A houseboat. Finegan Fine

That’s it.

Finegan says,

These aren’t all yours . .

The startles orphan mistress responds,

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Oh Heaven’s no. I’d surely be in the ground if

that was the case! Picked them up in Montgomery

when the troubles hit. I was down there

visiting, checking on some friends of mine that

can’t move around so good no more. After I

buried them . . heart attack and such . . I was

heading back home and found these kids just

lost. . . Been weeks, and no one came to

collect them. . . Well, what could I do? . . We

came home together. Been a blessing, these

darlin’s have been. A blessing.

Finegan’s mouth drops open at this unexpected description of a dozen or

more orphans, some obviously only toddlers when she collected them,

being described by this exhausted woman as a “blessing”. He catches

himself as he realizes they are watching his reactions.

Oh, indeed. My Joey here’s the same. Got

separated from his parents and we joined up.

He’s a blessing, no doubt about it.

The older children are arranging the cups and spooning some sort of tea

from a tin into each cup, then pouring hot water from a pot of water

taken from the stove. They bring the first cup to Finegan. Finegan

says,

Oh, no, give the first cup to, ah, your

mistress here. . .

The orphan mistress smiles at his chivalry, and accept the cup, sipping

from it with half closed eyes as though it were something magical, a

source of rejuvenation. Finegan accepts the next cup.

I can’t help but wonder at your fields. I been

up and down this coast. Found some folks that

planted pumpkin, but most do vegetable gardens

in rows, and they work at that day and night.

You’ve got fields . .

The orphan mistress looks up from her cup of tea, suddenly realizing

what he’s missing from the picture.

I been at this business for some years. Planted

corn and amaranth, being vegetarian and all.

Don’t need meat if you got those. Made a mix

for the local organic outlets. Amaranth greens

are a good salad too. Made my living at that.

No need to plow if you keep the weeds down

regular. Just re-seed.

The orphan mistress waves in the direction of the wall of young

children clustered behind her, each clutching a cup of tea.

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These are the best little weed pickers I ever

seen. You pull a weed up, the grubs and beetles

fall out, and the chickens clean them up. You

go down the rows and knock the bugs off the

plants, and the chickens foller along and clean

them up. What’s left is our produce, bug free.

. . and eggs. We got lots of eggs.

There are some chickens at the side of the old house, scratching and

pecking at the dirt. One hen has a cluster of young chicks around her.

Suddenly Joey is interested.

And chicken noodle soup, right?

The orphan mistress looks aghast.

Oh, we don’t eat anything that had a face! . .

They get picked off often enough. They’re prey

to many a creature. . . But we eat the eggs.

Finegans asks,

Is there anything you need?

The orphan mistress responds.

I got no money . .

Finegans clarifies his offer.

I’m looking to help here. Anything you need?

______________________________

Finegan is approaching the barn lean-to, the sleeping quarters for the

kids, pulling the rusty wagon behind him. Joey is behind the wagon,

keeping a hand on the top of the pile of blankets, to keep it from

tipping over. The woolen blanket given to him by the seamstress is on

top of the pile.

The orphan mistress is tucking the kids into bed. They lay one beside

the other, side-by-side to share body heat during the night, as there

are few covers and not enough to go around. Small children are between

older children, so the older children can raise their knees up, lying

on their sides, if they wish. After they are stacked into place the

orphan mistress throws one of her few blankets over them, tucking in

the edges. The orphan mistress has suddenly noticed Finegan’s approach.

Well lord sake. . .

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