You sighed quietly, staring out the window of the carriage as it drove down the dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Or what seemed like it. Farmhouses, few and far between, dotted the landscape behind rows of waving crops. You slowly chewed the stick of gum in your mouth, conscious of the small package in your pocket that could very well be the last you'd have in a long time.
"Remind me again why we're moving out here?" You said, looking towards your mother, who had the sleeping head of your young brother nestled in her lap.
"Because your father has been given a grant; because it's always been a dream of mine to live out on a farm; and because it will be good for James' health to be away from the city." Your mother sighed.
"Seems the only one not benefiting from this is me." You grumbled. In the back of your mind you knew you were being petulant, but the rest of you didn't care. You had had to leave your friends, your family, and your schooling to come out here. You couldn't believe your parents were pulling you out of school. Your mother said she was going to teach you, but you knew she would be occupied with James-- not to mention all the work a farm provided. At least it was early enough in the year, and the house was already built, that there was enough time for crops to be planted still.
Suddenly the carriage came to a stop. You could hear the horses' harnesses jingling outside and their hoofs stamping. And then your father, who had been driving the horses, came around the side of the closed carriage, his head appearing through the window. He opened the door, and when he spoke his voice was strangely quiet. "Mary, you need to see this." He said. Your mother gently picked up James, standing up and ducking out of the carriage. You heard her gasp from outside, and, unbidden, followed.
The sight that met you was a horrible one. The wooden house, which had been commissioned by your father, had been placed next to a large tree, the largest tree that you could see for miles. And which was now uprooted and sticking out of the house. Directly down the middle was now a pile of kindling in between the two still-standing ends of the house.
"No." Your mother whispered, one hand covering her mouth as she stared at the wreckage. "What... what are we going to do?"
Your father took off his hat, scratching at his head. "Well, I suppose we ought to take a look, see if part of it is still fit for us to live in while we fix the rest."
"You'll do no such thing." A woman's voice from behind you said. You and your parents turned to see a couple who looked to be about your parent's ages standing there.
"What kind of neighbors would we be if we let you do that?" The woman continued. "No, you'll do no such thing. Especially not with little ones; no, I won't let you."
"Easy there, Martha." The man said softly. "The tree came down in the storm a couple nights ago. Our boy saw it yesterday, and came back to tell us. We heard you were coming today, so we figured we'd come over and let you know what happened. You folks are welcome to come back to our place. It's just down the road apiece, right next to yours." He added, raising his voice slightly as he addressed your family.
Your father opened his mouth, and you could tell he was about to refuse their offer. Your parents didn't take charity. But your mother squeezed his hand gently, nodding to the still-sleeping form of James in her arms. "John." She said softly. A sigh went through your father and he nodded slowly.
"I'd be much obliged." He said.
The woman--Martha-- nodded briskly. "Wonderful. I'm Martha, and this is Samuel. Just go ahead and drive that carriage right down the road, to the big gray house there."
"Wouldn't you like to ride with us?" Your mother offered. You could tell she was grateful for the offer to stay with them.
"Well, we wouldn't mind, now would we Samuel?" Martha said happily. She, your mother, you, and James got into the carriage shell while Samuel and your father sat in front.
The whole ten minute drive was accompanied by Martha's chatter; and as such you learned they had a boy your age and four girls ages, 7, 5, and 3, plus one who was a year younger than you. They also kept chickens, one of which was currently affected by some strange malady, cows, two of whom were about to calve, and pigs. The pigs were all fine.
By the time you got to their house, your ears were about to fall off. So you eagerly accepted when your mother asked you to carry a trunk to the room that Martha had decided that you and James could stay in, and another trunk to the one that Martha had decided that your parents could stay in. The rest of the luggage would stay in the carriage. The other large items were to be delivered to the nearest town-- about an hour's drive-- on Tuesday.
You lugged the trunks inside, following the directions that Martha had given you first to the room for your parents, which seemed to be a guest room, and second, a couple doors down, to the one for you and your brother. When you opened the door though, you got a shock. You were expecting it to be empty like the other one. Not to have a tall boy stretched out on top of a long skinny bed with an arm over his eyes that covered most of his face. And you were not expecting for that boy to be wearing only a pair of brown pants. You were especially not expecting for that boy's top half to be as muscled as it was.
A blush came to your cheeks and you set the trunk on the ground with a thud that caused the boy to sit straight up, his arm dropping from his face. His eyes met yours and you became conscious you were staring. Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor.
"Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here." You mumbled softly. The boy opened his mouth to say something when Martha came bustling down.
"Oh my! What are you doing in here? Have you finished the baling already?" Martha said to the boy. "And... good heavens, where is your shirt?"
"Uh..." the boy blinked, picking up a shirt from the floor. "Resting, I finished for today, and right here."
"Why isn't it on?" Martha crossed her arms.
"It's hot." (Yes he is-)
"We have company." Martha hissed, gesturing towards you. You, who had been watching the drama and trying to not stare at the boy; you, who's cheeks were steadily growing pinker.
"I didn't know that." The boy said, slipping his shirt over his head.
"Well." Martha sniffed slightly and gestured again, this time at the trunk you were holding.
"Uh, lemme take that for you?" The boy mumbled slightly with a questioning glance at his mother, who nodded. You handed him the trunk, feeling your heart skip slightly as your fingers brushed his.
I shouldn't crush on somebody I just met, You thought. I don't even know his name.
The boy shot a small half-smile at you, and those thoughts evaporated.
"-so you'll be staying in the girls' room while they're here." Martha was saying as you finally found your feet in reality again.
The boy nodded. That was all you had time to see before Martha was bustling you down the hallway again towards the kitchen.
"The soup's almost ready and the bread's in the oven." She said. "Didn't know how many of you there were, so I made a lot."
'A lot' was an understatement, as you could see when you entered the kitchen to see an absolutely enormous pot bubbling away on the stovetop. The oven held no fewer than five loaves of bread.
"Do you mind setting table, honey?" Martha asked, peeking into the pot and turning down the stove. "Plates're in the cabinet there, forks in the drawer." She said as she pulled bread out of the oven. "There's not many seats, so some will have to sit out on the porch." She added, fanning smoke away from her face as she rescued a sixth loaf that had fallen off the rack.