amount it could cure just about anything.
When Jelly had packed to leave the orchard, she had checked her box but had found no cure-all other than a small handful of seeds. No dried leaves, flowers or root powder. She'd checked the herb garden the next morning before they left, but the cure-all that had been growing there had been ripped out. She didn't have time to wonder who had done it; the Constable was ready to leave. She'd searched the ditches along the way, looking for the tall purple-flowered plant, but found none.
During his fever, Pater had mumbled and quivered like a dreaming dog. Jelly kept a pot of cold mint tea at her feet. She soaked clean rags in it and placed them on her grandfather's forehead and neck, changing them every so often. She stayed with him through the first two nights.
On the morning of the third day, Porkchop appeared at the front door of the house, bundled in a blanket. The wind whipped a dusting of snow over the floor. She closed the door with effort.
"How is he?"
"His fever's finally broken. He's been sleeping for about four hours."
They both turned towards the sound of the door opening. Titania stood wrapped in one of the blankets from the hayloft. She held a corner of it in her hand and drew it across the left side of her face.
"I thought you might want a break, Jelly."
Porkchop frowned. Titania didn't do chores. Jelly looked at Porkchop.
"I am tired," said Jelly when Porkchop remained silent. "And hungry. It must be almost breakfast." Jelly stood up and gave her seat to Titania. "Change the cloths every hour or so."
"Let us know if he wakes up," said Porkchop.
Jelly and Porkchop bent their heads to the wind and struggled across the drifts in the yard to get back to the barn.
___
"Why can't you leave me alone? You tricked me!"
Pater's sudden outburst caused a muscle in Titania's cheek to twitch. She had been bent over, rinsing out one of the rags. She hadn't noticed him roll over and open his eyes. He stared at her.
"Try to rest," she said.
She held the rag in her hand. His eyes were clear.
"You saddled me with the boy. Wasn't that enough?"
"Just rest. You'll feel better if you sleep."
"Nine," he said. "That boy."
Pater stared at her as she leaned forward and placed the cool rag on his forehead.
"You don’t look any different, you know that? You still look too damned smart for your own good."
His eyes rolled back in his head and when they came back to stare at her, they were glassy. Soon they closed again and he fell asleep.
___
The ocean beat at the coast and only the stupidest fishermen took their chances at sea. Without a constant supply of seafood, the city of Andrastyne had been forced to import supplies from inland communities and had instituted rationing.
The man arrived in the city well before winter. He had walked for days; first south then east through bush till he found a road. He followed it, living on whatever he could find and sleeping within the trees or in fern beds along the road side. His face was now smooth and clear with several days' growth of beard. Gone were the welts that had covered his face, neck and arms. The bruises on his legs and back and hips were fading but he now walked with a limp. He had no better idea of who he was now than when he first awoke at the base of the cliff.
He'd gone to several homes on the outskirts of the city and begged for food or water without success. In town, he'd gone into several shops, only to be shooed away from every one of them. He finally came to a lopsided wooden house at the end of the main street. A shingle with lettering on it hung at an angle from a single hook. He knocked on the door.
"Whaddya want?" growled the man who yanked open the door. He could have been sixty, he could have been thirty. There was no way of telling. His hair was long and greasy, hidden beneath a wool cap.
He glanced over the man’s shoulder. Inside the shop were piles of food — potatoes, onions, turnips, apples — all waiting to be organized into individual ration bags.
"I need a job," he said.
E.R. Rank, one of Andrastyne’s most successful jacks-of-all-trades, master of none but pickpocket to all, had taken the city rationing contract thinking that he could do the job alone and take all the profit, including skimming off the better produce for himself. But when the first load had arrived the day before, it was clear to Rank that this was, at the very least, a two-man operation.
"Well, well," he said, opening the door wide. "Ain't this a happy coincidence?"
___
Once he'd recovered, Pater made an exception to his rules. Although the other children continued to live in the barn Titania moved into Pater's house and took his bed, a wood frame with a hay-stuffed canvas mattress. The room, hidden by a curtain off the kitchen, was big enough only for the bed but unlike the second, smaller cubby hole where Pater now slept, it had a window.
