"While Eliza and I have worked non-stop to prepare for the coming winter, I worry that it will not be enough. The woodpile is substantial, the smokehouse packed, and the root cellar full--but this being our first year, we don't know what the winter will bring. It weighs upon me sometimes. I overhear stories at the tavern about those who failed to meet the challenges of this new world, and I pray we don't become yet another tale told over a mug of ale, with rueful sighs and philosophical head shakes."--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 4
Chore Week
Another week had passed at the Barton farm, and two truckloads of furniture had done wonders towards transforming the house into something resembling a home. But Trowa keenly felt the guilt of knowing Heero had done virtually all of the heavy or strenuous work single-handedly.
Granted, there'd been that one day that Catherine came to visit, and brought a couple of burly friends to help with some of the bulkiest items. They'd hauled things up and down stairs the better part of the day. But by and large, Heero had been, and still was, the muscle behind the operation.
His fatigue was beginning to show in small, barely-discernible ways, like his impatience with his beloved wolfhounds, as they developed a tendency to wander off exploring the forest. Normally he took their willfulness in stride, but after he'd wasted a whole morning chasing down Thor, Trowa had caught him eyeing chain link fencing in a catalog, and muttering about showing "those damned hounds a thing or two."
He might have thought his friend was joking, except that when the time came for their afternoon walk, he'd taken the big dogs out on leashes, instead of loose.
So when he got back, Trowa insisted he take the rest of the night off. Even in a wheelchair, Trowa could get around well enough to throw together soup and sandwiches, and he'd done so while Heero enjoyed a leisurely shower, and donned comfortable sweatpants and a tee shirt.
When they settled at the table on the back porch to enjoy the meal, Trowa even put aside his much-abused, list-filled notepad, hoping instead to take the opportunity to talk.
"So what's up?" Heero asked without preamble, after taking a single bite of his sandwich.
"Huh?"
Cool blue eyes fixed a stern gaze on the auburn-haired man. "Don't 'huh' me, Trowa Barton. You're up to something."
"I'm not!"
"Are too," came a smirking reply, as if daring him to respond with "am not."
Instead, he just grinned and shrugged. "Can't a guy make a meal for his best pal, without getting the third degree?"
Heero just snorted. "Not if he's in a wheelchair, and I'm that pal. So, speak up!"
Trowa shook his head in resignation. He'd been hesitant to bring up a subject Catherine had mentioned--one that would make even more work for both Heero and himself. But her casual conversation had given him ideas; ideas about the property, and the surroundings. And he'd found himself looking at the place with a new perspective.
Catherine had, among other things, pointed out the beauty in the old farmhouse, noticing such things as the handmade chimneys, built by early settlers with rocks they'd probably dug right out of the soil on the farm. And when he'd examined them during his hours stuck in the wheelchair with his notebook and lists, he'd found them fascinating.
There were no less than three chimneys in the house, obviously used to heat the place back in colonial times. While two were made of stone, the third appeared to be a later addition, along with a wing of the house, and was made of bricks.
Looking back at the list he'd put aside, Trowa could see it was woefully incomplete for what he had in mind. He scratched the side of his nose thoughtfully. "I think maybe we should get a professional in to inspect the chimneys before we even think about making a fire in any of them."
"A fire?" Heero paused, his cup just an inch from his mouth.
"Well, yes," Trowa replied. "I don't know how well the oil-fired heating system works, so come winter--"
"Winter?" Heero's gaze intensified, and Trowa fell silent, blushing. "Talk to me, Barton," Heero said finally. "When we left Sanc, the plan was to come here, check the place out, and get it ready to go on the market."
"I know."
"But you're talking about being here 'come winter,' which is a good eight months away."
"I know."
Heero studied Trowa's face for several minutes. "What's on your mind?"
"Well--the housing market isn't so great, and it could take a long time to sell a place way out here," Trowa pointed out. "So, I kinda got to thinking..."
"And--?"
"Cathy told me Leon's almost out of options. They really need a place for him. If we brought him here--"
"You don't have the necessary permits."
"But I could get them. You know I could--once my leg heals up. And meanwhile, this is such a remote location--no one would ever know."
Heero gave him a wary look. "For how long, Trowa?"
The auburn-haired man shrugged. "As long as necessary." He looked up through his fringe of hair, green eyes pleading. "I know you didn't sign on for that much work, Heero. So if you don't want to--"
"Shut up," Heero ordered curtly, shaking his head and giving a faint smile. "You know I'll stick around--at least until whatever master plan you've got is complete. And there's no way I'd let you handle Leon on your own."
"He's not so bad--just old and cranky."
"Like me," Heero said, grinning.
"You're not old," Trowa teased right back.
