Getting there...

Chapter Three: New Hands, New Rules

I pointed Tres to the west of the property, where the crop lay. I rode over with Cinco and showed him how to activate the blades on the thresher. Once he was going, I got Tres started as well, then headed back to check on the others who were just finishing up with the hens.

"How’s the milk?"

"We put it in the big pails for now. Eggs lookin' like twenty today," Gus said, holding up the basket.

"Alright, let me show you guys where the milk and eggs go."

I took them inside and pointed out the storage room.

"The milk'll need pasteurizin'. That'll be Lu's job. Eggs stay unwashed till we use 'em. Extras go in those cartons, and we sell the surplus. Lu, that okay with you?"

"Sí, I can do that."

I turned to the others. "Two of y'all will be my assistants in the stillery. You two twins?"

"Aye. I’m Two, and this here’s my brother, One."

Both were dark-coated tabbies. One had a white patch under his chin; Two's was nearer his chest.

"Alright then. You’re Dos, and you’re Uno. You two are with me. Leaves Four and Six. Which one's Four?"

The orange tabby with a white chest patch raised his hand. The other was a grey tabby with a white face.

"Four, you're Quattro. Six, you’re Seis. You two are on field and tree duty. Apples and pecans. We got an acre of berries too. Y'all will help with canning later. Ever done that?"

"Not really," Quattro said.

"I can teach ya. Lu, you ever do canning?"

"A few times. I can manage."

"Good. Alright, Quattro and Seis, come with me. We'll check the garden. Dos, Uno, you can help for a bit till I need you in the stillery. Gus, stay close. Need a word."

The six of us headed to the smaller garden, the one I kept for personal use. Cucumbers, lettuce, tomatoes, cabbage, peppers, and onions all grew there.

"See them baskets? Fill 'em. Most of it's ready. You boys ever done this before?"

"All but these orange and yellow ones," Uno said, poking at a pepper.

"Hot peppers. Use gloves—if they fit. Gus?"

"I’ll place an order."

"Thanks. Seis, you handle peppers. Be slow, wash your paws regular. Spigot's over there. Everyone else, get pickin'. When the baskets are full, store 'em in the milk room, but not in the cooler."

I nodded to Gus and motioned toward the barn.

"These kids smart, Gus?"

"Aye. About five years old, quick learners. Lu's ten."

"What's their lifespan?"

"Sixty to seventy. A little more fragile than us. Oh, and they can have kids with humans. Just sayin'."

"Well, that ain't my problem today. How many humans live here?"

"Counting us? Five."

"So, we’re a minority."

"The Cat Folk are good people. They stay outta your business if you stay outta theirs."

"Fair enough. Thanks, Gus. I owe you one."

"You just make good on that barley," he grinned.

After Gus left, I brought in Dos and Uno to start filling vats with water. Cinco brought up a load of barley, and I showed the boys how to run the thresher. Soon, we had a mountain of barley and got started on mash liquor—my stock was low.

They picked it up fast. By sundown, we had two full batches fermenting. It was late, but the sun still burned high. I looked at my watch—suppertime back home. We all cleaned up and headed into the kitchen.

"What's on the menu, Love?"

Lu turned her head, puzzled. "L-love?"

"Force of habit. I call all kitchen ladies 'Love.' If it bothers ya, let me know. Also, y'all can call me Pa."

"Tonight is salad, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Though we’re low on bread."

"Alright. Store's still open?"

"Two hours. It's fifteen minutes on foot."

"After dinner, we'll take the mule."

"Ride a beast to the store?"

I laughed. "Nah, the mule's a vehicle. Four wheels, ethanol-powered. I'll teach ya to drive."

Her tail swished. I smiled.

"House rule," I said. "We say grace before meals. No exceptions."

They all nodded. I gave a short prayer, and we dug in. They ate with manners, using utensils. Their hands were hybrids—furry on the outside, leathery pads inside.

They talked of family. Apparently, they had twenty siblings at Gus's farm, fifteen more scattered around. A big brood, but not my concern. Seven was plenty.

"Tomorrow," I said, "Cinco and Tres, you're on the field. Uno and Dos, you're with me. Seis and Quattro, help Lu can the veggies. After dinner, y'all will milk the cows again."

"Got it, Pa," Seis said.

"Good. Let's get into a groove."

After the meal, Lu and I headed to the store. She was giddy about learning to drive. It was basically a glorified golf cart, but it tickled her to no end.

"Tell me about yourself, Lu."

"Oldest of five. All boys. They died in the war. We were banished here with five thousand others. I kept house. Parents worked far off. All us kids had to pitch in."

"Tough life. I was an only child. No help on the farm. Could've used a few brothers."

"Then I guess we’re lucky you didn’t," she grinned.

