Chapter 9

"I now pronounce the cabin finished."

Tom put his hands on his hips as the others clapped, cheered, and whistled. It was done Weeks of work, how many he had lost count, was now over. It was late summer, and they had their home.

It was satisfying. That was the main feeling. Satisfaction. Tom had heard of the idea of having pride in your work. It was the type of thing bosses told you, even as they cut your wages or reduced your hours. It was one of those concepts that just got more silly as the years went on. Yet, here he was. Proud. Proud at having worked hard. At having figured out how to work wood. At, with the help of the others, and Alice's crane, having lifted the logs up into place. At now having provided shelter for the winter for his family, well before it really was needed.

They were starting to get ahead.

The front door had been the last thing. There had been no reason to hang it while they were still working on the inside. While much of the furnishings they just built in place, things were still carried in and out constantly, and not having the door just made it easier. It was a good door, solid. He had finally gotten the hang of splitting wood, allowing him to make the tables and counters with flat tops. The door was made from two of his planks, a diagonal brace nailed to the inside. He hadn't used many nails, building the place, but here it had seemed easiest. The hinges were also store bought.

On either side of the front door stood two open windows. They had not bought glass, trusting the Lady to help them with bugs (had Jesus ever kept flies away? No). Shutters would keep the rain out, and the snow. The roof was sod. That had been Alice's idea. With the three wooden walls extending out from the large rock that made its fourth side, it looked like they had built the thing into a hill. A hill with a straight ridge on top and slanted sides, but a hill none the less.

The four entered their home. They had spent a lifetime in it already, it seemed, yet Tom was looking at it with fresh eyes. All signs of construction had been swept out. All their possessions, such as they were, moved in. The main room ran down the right half of the building, roughly forty feet from door to rock wall. Krissy's kitchen dominated the far end next to the fireplace, her countertops and work tables set just so, iron pots hanging over the fire, unused pots and pans hanging from a wooden rack attached to ceiling beams. A doorway led to the pantry, with stairs down to the root cellar. Another doorway, a late addition cut into the finished exterior wall, led from the pantry to a woodshed built from left over logs.

A dinner table, square, sat near the door, with four chairs. Perfect for evening card games. Closer to the fire a large log frame couch, and a couple chairs, cushions stuffed with fabric scraps scrounged from various second hand stores. Alice had made them, as well as the two mattresses that currently resided in two of the three bedrooms which ran down the other side of the house.

Tom felt a now well known hand take his. He looked down at Alice. The blonde's belly was still not that prominent, her breasts still not much larger than when he had met her. Her tear, tears of joy, ran down cheeks tan from months of summer sun.

"I've dreamed of a home like this," she said, softly. Tom chuckled.

"So you have said. I never liked that show. Nelly was annoying."

"She was suppose to be."

Zak was walking around, hands touching first the table, then the couch. The boy had really helped, to the point where Tom didn't know if he would have been able to do all this without him. Certainly, not before the snows came. Removing his hand from Alice's, he walked over to Zak, placing a hand on his brown shoulder.

"You did good. I'm proud."

The hug he found himself the recipient of was unexpected, but welcome. He put his arms around the teen, holding him close.

"Zak, I never thought of having children. Never thought of having a family. I now have both. Thank you for being my son."

The boy gave him a squeeze.

"Thanks, Dad."

Dad.

So much came with that name.

Krissy could not help the blush of pride as the others dove into dinner.

There was something about feeding her family. About turning what nature, what Wisdom, had given them, into a meal. Not just food, but a meal. There was a difference. She had not known it before. Krissy had cooked because someone had to, because Mom was gone, because a well fed father was a non-angry father. And, mostly, because her brother needed to grow up strong.

She could do that, now. Help him grow up strong. Healthy. That hadn't been possible, with what she had to work with in their old life. Packaged and frozen crap from the cheapest brands. Now she had fresh corn and tomatoes coming from the garden, chives and onions, fish and rabbit, milk and eggs, even salt from near that lick they had found. She could make stew. Roasts. Bread. She could make cornbread. Pudding. There was so much she could do now!

