lantern hanging up by the stove and another sitting on a wooden table. He'd even made up the two cots in the far corner.

I came in and plopped the chunk of raw meat on the counter near the sink.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded. "And how did you get so much blood on you?"

"Did you find that iron pan?"

He frowned, but gestured toward the stove. The pan was already hot and waiting. I picked the meat up and moved it there. It sizzled and sent off amazing smells.

I realized my eyes and teeth were still transformed. Turning so as not to look at the meat, I concentrated and, with an effort, shifted them back. "Uh, I should clean up. Does the water work?" There was a faucet at the sink.

"It's fed by a cistern in the attic. There's a hand pump in the closet to fill the cistern from a well down in the cellar hole. I had to replace a pin and oil the pump but—"

"Okay, I get the general idea," I said. "Mind if I...?" I stripped off my flannel shirt and T-shirt and tossed them in the kitchen sink.

"Hey! I just scrubbed that sink clean!" he complained.

"Sorry but I don't see another sink."

"Just clean it really well when you're done," he said, turning to stir his pot again. "Your clothes smell like blood."

At that my fangs slid down again, and I had to close my eyes and take several slow breaths to get myself under control and put them away. Darn! This was beginning to get out of control.

I found a plug for the sink drain and started to pump water over my shirts. There was a bottle of dish soap on the counter. I shrugged and squirted some into the sink, then pumped more water on top. It was cold of course, but I worked the shirts around in it until the water was all pink.

I drained the sink and refilled it, then repeated the cleaning. Three times.

Finally they looked and smelled truly clean and I rang them out and turned to Hedges, who was setting our food out at the little table. "Where can I hang these?" I asked.

"Over the stove. Only place they'll dry. Do you have to eat like that?" "Like what?" I demanded.
"Uh, naked from the waist up?"

I'm not a girly girl, I guess you already know that, and my build is very muscular, more like a man's. Except of course, being a teenager, my breasts have developed. I don't usually show them to Hedges. Or anyone. "Well," I said. " I didn't exactly have time to pack a change of clothes. Did you?"

He shrugged. "Whatever. Maybe I'll have breakfast without my pants on."

And then we both laughed. I guess we needed to. It had been a very long day. And night. If we didn't hurry up and eat, I figured we might not get to sleep before dawn.

I carefully used the knife and fork on my steak. All right, it's true, I ate a lot of it, but I didn't eat it fast and I kept my fangs hidden and didn't dribble any more bloody juice on myself. Practicing being human felt good.

Hedges took a few bites of the moose steak, then switched over to his bowl. He'd made a stew with canned beans and vegetables and it was really quite good. After I finished my steak, I ate two bowls of the stew. And then I took my T-shirt down—it was pretty much dry—and pulled it over my head. "Where's the bathroom?" I asked, looking around.

Hedges chuckled. "What?"

"For someone who seems to be turning into a wild animal, you have a lot of privileged assumptions about central plumbing."

"Meaning?" I demanded. I was too tired to follow Hedges' clever dialog. I didn't always understand him even when I was at my best, to tell the truth.

"Outhouse." Reverting to very simple sentences for my benefit, he pointed out the kitchen window. "That way."

Oh. Oh well. "Any, uh, outhouse paper?" I asked.

He pointed to the woodpile.

Huh? And then I noticed a stack of yellowed old newspapers there. I guess they'd have to do.