September 24th, 1795 aex

Sherik Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

The hens and chicks crowded at the far end of their yard along the wall of the barn. Sherik was a stranger in their home. The rooster watched him closely and was the only bird willing to come near. It puffed its white and black feathers and charged but turned away just before it might have struck. Sherik didn’t flinch. He feared no animal. In fact, he loved each of the creatures who called the farmstead home.

He reached into the linen sack and extracted a handful of grain. Normally, the chickens would be thrown a liberal amount of grain in a small trough, but the fruitless summer had put an end to that. Now the chickens, like every other inhabitant of the farm, were fed controlled rations. No living being on the farm went hungry, but none could ever be considered full.

He sprinkled the handful of grain in a wide, even circle and wiped the dust off on his light coat. The hens perked up and looked his way, their beaks no doubt watering, if that sort of thing happened to birds.

The rooster approached first and pecked at the grain. He ate none, but instead hoisted one in his beak, and dropped it. He repeated the process a few times before calling the hens over with a stream of high-pitched crows.

The hens traveled in a bunch, like a brown cloud, and fed with their chicks once they arrived. The rooster stood between the flock and Sherik with puffed feathers. It watched him with tiny, wild eyes. Ma had once told him that men could learn a lot from the rooster. They protected the hens and let them eat first, like gentlemen. Sherik had agreed, until he’d seen how aggressively they mated.

“Don’t worry, pal,” Sherik said. “You’re doing a good job.” The rooster had already protected the flock from a few foxes and a lone coyote, at least long enough to buy time for Pa and Duke to arrive and assist.

Sherik spun the sack and folded the twisted top over the rest of it. He looked over what he could see of the property and smirked. Jerri was nowhere in sight, and Ma was still in the house with the kids. It was the perfect time to move.

He left the flock to their feast and jogged to the grain storage shack to the east of the house near the river bank. The structure had been the house on the property before their current home had been built. That had been long before Sherik was born.

Wind opened the creaking door before he reached for the handle. “Make sure the hook is locked at all times. A single mouse getting in could mean big trouble.” Pa’s words rang in his head. He swallowed hard, looked around, and thanked God the man was in Picklewood.

He entered the structure and took a deep breath. The smell of old wood and grain summoned a rush of childhood memories, each one pleasant. He stored the half-empty sack of grain on the highest shelf, performed a quick search for mice, and left the building, door hook secured.

He paced through the tall, dry grass of the property toward Pa’s private bird coop, glancing in every direction as he moved. Pa absolutely forbade anyone from entering his coop, but he was woefully unaware of the riches that lay within it. Sherik knew. Pa would thank him eventually, so he took the chance.

The first of a two-door system creaked open, and Sherik eased it closed behind him. He opened the next and did the same. He turned and jumped at the sight of Jerri in Pa’s chair. His sudden movement caused a stir amongst the residents of the pen. A half dozen birds swarmed in a frenzy up and down their limited space. Sherik put his hands over his face and saw Jerri do the same. They kept still and silent until the excitement settled.

Sherik lowered his hands, but Jerri’s were still up. A leather-bound notebook lay on her lap. Whatever she’d been writing was now covered in panicked scratches here and there from dropping the coal pen.

“What are you doing in here?” Sherik stood tall before her.

She lowered her hands. “Nothing.” She had Pa’s docile blue eyes. Sherik had Ma’s narrow browns, though he couldn’t intimidate with them as well as Ma.

“What are you writing?” He reached for the book. She snatched it and hugged it against her chest.

“I’m not writing anything.” Jerri looked away and watched the two plump turkeys as they marched through the pen side by side as always.

Sherik tilted his head to the left. “I can’t read, but I can see. What are you writing?”

“Pa wanted me to write up an inventory of all the food we have.” She kept her eyes on the turkeys. “So that’s what I’m doing.”

Sherik laughed and gripped her over the knee. She yelped and tried to remove his hand, but he was too strong. She slapped at his arm and squirmed in the chair. “Pa doesn’t want anyone in his coop.” Sherik maintained his grip. He wouldn’t squeeze hard enough to truly hurt her. “He’s never wanted inventory before. He ain’t a Picklewood shop. You’re lying.”

“Please stop, it hurts!” Jerri’s voice caused the turkey’s feathers to puff, and a few birds fled their nests to repeat the chaotic dance just below the ceiling.

“It hurts me when you lie.” Sherik’s smirk grew, and he increased the strength of his grip just a little.

“I’m writing a letter to Parren!” Jerri blurted.

Sherik let go. “Why are you hiding? Pa can’t read.”

“Ma can.” She rubbed where Sherik’s grip had been.

“Barely.” Sherik had heard Ma’s reading. It was nowhere near as quick or fluent as Jerri’s. “And why do you care if Ma knows?”

“I just don’t want anyone to know!” Jerri raised her voice. The puffed feathers and frenzied flyers continued to blur around them, on ground and in air. Plucker, Pa’s prized fowl, was the only creature in the coop who remained calm. “Why can’t I ever have a little privacy? It’s enough I have to smell your farts every night. Can’t I write a letter in peace?”

“None of us have privacy.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Jerri said. “The Greenshores have three bedrooms in their home. One for the girls, one for the boys, and one for Mister and Missus Greenshore. They aren’t stuck in a single big room with a bunch of beds along the walls like us.”

“The Greenshores have more kids than Pa and Ma,” Sherik said.

“I just want to write my letter in peace!”

Sherik smiled. “You don’t have to worry, Sis. I won’t tell anyone.” He kissed her forehead. “Only Parren will know. I’ll tell him next time we’re at the diving rock.”