"How is it?" she asked. Alice looked up, mouth full.

"Gree-!" She swallowed. "Great! I love what you did to this rabbit."

"I used those herbs you brought me today. I wasn't sure how you'd like it."

"It's incredible," Tom told her. She felt her heart flutter. "Mark this recipe with a star or something."

"I want to start really harvesting," she said, leaning forward, food still untouched. "Start canning, drying. Fill the pantry and cellar, so I know what we have and what I can make."

"Day after tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow we rest, then it's back to work."

"Can you make pickles, Sis?" Zak looked at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Her heart almost burst.

"I think I can do that. Just for you."

Tom lay on the couch, watching the women clean up after dinner.

There was something relaxingly sexist about the act. It reminded him of home. Of childhood, before he entered real life. Before life began rejecting him. Women in the kitchen, talking. Men in the den, doing the same. A game on the TV. Tom sitting on the floor, eyes going between the glowing screen and the faces that dominated his life.

They could recreate that.

Not TV, no. While putting some sort of hydro or wind power here was possible, that wasn't on the agenda. He could be a Grandpa, though. Tom would live long. He knew that, somehow. The Lady would see to it. He would see his children grow, mate, give them their own children. He could sit with his sons and grandsons by the fire, talking of the farm, of fishing, while three or four generations of women busied themselves with the next meal. A small boy in his lap, playing with his large fingers callused with years of work.

He closed his eyes. The Lady offered so much, asked so little in return. A temple. She needed a temple. A real one. He had seen one, in his dreams. Dreams from her, most likely, yet the drive to act on them came from him alone. Not this year, no. Let them get through this first winter, bring the first children into this world. Then. Then he would build it. The square room. The veil. The Holy of Holies...

"You're not sleeping, are you?"

Krissy's voice was pissed, the anger of amusement. His hand shot out, guessing her position. Fingers closed around an arm, pulling the teen down onto the couch. Tom's eyes opened as she squealed in surprise, too shocked to given even token resistance.

"Nope," he said, grinning at her. He sat up, pulling her into his lap. Tom felt her relax, body molding into his. Arms going around her, one hand cupped a breast, the other her belly. Alice plopped down next to them. After a moment's pause, she half stood and plopped down again. She nodded.

"It's holding. That's good."

"Watch it break when Zak gets back," Krissy said. Tom laughed, squeezing her boob.

"I built it stronger than that. I can't see it breaking for at least a few days."

"It's the bed, we may break," Alice said, eyes twinkling. Tom saw Krissy blush. That she could still blush, even now, was one of her more lovable traits.

"The mattress is more likely to give way than the frame, I think." Tom saw Alice's eyes narrow. She couldn't deny he was right. Well, she could, but she'd be wrong.

Krissy removed his hands from her body, sliding off to sit beside him. The three sat on the couch, silently taking in the view.

"I just had a nasty thought," Krissy said. Tom looked at her. "We just built a house. What if we now have to sacrifice it to Her?"

"Ha!" Alice barked out a laugh. "God, wouldn't that be hysterical? I mean, horrible, too, but that would just be too funny!"

"Unless the house is alive," Tom said, smiling, "I don't think she's interested in it. Now, she may want a sacrifice to help bless the place, so we'll have to listen for that, but..."

The front door banged open.

The three turned, looking over the back of the couch. Zak stood there, two buckets of milk in his hands. The boy's eyes wide, he moved quickly to the kitchen counter. The buckets safely deposited, with not a drop of milk spilled Tom was glad to see, he turned to them, grinning.

"The baby's here!"

"Baby?" Tom frowned. The two babies were safely encased in the two women next to him.

"Goat baby! Flo popped out her little kid while we were eating! It's so cool! You gotta come see!"

A wave of coldness swept over Tom. The first goat born to their flock.

Fuck.

He stood, the eyes of his two women on him. Confusion appeared on Zak's face as Tom slowly walked over to him. He placed his hand firmly on his son's shoulder.