"Okay--so--if the plan has changed, so should that list," Heero suggested, reaching to tap the pad in front of Trowa. "Some barn repairs will need to be added, as well as the paperwork for permits. We'll need to know the local zoning regs, too." He shook his head. "Your simple to-do list needs a serious overhaul, Barton."
"Already on it."
~*~
After several days of the ramped-up regimen, Heero felt like he needed a bit of an overhaul himself. He was exhausted. For the first time he could recall in recent years, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and sleep for a week--and he doubted he'd even need his sleeping pills to accomplish it. But he still had a million things to do.
Catherine and her crew had dropped Leon off early, and the temporary housing in the barn still needed a bit of reinforcement. Then there was the matter of a turnout pen, and hooking up power for the refrigeration unit for his food.
"Trowa, where'd I leave the hammer and nails?"
"Um--front porch, left side, by the board you nailed down this morning."
"Hn." Heero strode off quickly, leaving the wheelchair-bound man sighing in frustration.
"Fuck, I need out of this thing," Trowa grumbled, smacking the side of the chair with his hand. He waited until the front door slammed shut, and then carefully eased the footrests aside and let his bandaged leg gently flex.
The doctors had said that after a couple of weeks of stability, the leg could be bent and he could start some basic stretching exercises. He had a printed set of instructions for a gradual increase of activities and duration, though with Heero so busy on the house, he hadn't wanted to ask for help with his physical therapy just yet. He wanted to wait until it felt less like imposing.
But his frustration level at being useless around the house was too high to be ignored. So, with or without Heero's help, he decided he was going to transition from the chair to his crutches.
He jumped guiltily when he heard the door bang open again, and quick footsteps across the living room. But Heero bypassed the kitchen on whatever errand he was currently engaged in.
Trowa sighed, rubbing his thickly-wrapped knee, which already felt the strain of being held in a bent position. Granted, he'd been able to unwrap it and shower, using a waterproof chair--but he hadn't tried bending it to ninety degrees. Clearly, it was going to take some getting used to.
"Patience, Barton," he whispered to himself. "They said you'd get full use back, if you followed their instructions to the letter. Don't blow it now."
He flexed the leg a couple of more times, and then put the footrest back in position and laid it into its usual position.
"Trowa--where's Zero?"
"On the screened porch, last I saw," he replied, half-turning in his seat to find Heero standing at the door between the porch and the kitchen.
"Shit. I was afraid you were going to say that." Heero turned away, and Trowa wheeled himself over to the doorway.
"What do you mean?"
Heero pointed to a corner of the screen, which was peeled back away from the wall. "Apparently he got bored."
Trowa glanced to the opposite corner, where a tall metal cage held his pet myna bird. "Well, Wing--where'd he go?"
The myna bird cocked its head, whistled teasingly, and went back to nibbling at its food, obviously not interested in where the other pet had gone.
"He can't have gone far," Trowa said hopefully, looking past Heero and out at the slanting afternoon sunlight. "Why don't you go call him? We should get him back inside before a hawk picks him off or something."
"I was about to leave for town," Heero said with a scowl, running a grubby hand back through sweat-sticky hair. "The mail's usually here by now, and I should have just enough time to get my check down to the bank before they close."
"Oh." Trowa let his gaze travel back to the torn screen, feeling guilty that he hadn't noticed the mischievous Zero making his escape. "Why don't you help me get outside, and I can call, while you take care of errands?"
Heero shook his head. "I'm not leaving you outside in a wheelchair by yourself," he said firmly.
"It's perfectly safe--"
"No, it's not. Have you not heard the coyotes yapping in the hills around here? And for all you know, there could be mountain lions or bears. The man at the grocery store said they have black bear sightings all the time."
"Black bears aren't carnivores, Yuy. Or predators. You know that. And I'd have Thor and Balder to protect me anyway."
Heero didn't budge. "You stay inside," he said stubbornly. "I'll take a jog down to the mailbox with Thor, and see if I can round up Zero along the way. When I get back, I should have my check and my bird, and I can get to the bank before it closes--and then the grocery store. We're out of almost everything."
"I've got some money left--"
The blue eyes hardened. "You need every penny you have, Trowa, to do what you're thinking of doing with this place. Besides, it's my turn to buy the food. If the mail wasn't so goddamned late in the afternoon--" He threw up his hands in resignation. "We must be near the tail-end of the route, or something."
"Well, this is the boondocks," Trowa agreed. "Hey, when you get back d'you think--?"
He stopped when he saw the murderous gleam in the blue eyes. "Never mind."
"What?"
"It can wait."
"Barton--what?"
"I was hoping to get up into the attic--just a quick peek--but honestly, Heero, there's no rush."
"When you can climb the stairs to that hellhole of an attic on your own, and fight off the hoards of vermin infesting it, we'll start exploring there," Heero said firmly.
