Page 25 of The Demon's Delight
After tossing and turning for perhaps another hour, I finally relented and climbed out of the little hay nest. Down on the main level of the barn, organization seemed to be an afterthought. Tools were scattered down a long workbench, many rusty or broken. Bales were stacked in a way that would be dangerous for the widow should she pull the wrong one first. So, grateful to have a task to focus on, I got to work.
By the time the roosters stirred, the large cubes of hay had been moved around into much more sensible stacks. I’d also repaired a set of shears missing their spring, fitted a new handle on a hatchet and had organized several sets of tools by size and type. Everything needed a good grinding and oiling to fend offthe rust, but that was a problem for another day and someone else.
I left the barn as quietly as I could once the faint orange of dawn seeped through the cracks in the walls and roof, not surprised when I found the widow tossing grain and scraps to the fowl.
“You’re up early,” she said by way of greeting.
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Mmm. I understand that all too well. Would you mind drawing the water? I need to fill that trough.”
“Of course.”
“Did you find the loft suitable?”
“It was perfect, thank you again for your generosity. We’d love to repay your kindness.” I patted the coin purse in my pocket, but she shook her head.
“I’m sure we can find an arrangement that suits. Keep your money. You have a long way to travel once you leave this place.”
The next hour or so went like that, the pair of us moving in companionable quiet until she found me a little task to do, one that she always did given normal circumstances but was happy enough not to have to manage herself.
“Blessings to you, young man,” she sighed, clapping her hands together to dust them off. “I promised you biscuits and gravy. I’ll go heat everything up for you if you want to fetch your lady friend.”
“I’ll get her in a moment,” I said, walking back to where the chickens were all contentedly pecking at the scratch in the dirt.
I sat down among them, offering some of the treat from my palm.
As luck would have it, Hailon wandered out just as a hen decided my shoulder was a decent place to stand. I also had one on each knee, eating from my hands.
“Good morning,” I whispered with a smile, finding her adorably rumpled, though I could tell she’d made an attempt to put her hair to rights and had washed her face—her collar was still wet.
“Morning,” she grumbled.
“Did you sleep well?” The chickens fled in a flurry of feathers and noise as I spoke normally and made the slightest movement with my body.
“Well enough.” She looked around. “How long have you been up?”
“Not sure. But I’ve been productive.”
“I see that. You’re making friends?” She gestured to the chickens as I got to my feet.
“Apologizing for making supper of their sister.”
“Ah. Have you been up to the house?”
“Yes, but I haven’t eaten yet. The biscuits should just be coming out of the oven, in fact. Are you hungry?”
Hailon nodded, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Yes, actually. And I’m very much looking forward to eating her cooking again after last night.”
We stopped back at the barn before heading to the house. I gathered our packs, which I’d left near the stairs, then followed Hailon across the grassy yard. Widow Callahan had the first batch of biscuits in a towel-lined basket on the table and was busy rolling out more dough when we joined her.
“Good morning! Please, help yourself. Tea’s fresh.”
We thanked the kindly woman, Hailon watching her with rapt interest as she used a wooden rolling pin to flatten the dough on a big slab of butcher board, then cut it into neat circles with the rim of a small drinking glass.
“Won’t you join us?” I asked once she’d closed the oven door with the fresh pan of little circles safely inside. I couldn’t helpfeeling badly that the woman was still on her feet instead of resting.
“Yes, I think I will.” She smiled gently, her gait increasingly hobbled as she crossed the kitchen.
