Free Bittersweet by Cathy Marie Hake Page B

today.”
    Ishmael shot a look at Ivy. “D’ya got any wood for supper tonight?”
    “Not much. Used up most of the deadwood I collected these past days. Pa’s been claiming what he wants for the still.” Her father had taken almost everything she’d gathered. She pointed at a pitiful little tangle of wood. “That thar’s what I got left to cook with.”
    Ishmael set down the bucket and picked up the ax. “Since Pa favors the oak for his still, I’ll be shore to find some sycamore or cottonwood this time.”
    “I’m a-gonna need plenty of oak when the time comes.” Pa tossed down the last bit of the branch he’d been using. “And I need one straightaway. A beetle-bug crawled ’cross jist now.”
    “You already have plenty to use as tinder.” Ishmael focused on the pile of shavings. “Fact is, Pa, that’s a powerful lot there. Bet you worked all day on it.”
    “Ain’t no good now. The beetle-bug ruint it. I’ll jist make a new supply tomorry. You find me a good east-facin’ oak branch now.”
    Ishmael let out a long, mournful sigh. “Sorry, sis. Guess we ain’t a-gonna have that good supper after all.”
    “Huh?” Pa finally bothered to look at her. “Why not, and whatcha got thar?”
    “Don’t matter what she got, Pa.” Ishmael studied the ax blade. “You always say we gotta put the still first.”
    Pa’s face pulled to the right, the way it always did when he was fixin’ to concoct an excuse. “I reckon you cain chop wood for a cook fire. I was about done with that branch afore that blasted beetle-bug took a mind to scurry here, so this tinder’ll be good ’nuff.”
    Ishmael nodded gravely. “You know best, Pa.”
    “Gal, tote all these careful-like to the lean-to. Don’t you go breakin’ none of my special curlies.”
    “Ain’t that nice of you, Pa?” Ishmael smiled so big, Ivy could see his back teeth. “Lettin’ Ivy move them light little curlies while us men go drag back the heavier wood. It’s right gentlemanly.”
    “Now hold on. My back’s twinged the whole livelong day.”
    “Don’t doubt that atall,” Ivy said.
    “I’ll rig a travois for the mule,” her brother said. “That’ll spare your back, Pa.”
    Pa settled back. “Then you won’t need me.”
    “Till I get wood,” Ivy said, striving to keep bitterness from her voice, “I cain’t very well get supper goin’.”
    Pa shrugged. “It’s jist past midday. Ishy’s got plenty of time.”
    Ivy turned away. No use trying to get Pa to do any work. If he put half the effort into doing chores as he did to avoiding them, life would be a lot easier. Well, it’d be easier for me and Ishy. Pa don’t care none ’bout that though .
    “Whoa. What in thunderation d’ya thank yore doin’?”
    Ivy turned and saw Ishy fill his big hands with the silly little oak shavings. “I figgered if I had time, I oughtta holp Sis.”
    “That’s woman’s work.”
    “When we bartered my labor for the right to work this land, you said you and Ivy would work the fields here so’s you’d bring in the crop. Every crop we’ve ever had, it’s taken Sis and me both to grow it. Ivy’s a-doin’ man’s work. Heavy work. Ev’ry day.”
    “Ain’t my fault my rheumatiz is so bad. The gal’s got a strong back. She jist gotta step lively ’stead of lollygaggin’ and dawdlin’. Took her half of forever to tote water to that far-back section whar she’s planted t’other vegetables.”
    “I recollect a few years back when we had us the same trouble. We dug a second little valley in the dirt and used a board to coax the water to trickle from the stream into that other field for a little while each noon after waterin’ the corn.”
    “I ain’t a-digging. Tole you my back’s painin’ me sommat fierce.”
    Ishmael took off his shirt and knelt. “Sis, you go on and search for a willow tree.” He scooped several curls onto his shirt. “I’ll move these shavin’s real careful-like. Then, whilst I go fetch wood, you