Her face turned to stone. She dropped her chin, ready to release an onslaught of threats.

He laughed before she spoke. “I’m joking. No one will know, I promise.”

She stared at him, narrow-eyed and unconvinced. “What are you doing in here?”

He was taken aback by the question. He cleared his throat. “I saw that you weren’t doing your chores, so I came looking for you.”

“My chores!” She slapped the book on her lap and nearly got up.

Sherik raised a hand. “I fed the chickens.”

Jerri relaxed on the chair and let out a sigh.

“But I did hear Ma calling your name.”

Her eyes swung open, and she rose from the chair. She stuffed the book and the coal pen into her deep robe pockets and ran to the house.

With his sister out of the way and the birds calmed, Sherik fell to a squat and sifted through the hay strewn about the coop. He found a violet feather and snatched it. He carefully placed it in his coat’s breast pocket. He collected a couple others and treated them with the same care as the first.

Plucker, the owner and provider of the violet feathers, strutted his way. The fowl was known for his wild behaviour, but Sherik did not fear him. He extended an empty hand and stayed still. Plucker inspected the hand from a thousand different angles, his head moving at an almost comical speed. The fowl pecked Sherik’s palm, lifted the skin as far as it could stretch, and let it go, reminding Sherik of his namesake.

“You have no idea how valuable you are to this farmstead,” Sherik said. Plucker pushed his head into the open palm, and Sherik stroked the bird lovingly. “Even Pa doesn’t know your true value.”

Sherik stood and moved to the door. Plucker followed and ran between and around his boots. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” He hoisted the deceptively heavy bird and threw it toward the center of the coop. It flapped its wings for an easy landing and watched as Sherik left through the two doors.

He started for the barn.

“Liar!”

Sherik jumped. “What?”

Jerri stormed his way. Her feminine fists were balled tight. “Ma never called for me.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I heard her,” Sherik lied. He shrugged.

He continued into the barn. Jerri followed. He increased his pace past the rows of empty stalls until he’d climbed the ladder to the loft. Jerri stayed at the base of the ladder. She feared high places.

If Pa had his private coop, Sherik had the loft. Pa used it every once in a while, mostly to store or access seldom used items such as their canoes, paddles, and good, hard northern lumber purchased from traveling markets.

Otherwise, it was Sherik’s own retreat. Jerri’s want for privacy rang in his mind and he sighed. “Come on up.” He’d gladly share the place with his sister. There was plenty of room for both of them, and she’d never find his stash.

“No, thank you,” she said. “What are you doing up there?”

“I’m going fishing.” Sherik crawled to the far corner. He parted two old hay bales and undraped a blanket of dry grass that he’d tied together a few months ago. Beneath it were two leather satchels.

“Did Pa want you to fish?” Jerri asked from below.

Sherik ignored her. He took the violet feathers from his pocket and gently stored them in one of the satchels. He tied the leather flap tight, covered them with the grass blanket, and pushed the hay bales together. He crawled back toward the ladder and grabbed his fishing pole from two large hooks hammered into ceiling beams. The line was already fitted with a chicken bone hook.

“Why don’t you till the field for the winter crops?” Jerri’s voice sounded a bit farther. “Surprise him with something like that.”

“He’ll be much happier when I come home with a big fat walleye.” He descended the ladder.

Jerri scratched Milli under the chin. Sherik had assumed she was out in the pasture grazing with the other cows and hadn’t even noticed her on the way in. The milk cow stared forward with no expression. Scratches usually caused her large eyes to close in bliss. Jerri’s eyes teared up. She brushed them away when she noticed Sherik’s attention and forced a smile. “Well, be careful. Those strangers might still be out there.” She paused and looked at Milli. “Are you going to tell me who they were? What they wanted? I know Pa won’t.”

“Just some railroaders from the North.” Sherik waved his empty hand. “They want a bit of our land to build on. Pa said no.” He puffed up his chest. “Don’t worry, they’re the ones who should be careful if we meet out there.” Maybe I should get the gun.

Jerri flashed her eyes at him and gasped. “Did you collect the eggs when you fed the chickens?”

“No.”

Jerri ran to the coop.

Sherik sent a couple kissing sounds toward Milli, but the milk cow ignored him. “Chin up, girl. You’ll be alright. I’m sure that’s happened to all the best cows. So long.”

He left the barn and stood in front of the doors to survey the land. Ma and the kids were still in the house, but he needed to get the gun. He tried to devise a plan but couldn’t think of anything. Jerri was the one to ask, but he couldn’t admit to her that he was frightened enough to bring a weapon.

“Jerri, where are the eggs?” Ma called from inside the house.

Sherik stayed still.

“I’m getting them now, Ma. Sorry.” Jerri called back from the chicken coop.

“Jerri?” Ma raised her voice.

“One moment!” Jerri did the same.

The front door opened on the other side of the house. Sherik held the fishing pole behind his back. Ma stormed around the corner and toward the chicken coop with Skylde and Net in tow. Each had flour on their hands. Net had some on his clothes and in his hair.

Ma glanced at Sherik. “Don’t you have things to do?”

“Yes, Ma.” He turned to keep the fishing pole from her line of sight.

Net tugged on Ma’s apron. “Can we play with the steam plough, please?”

She ignored him and continued to the chicken coop.

Once he heard Ma and Jerri converse, Sherik dashed to the house. He entered to the smell of dough. It took everything not to taste whatever was being prepared, but he resisted. He snatched Lady Marlay from her corner and left the house as fast as he had entered.

He peaked around the corner and saw his family in the chicken pen. All but Jerri had their backs to him. He ran through the dry grass, onto the small bridge over the low river, and into the fields and the forest beyond.