Sorry this is a little bit late guys; it’s been a long week. But anyways, here’s Novel November 3. If you missed last week’s, you can find it here. If you missed the one before that, you can read it here. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, maybe you should read this.
Soft snuffles woke me up, and from the weak grey light coming in under the poorly hung door, I could tell it would soon be morning. I looked down into the face of my sister, and found her to be slowly waking up. When he eyes finally opened fully, they were unfocused and glassy. Her face screwed up to cry, but what came out was not the usual full-bodied wail, but a weak cry. Her face turned red, and I picked her up from my cloak on the floor. She quieted, and I unwrapped her to change her. The air had a chill in it, and I quickly finished up the change and wrapped her back up. The fire was just embers but the floor around the hearth still held warmth. Before lying her back down, I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, and pushed the bundle I used as a pillow closer to the hearth with my foot. I placed her on the bundle and picked up the bowl for milk.
The air outside was freezing; my teeth ached from the chill of it. I patted Mary Mae on the neck, and squatted down to milk her.
When the bowl was full of steaming milk, I brought it to my lips and took a few mouthfuls. It took the edge off of my hunger and would sustain me until I could make some food. After getting back into the house, I poured some of the creamy milk into another bowl for Mother. When I was done feeding my sister, I would give some to Mother; hopefully before Smythe came back.
I stacked a few pieces of wood on top of the cooling embers, and I pushed some straw into the red of the embers. After some work, I had a bit of straw burning, and added slivers of wood, which took a bit longer to light. When I felt it was large enough to consume the larger pieces of wood, I left the fire to feed my sister.
She was fussy, and kept turning her head to go back to sleep. I put her back in the cradle near the fire, and fetched the bowl of milk for Mother. She was curled into a ball under the blankets, and I could felt her body heat when I sat next to her. I reached out and shook her shoulder.
“Mama,” I used the name I called her as a child. “Wake up, mama. I have some milk for you.”