Boondocks

Chapter 11: Sweet

FERN

I picked a spot a short walk through the trees surrounding Julia's garden. It wasn't close to water, which was something I usually required. I wanted to know more about her plants, and how the chemicals effected them. Plus, I could get her some water as I retrieved it for myself. It was the least I could do in the way of chores.

How long had it been since I was part of a group? Back home, we'd all had a role. John was older, and his chores tended to all center on the fields. Planting the seed, harvesting the crop, tending the horses and our mule, Benjamin. Mama kept the house a home, worked a smaller garden of herbs and did all the cooking.

As the youngest, I got what was left over. Milking the cow, feeding the pigs, mucking the stalls and collecting eggs from the coop. The more people Daddy brought to the barn, the more my responsibilities shifted toward helping Mama prepare all the food. Even then, food was the constant. Enough bread. Enough butter. Enough chickens to produce enough eggs. I made meals for people for months and never saw their faces, and it had likely been my hands that kneaded the last bit of bread they ever ate.

I dropped my pack to the ground and grabbed my hatchet from within. The day had gotten away from me, and I'd neglected the work I needed to do for myself. A shelter was top priority, almost more important than food. Food kept my body running. Shelter kept it warm, dry, and uneaten.

I walked over to a small birch tree, dropped to my knees, and started hacking a notch into the base.

Tex didn't move to help right away. He let me take it down to the ground first, then circled it. "That's a lot of work. How many times do you do that to build your shelter?"

I finished cutting the bottom loose, then pushed myself to my feet. The coat was too hot now. I slid it off and draped it over my pack. "It depends. For a full structure, I guess at least twenty-five? Thirty? I won't have time to build four walls today, though, so it won't take as many."

He hummed and scratched the scruff on his jaw. "Do you just notch the wood like they did log cabins back in the day?"

"Well, yeah, actually. That's exactly how I'd do it. Do you know a lot about building?"

He smiled. "I'm not completely useless, Darlin'. I can build most anything. I can fix things that are broken. If you've got a honey-do list, I'm your honey." He winked.

I looked back to the tree as if it could cool my burning cheeks. The way I reacted to him was embarrassing. My inexperience was a poisonous thorn that scattered my thoughts and stilled my tongue. He wasn't a boy. He was a man who'd likely held hundreds of women's hands before mine. It probably didn't even mean that much to him. Like a pat on the back or a high five. Simple contact. Yet, one little tease from him, and I was ready to spontaneously combust. I wrapped my arms around the trunk and began dragging it to where I planned to set up the lean-to.

Tex picked it up and balanced it over his good shoulder. "Where you want it?"

"Just," I pointed, "There is fine... Are you sure you should do that? With your injury? You don't need to–" I tried to take one end, but he was too massive, and I felt silly just managing to press my fingertips to the bark.

He dropped it to the ground, and, without acknowledging my worry, brushed past to another Birch. His hands ran over the trunk as if testing it before he leveraged his weight and gave a low grunt. The wood splintered and cracked, then fell to the ground with a resounding whoosh.

I gaped at him. He'd made it clear he wasn't normal. He'd explained why. I could see with my own eyes how massive he was. I could only assume that he'd be strong. But how strong? Was this straining him? Would it pull too much on his wound and cause problems I wouldn't be able to fix? "Wait," I said as he stepped over to another.