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“Here, mom,” he says, and takes her washtub from her, tucking easily to his hip.
Her hands free, Hazelle pats them against her well-worn apron and eyes her eldest son. So much like his father, this one. In looks at least, his brooding, rather pensive nature at times he gets from her.
He brings the tub into the porch as the rain starts to lightly patter down, hauling the basket of wash in after at. Hazel crouches, stirring the soapy water with one hand. The porch is sturdy under her weight, it doesn’t creak and groan as ominously as it had days before. The fresh planks and shiny nails had been a surprise, but a welcome one, and Gale had spent the rest of an evening showing the boys how to lay in the new section of floor, with Posy hovering on the edges, holding the nails in her tightly clutched fists, ready to hand them off at a moment’s notice.
She doesn’t ask how he got the nails or wood. Two, three, four years prior she may have had the privilege of worrying, but not now. It’s him as much as her who keeps the children fed and clothed now, and she won’t do him the disservice of meaningless concern.
He crouches by her, feeding some clothes into the swirling suds, and leans forward, pitching his voice conspiratorially. “I think I have a way to get a bit extra food in.”
It would be good news, if her heart didn’t hammer in her chest at the words. There are very little ways to get “extra” here in Twelve, and among those slim options are many, many unsavory things.
He might see something in her expression, because he hurries on. “I met someone in the woods. Little scrap of a girl, but she has some weapons on her, knows how to hunt. I’m teaching her traps, we got two rabbits more than I usually get last week.”
Oh. That’s unexpected, but relief consumes Hazelle right down to her toes, her curiosity secondary. She adds another dash of soap atop the floating shirts, considers. “Weapons?”
“Bow and arrows.” Gale rolls his sleeves up, plunges his hands in the opaque water and begins vigorously rubbing. “Think about it, I might be able to get a deer.”
Deer. She hasn’t - or any of them - had venison in a long time. “Be careful.” she says. It all she can say. Whoever girl is, she will trust it to Gale. She won’t even question him further, he’ll talk when he wants.
He gives her a half-smile through the hair that’s falling over his face, bubbles dotting his forearms. If she squints, it’s his father grinning at her, teasing and alive. She can’t lose him too.
She can’t lose her boy, to the mines or to something worse. “Be careful,” she repeats. He will, she knows. He’s not in any way unaware of the dangers, the odds stacked against them.
“I will, mom.” he promises quietly, eyes flicking up to hers, as grey as the world around them. The next moment he sloshes water of the edge of the tub, breaking the tension, and Hazelle is unable to help a choked laugh.
“I have a dress to bleach for a wedding next week, they’re paying a bit more if I finish by tomorrow,” she confides. He’s not the only one that can pull in extra.
“Hm.” He’s working a glob of dust off a shirtfront, and she can see him tallying in his head. “We might be able to get something for Posy’s birthday after all then.”
Or for you, she wants to add, but only nods. Maybe someday will come a time and place when she doesn’t have to worry, a time when her boy will get all that he deserves.