Free Trouble in Nirvana by Elisabeth Rose Page B

miserable quality and quantity of vegetables.
    “Well done, Danny,” said Fern.
    “Anyway” he added with what could almost pass as a glare at Kurt. “It’s only been out of action for a week. I haven’t had the time to go into Braidwood for the parts.”
    Kurt’s oblivious gaze swung around the room. “Who’s next?”
    “I collected six eggs,” piped up Mojo. “And before we went away I collected twenty three.”
    “Ten came since,” said Nirupam. “So the chooks laid thirty nine eggs this week.”
    Primrose had fossicked around in the undergrowth for some of those. The free thinking commune hens didn’t believe in laying in their boxes in the fenced in part of the shed where they were locked up each night. Goodness knew how many she’d missed, or how old the eggs were she’d found. Now that Mojo was home he could resume his poultry duties and be welcome to them.
    “Very good,” said Kurt. “Well done, Mojo.” Everyone clapped.
    “Do the goats do anything?” asked Primrose. “No-one milks them, do they?” No milk, no yoghurt, no cheese. No nothing from that pair of malingerers. Tom’s attitude to the communalists made more and more sense. No wonder he’d laughed at her that first day.
    “They’ve never given milk,” said Nirupam.
    “Perhaps they should be sold.”
    “No.” Kurt’s dictatoresque stare swung away from Primrose. “We’ve already decided. Danny? Have you anything else to say?”
    “The water tanks are three quarters full but the second dam is getting low. I took Nirupam’s jewellery to Braidwood and collected nearly twelve hundred dollars from sales for the last batch. That’s how I managed to repair the windmill.”
    Danny’s little show of bravado had worn off and now the big bully had her brother sounding like an employee. Why should he be reporting in to anyone?
    “I had no idea you were selling so well, Nirupam.”
    “A craft gallery has a standing order and a new shop took some this time.”
    “Maybe you could take your work further afield. Along the coast there are heaps of craft shops.”
    “I’m not sure we want to rely on my jewellery income. It’s really my way of contributing.”
    Primrose gasped. Her work was supporting everyone. “Your way of contrib....”
    “We can buy more vegetable plants with that money,” interrupted Kurt. “And fix the tractor.”
    “It may only need new spark plugs,” said Danny.
    “Good. That will be cheap.”
    “I’d like to buy baby things,” Nirupam offered in a soft voice. “And some other nursery things.” She looked at Primrose as though her request was a ridiculous self indulgence.
    “Of course you should,” she cried. The lack of preparation had seriously alarmed her. “We can go shopping.”
    “Babies don’t need much,” said Kurt. “No point wasting good money on new. Secondhand clothing is best, they grow so fast.”
    “She can have new if she wants.” Primrose fixed him with a hard-eyed stare. “She earned the money.”
    “I agree,” said Fern. “A first baby is special.”
    Kurt glared at them like a cornered bull, but Jason said in a bored voice, “Vote. Who agrees Nirupam spends the money on baby gear?”
    All hands went up except Kurt’s. Mojo put up both of his. Nirupam produced a shy little smile. “Thanks.”
    “Anything else to report?” Kurt snapped.
    “We earned one hundred and thirty dollars at the workshops.” Jason yawned, folded his arms and stretched his legs out.
    “Is that all?” The shaggy brows drew together in disgust.
    “After expenses.” Fern stared right back at him. “There are three of us.” Primrose’s estimation of her character rose dramatically. But what exactly were they contributing? Jason hadn’t lifted a finger today except to strum the guitar strings and raise his beer to his mouth. No wonder he was yawning.
    “Right.” Kurt made a sound like a draught horse with chaff up its nose. “Now we have complaints. Who goes first?”
    “I think