Trowa held up a faded leather notebook Heero had brought down from his first foray up into the "lair of squirrels, raccoons and dust rhinos," aka, the junk-cluttered attic. "It's just--this looks like a journal. One of my grandparents--or great-grandparents maybe. I--hoped there might be more."
"We'll find out," Heero said wearily. "But not today." He stepped past Trowa into the kitchen, grabbing a somewhat clean dishtowel and wiping his face with it. "I'm going after the mail, and Zero. Keep Balder in for now, and I'll take Thor along for a bit of his exercise."
"Yeah, sure. Hurry back."
Heero grabbed a leash, and the wolfhound, and set out at a brisk jog, forcing himself to ignore the heat and the bone-deep fatigue in his legs. But it was harder to ignore the cloud of black flies that seemed unnaturally drawn to his sweaty skin, and insisted on crowding into his face and eyes.
"Dammit!" he snapped, slapping irritably at one who scored a bite on his neck.
When he'd trekked the quarter-mile down the dirt drive, it was only to find his outgoing mail still in the box, the flag still up, and no sign of the beat-up Jeep that usually delivered to it.
"Fuck!" He took out his letters and double-checked, hoping to find the incoming mail behind them. But of course, it wasn't, so he shoved the letters back inside and slammed the door.
Of all the days for the mail to be late--it had to be when he was waiting for his paycheck so he could cash it and buy groceries.
"Goddamned incompetent--!" He kicked irritably at the post in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.
Then he stalked angrily back up the driveway, muttering under his breath about the useless Postal Service. Thor kept pace easily, an ear cocked to listen to the quiet, but venomous tirade.
Heero did regain enough composure, partway home, to pause and listen for the rather loud Jeep engine he'd chanced to hear before. But only silence and the hot breeze rustling the leaves met his ears.
By the time he'd checked around all the outbuildings for his missing pet, it was already dusk, and he was in a truly vile mood. Trowa seemed to get the hint the minute he stepped through the door.
"Hey, Heero?" he asked almost tentatively. "I heated up some leftovers. Why don't you call it a day and have some supper?"
"I can't!" Heero snarled. "Zero's still missing. The mail hasn't come. And Leon needs an evening feeding."
"I could--"
"You are not going within arm's length of that cage until you are one hundred percent again, Trowa Barton. Do you hear me?"
Trowa smiled wanly. "Yeah, Heero. I do." He gestured towards the table. "C'mon. Zero will come back by dark. You can't hurry the mail by fretting. And Leon--can wait. Sit and eat."
Heero reluctantly slumped into a chair at the table. "Okay," he relented.
He hadn't realized how ravenous he was, until he took the first bite of the casserole Catherine had brought along to compensate for the earlier-than-expected delivery. But when he had to resist the urge to inhale the plateful, he recalled he'd missed lunch altogether, and eaten a hasty breakfast on the fly.
"Gonna let me take better care of you from now on?" Trowa asked gently, seeing his friend pause and take a long sip of tea to wash down an overzealous mouthful. "Seriously, Heero. Slow down. We don't have to do it all at once. You don't have to. Stick to the basics and let the rest wait until I can help--"
"Some things can't wait."
"I know that. But let's stick to the bare essentials. You didn't have to patch the barn roof in the half we're not using yet. That could've waited a bit."
"There's no point in doing half the job--"
"A tarp over the worst of the holes would've sufficed until we had two men to do a two-man job."
Heero shrugged one shoulder rather grudgingly, admitting the logic, but not exactly agreeing. "Needed to be done eventually," he muttered. "This way, it's done."
"Yeah, but so are you," Trowa pointed out. "D'you know how guilty you make me feel by pushing yourself so hard? I'm fuckin' useless--"
"You're recovering."
"Not fast enough."
Heero scowled deeply. "You talk about me taking on too much? How 'bout you? You just had your knee opened up and practically rebuilt, Barton. You can't expect to be dancing on it a week later."
"I don't. I'd just like to be more helpful--"
"You will be."
"Then slow down and wait for me! How would you feel if you were the one stuck in this chair watching someone else doing work that should rightfully be yours?"
Heero paused, and his expression softened, and he finally sighed and nodded. "You're right," he admitted. "I suppose it'd drive me crazy." He looked up from under a fall of dark hair. "I'll--try to just do the most time-driven projects, and leave the rest for later, when we can both participate. Fair enough?"
"Very much so," Trowa said with a relieved smile. "I want a chance to be part of this project, and not just a bystander."
"You'll get it."
A raucous screech from the porch interrupted further conversation, and signaled the return of their missing bird. Both Thor and Balder barked, and ran to investigate, while Wing excitedly called out Zero's name and rattled his beak along the bars of the cage.
Heero stood up at once, relief flooding his face. "Thank God that stupid creature's back," he sighed, hurrying to collect up his pet and secure him for the night.
"And all's right with the world," Trowa said to himself, grinning as he finished his iced tea.
TBC...
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