Project Purple

11 - The Matron

"Cover up, fair pilgrims," went the exhortation.

As May gave way to June in the little colony, nature came alive with a thick and various plant cover. The days of June were the lightest days of the year-as many as seventeen hours for the longest days. The temperature climbed-as high as thirty degrees centigrade for a few weeks. The ceatures began to stir, and many birds of passage arrived. Summer was short but full, and it teemed with an abundance of diverse animal life.

Including mosquitoes. And these new invaders seemed merciless.

"In Dakota the summer buzz gets so bad the critters run out into the Interstate and throw themselves in front of semis-to end the torment," the Matron announced with her usual earnest demeanor. The Matron didn't care for levity; she knew she didn't have the nature for it.

The bugs that descended upon them were without mercy. They all had to mummify themselves when they stepped outside, and the Matron found that the mandatory clothing was actually of some assistance against the mosquitoes-though that recalcitrant Goatwench trooped around without the prescribed female headwear.

"Day turns into night, it's bug-density," the Pickleherring, a shy, young woman, exclaimed of their new tribulation. Her real name was Jannie, and she always seemed to have a small bubble of snot under one nostril.

Renee, the Sayer, slapped at the buzzing around her feet, "Our kingdom for some DEET."

"Yeah, verily," others agreed with chagrin.

"These monsters laugh at Deet," the Cowlech warned, "it's probably an aphrodisiac; it excites them-their buzz gets louder when they smell the stuff."

'Mummify' became the refrain of summer, and the colonists covered up every time they went outside, or left the protection of their smoke-filled little huts. They covered their limbs, and faces, and necks, even their hands, in the garments they had.

Summer also brought a type of milieu, thick in the air, as well. Their initial enthusiasm of the colony had given way to resigned routines of toil; the work of early American colonials -especially that of the women-was difficult, exhausting, and under-appreciated.

"We need water," the Matron would announce with a peremptory air, finger pointed at the half-empty tubs. The Matron was the head housekeeper, delegating chores the way she saw fit, and she considered the other women, especially the Goatwench, as subordinates.

It was wash day. Of the routine household chores, wash day was indeed the most time dragging-Large tubs of water had to be collected for both wash waters and rinse waters.

The drying area was a kind of semi-protected lawn where the Matron directed the Goatwench to spread the clothes. A piece of rope was strung from the hut to hang some clothes, but the Goatwench often ended up using the bushes and plants that rang the hut area to dry, as well.

"Everything dries unencumbered today," the Matron decreed, as she didn't care for the small twigs that were often attached.

The Goatwench rolled her eyes, and the matron then sighed-She knew of the sentiments of her Goatwench underling, and she secretly relished in them: Watching the Goatwench labor with the various chores around the colony, the Matron could barely conceal her satisfied clucks; those soft hands were not so any longer, that lofty air, the big-headed bearing-it had all withered into ignobleness, as the Goatwench hauled the buckets, and banged away at the wash, and squeezed the teats of the goat.

"Remember, we are on a blessed mission to show the world a side of America it has never seen," the Matron preened, her eyes gleaming.

For the sake of authenticity, some people had to assume the roles of servants-That's just the way it was. Yet the Goatwench was still non-accepting of her fate, and the Matron often endured her trying assistant with profound sighs.