She was a calico—orange and grey marbling, with strikingly human features. Her ears sat atop her head like small velvet triangles.

At the store, a tall white Cat Folk greeted us.

"Hey there, Hume. Heard we were gettin' another one. Name?"

"Ron. Yours?"

"Hal. Pleasure. You selling eggs and milk? I'll take all you got."

"Gladly. Keep a running tally. Lu will pick up our goods. Here's five hundred credits to start."

We loaded up ten bags of goods. Then I paused.

"Hey Hal, you sell booze?"

"Naw, the saloon does. Why?"

"I sell bulk. Mash liquor, hard cider, honey pilsner."

"Seventy proof mash?"

"At least. Eighteen credits for a big bottle."

His grin widened. "Deal. Bring one tomorrow."

Lu drove us home. She started cautious but turned into a speed demon halfway there. I laughed the whole ride.

When we arrived, the boys were settling into the bunkhouse. Lu was headed that way when I stopped her.

"I got a separate suite you can use—bath, kitchenette, big bed, locks. Want to see it?"

She followed me in silence. The moment she stepped in, her eyes widened. Tears brimmed.

"You good?"

She nodded.

"Knock if you need anything. Breakfast is at six."

She gave a quiet smile.

Yeah, this was gonna be interesting.

Chapter Four: Tangled Up and Twined

The morning sun cracked over the edge of the fields just as I finished my second cup of coffee. The boys were already up and moving, most of them huddled around Lu, who had laid out breakfast—oats, eggs, and some of that toast we’d picked up. I gave a nod and grabbed a biscuit, chewing as I stepped outside and took stock of the day.

“Alright, Cinco, Tres, y’all are back on the field. Let’s finish pulling that barley in. Uno, Dos—you’re with me again today. Seis, Quattro, you two are helping Lu with the canning after the morning chores.”

Everyone nodded, and soon, the hum of work began. It was shaping up to be a good day until I heard a strange grinding noise coming from the west end of the property.

“Pa!” Cinco hollered. “Something’s gone wrong with the baler!”

I jogged over and found both him and Tres kneeling near the hay baler, which had chewed up a whole mess of wire into a twisted, bird’s nest of metal spaghetti.

“What happened here?”

“We tried to reload the wire, like you said,” Tres began.

“But it wouldn’t feed right. We thought maybe we could guide it by hand…” Cinco trailed off, sheepishly scratching behind his ear.

I let out a low chuckle. “Boys, you sure did a number on it. But I appreciate y’all trying.”

I crouched down and slowly unwound the mess, pointing out the guides and tension bars as I went.

“This here,” I said, “feeds the wire straight through, but only if the spool’s lined just right. You see this twist? That’s where it buckled. Always keep tension steady, and never force it.”

The twins nodded earnestly, watching my every move.

“Now, you take this bit, loop it here, and crank the feeder—gently.”

I showed them, and the baler hummed back to life like nothing had happened. They grinned.

“Go on, give it a try now. Easy does it.”

They fed the next bale through perfectly. I gave them a thumbs-up. “Not bad, boys. You’ll be experts by next week.”

Back at the stillery, Uno and Dos helped me with the mash. We stirred the tanks, checked the fermenting barrels, and prepared a new load. The smell of barley and yeast was thick in the air—comforting in a strange way.

By noon, the sun was blazing, and I called for a break. We all gathered by the big pecan tree for water and shade.

Lu walked over with a tray of cucumber slices and iced tea. “Thought you might need this.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, gratefully accepting the glass. She smiled, then turned to check on Quattro and Seis, who were rinsing jars for canning.

“How’s it going in there?” I called.

“Almost done with the tomatoes. Peppers next,” Seis replied.

“Don’t forget gloves!”

“We remembered, Pa!”

Afternoon brought more good work. Cinco and Tres were finally getting into a rhythm with the baler, and Lu had the kitchen smelling of pickled onions and stewed tomatoes.

By evening, the boys brought in the last of the day’s haul, and we sat down to a meal of stew and fresh bread. I said grace, and we dug in.

“Tomorrow,” I said between bites, “we’ll start prepping the apple trees. Quattro, Seis—you’re up. Uno and Dos, I’ll need help checking the barrels. Cinco and Tres, we’ll oil the rest of the equipment. Sound good?”

“Yes, Pa,” they all said in chorus.

After supper, Lu lingered behind, drying dishes while I wiped the table.

“You didn’t have to teach them so patient-like,” she said.

“I did. They’re good kids. Just new to it all.”

“They like you,” she added.

“Well, I like them back. S’pose we’ll all learn from each other, if we’re lucky.”

She smiled again, that soft, tired smile of someone who was finally starting to believe things might just work out.

Outside, the sun was just blazin’ through the velvet sky, and I thought—for the first time in a while—maybe I’d finally landed somewhere worth sticking around.