There was only so much they could do to prepare for a spring planting and the family had a lot of time on their hands. Narrow would amuse himself for hours, tinkering with things he found in the barn but boredom soon set in for the rest. Jelly offered to teach them to read. She’d been practicing with the two books that she’d brought with her from the orchard and had found a few more among the crates.
As winter wound down Pater disappeared more frequently. On many of those days Jelly would turn his house into a make-shift school room; it was warmer than inside the barn. Narrow and Titania took to reading quickly; the rest struggled with it but only Porkchop eventually gave up, echoing Ma’s belief that it was a waste of time when their job was farming. Mixer would sit on Santa’s lap or Titania’s bed and gabble the meaningless noises his family was used to hearing as he silently memorized the passages they read out loud.
___
Titania sat on the wooden chair on the porch wrapped in Pater's beaver skin coat. She had been watching thin bands of steel grey clouds scud along the late afternoon sky when she heard the honk. Turning down the collar of the coat, she peered about. In the yard, near the well, a Canada goose flapped in a nearby snow drift. Winter wasn't over but a thaw had set in. It had crept in on a southern wind and had lasted long enough to fool some birds into coming home early. She withdrew a shard of glass from inside the depths of the coat. With a flick of her wrist she sent it flying into the goose’s breast. The bird fell over, spilling blood on the snow.
At the base of Honey Hill, PC Pierre unhooked Josephine from the cart and led her to a patch of land where the sun had melted the snow and the first grasses had appeared. She’ll like the fresh greens, he thought. PC Pierre worried more about Josephine’s diet than about her safety. She scared off every bear that came near and he’d once seen her kick a full-grown wolf to death.
As he climbed, the smell of thawing earth and leaf mould filled his nose and the sun warmed his face. He'd been cooped up in Baker's Yard for weeks and it felt good to be out in the forest again.
Now he stood on the plateau of Honey Hill and scanned the Western Woods. It was a patchwork of green and white. The forest, mostly cedars and pines, surrounded the hill and below him he could hear and see melting clumps of snow and ice as they fell from tree boughs.
Since leaving the children he had made the journey to his cabin only twice, on skis, to do some trapping. Both times he’d set his traps then gone to the lookout post. From the top he could just make out the edge of the farm and would wait until he saw at least a few of the children. He worried that his presence might attract Pater, who he knew had a still stashed somewhere on the far side of Honey Hill, which could lead to trouble. He’d promised Porkchop that he would try to check on them but other than his surveys from the post, he had stayed away.
For this third trip he’d opted for Honey Hill instead of the lookout post. He climbed up the cliff top for the best view and saw the barn and part of the fields behind it. Pater's front porch was blocked by trees.
The clouds thinned for a moment and
a streak of sunshine fell into the farm yard. A flash of light caught Titania's eye. She looked up through the bare branches and scanned the hillside. She saw the outline of the Constable’s distinctive leather hat sticking out from atop the jagged hill top and waited several minutes until he turned away and was out of sight before she went and retrieved the bird. She removed the shard of glass, wiped it clean on the snow and restored it to its hiding place in the coat.
She picked the goose up by its neck and dragged it to the barn. Santa was cutting up potatoes into a pot at the table and singing softly. She was surprised to see her sister. Ever since Titania had moved into Pater's house they saw even less of her than they had before.
"I've got this," said Titania.
She dropped the bird on the floor then shrugged off the beaver skin coat and hung it on a hook by the door. She joined Santa at the table. Mixer, who had been sitting at Santa's ankles beneath the table, crawled out to investigate. He used the coat to stand himself up then buried his face into the fur.
Santa walked over to inspect the bird. Blood had congealed along a long thin cut in its chest. She brought it back and heaved it onto the table; its head dangled off the edge. She looked back at Mixer, who was still hugging the coat.
Santa looked briefly into her sister's eyes, then away. Santa had been twelve when the accident happened and had helped Ma tend to Titania. She was the one who sat with her during those first horrible days and