Free Hunger Journeys by Maggie De Vries Page A

signs of laundry, just as she had at the other farm, and into an enormous kitchen. It was warm in that room, and the warmth and the smell of food brought more tears to Lena’s eyes. A real fire burned in a big black stove. A lamp cast golden light over a round table set for a meal. And beyond the table, near the stove, an elderly man sat in a wingback chair. He looked across at them and smiled, but he did not rise.
    “Meneer,” Lena said respectfully.
    His smile broadened. “Visitors,” he said. “Welcome!”
    “That’s my father,” the woman said, “Boer Bruin.” She hurried to set out two more bowls and mugs, two spoons. “It is simple food,” she said, “but nourishing. We have a bit of meat and some potatoes.”
    Lena sat, and the next hour passed in a blur. They talked and ate and ate and talked until sleep crept among them. Margriet fell silent. Lena put down her spoon. Voices slowed almost to gibberish, and food ceased to matter at all.
    Their hosts bundled them away into a big bed beneath a thick comforter, warm bricks at their feet, and they slept.

    They woke up to sunlight streaming into the room and the woman’s voice urging them to rise. “If you plan to arrive home today, you must go soon.”
    Breakfast was porridge with milk and a teaspoon of honey, washed down with big mugs of weak, milky tea. Tea!
    “I’ve looked at your bicycles, and although I don’t want to take your things, I believe I must if we’re to fit much food in those bags of yours,” Vrouw Hoorn said as they scraped their bowls clean. “Your mother filled them right up.”
    An hour later, they were on their way. Deep inside, along with the sips of tea and the taste of porridge with creamy milk and honey, Lena tucked away that lovely feeling of human warmth.
    They rode back the way they had come, but in the sunshine now and with full bellies. Margriet rode alongside Lena and chattered at her. Lena wanted to cherish what had happened, not blather on about it. Also, she had something particular on her mind.
    There was that cow again. Lena had been watching for her. She pushed down on the brake with her foot. “Stop, Margriet. We’re back at the other farm. I just need to do something.”
    “What are you talking about?” Margriet said. “We’ve got nothing to—Hey!”
    Lena had pulled a bulky parcel from the top of one of the bags strung across the back of her bicycle.
    “You’re not going to give them food!”
    “I am. I spoke to Vrouw Hoorn about it, and she put this parcel together for them.” Lena looked at Margriet’s outraged face. “Oh, come on, Margriet. They’re hungrier than we are.”
    Margriet fell silent at that, but she stayed by her bicycle. Lena found the back door closed this time. She paused to summon her courage. It took only a moment for the woman to answer her knock. And there were the two children, attached to her thighs again.
    “You,” she said. “How dare you—”
    “No, mevrouw. No. I brought you this.” Lena held out the parcel. “Some beef. And potatoes. And a jar of milk.”
    The woman’s brow furrowed. She held out her hand.
    The larger of the two children stepped forward and spoke. “Is it food? Is it really food?”
    The woman pushed him away. She let the door open wider, holding the parcel in her hands.
    At last she looked up and met Lena’s eyes. “Well,” she said, “I …”
    “I am only the delivery person,” Lena said. “I thought perhaps you could make use of it.”
    “Yes,” the woman said. “You … you … you better go.”
    Lena smiled as best she could and turned and walked away. She did not really understand the woman’s response, but she feltbetter than she had in a long time. Margriet was pacing by the bicycles. As soon as she set eyes on Lena, she mounted hers and pedalled off. “What would Father say?” she called over her shoulder as Lena rushed to catch up.
    “Who cares?” Lena shouted back with a rush of fierce joy. Not me, she thought, and