Chapter Two
'I can help with that,' Beru said politely, moving to join Shmi, who was cooking dinner. Cliegg and Owen were out closing down the perimeter of the compound, securing the farm from the oncoming night-a night that promised a dust storm.
Smiling warmly, and glad that this young woman was soon to be a member of their family, Shmi handed a knife over to Beru. Owen hadn't said anything yet about marrying Beru, but Shmi could tell from the way the two looked at each other. It was only a matter of time, and not much time at that, if she knew her stepson. Owen was not an adventurous type, was as solid as the ground beneath them, but when he knew what he wanted, he went after it with single-minded purpose.
Beru was exactly that, and she obviously loved Owen as deeply as he loved her. She was well suited to be the wife of a moisture farmer, Shmi thought, watching her methodically go about her duties in the kitchen. She never shied from work, was very capable and diligent.
And she doesn't expect much, or need much to make her happy, Shmi thought, for that, in truth, was the crux of it. Their existence here was simple and plain. There were few adventures, and none at all that were welcomed, for excitement out here usually meant that Tusken Raiders had been seen in the region, or that a gigantic sandstorm or some other potentially devastating weather phenomenon was blowing up.
The Lars family had only the simple things, mostly the company of each other, to keep them amused and content. For Cliegg, this had been the only way of life he had ever known, a lifestyle that went back several generations in the Lars family. Same thing for Owen. And while Beru had grown up in Mos Eisley, she seemed to fit right in.
Yes, Owen would marry her, Shmi knew, and what a happy day that would be!
The two men returned soon after, along with C-3PO, the protocol droid Anakin had built back in the days when he had Watto's junkyard to rummage through.
'Two more tangaroots for you, Mistress Shmi,' the thin droid said, handing Shmi a pair of orange-and-green freshly picked vegetables. 'I would have brought more, but I was told, and not in any civil way, that I must hurry.' Shmi looked to Cliegg, and he gave her a grin and a shrug. 'Could've left him out there to get sandblasted clean, I suppose,' he said. 'Of course, some of the bigger rocks that are sure to be flying about might've taken out a circuit or two.'
'Your pardon, Master Cliegg,' C-3PO said. 'I only meant-'
'We know what you meant, Threepio,' Shmi assured the droid. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then quickly pulled it away, thinking that a perfectly silly gesture to offer to a walking box of wires. Of course, C- 3PO was much more than a box of wires to Shmi. Anakin had built the droid. Almost. When Anakin had left with the Jedi, 3PO had been perfectly functional, but uncovered, his wires exposed. Shmi had left him that way for a long time, fantasizing that Anakin would return to complete the job. Just before marrying Cliegg had Shmi finished the droid herself, adding the dull metal coverings. It had been quite a touching moment for Shmi, an admission of sorts that she was where she belonged and Anakin was where he belonged. The protocol droid could be quite annoying at times, but to Shmi, C-3PO remained a reminder of her son.
'Course, if there are Tuskens about, they'd likely have gotten him under wraps before the storm,' Cliegg went on, obviously taking great pleasure in teasing the poor droid. 'You're not afraid of Tusken Raiders, are you, Threepio?'
'There is nothing in my program to suggest such fear,' 3PO replied, though he would have sounded more convincing if he hadn't been shaking as he spoke, and if his voice hadn't come out all squeaky and uneven.
'Enough,' Shmi demanded of Cliegg. 'Oh, poor Threepio,' she said, patting the droid's shoulder again. 'Go ahead, now. I've got more than enough help this evening.' As she finished, she waved the droid away.
'You're just terrible to that poor droid,' she remarked, moving beside her husband and playfully patting him across his broad shoulder.
'Well, if I can't have fun with him, I'll have to set my sights on someone else,' the rarely mischievous Cliegg replied, narrowing his eyes and scanning the room. He finally settled a threatening gaze on Beru.
'Cliegg,' Shmi was quick to warn.
'What?' he protested dramatically. 'If she's thinking to come out and live here, then she had better learn to defend herself!' 'Dad! 'Owen cried.
'Oh, don't fret about old Cliegg,' Beru piped in, emphasizing the word old.
'A fine wife I would make if I couldn't out-duel that one in a war of words!'
'Aha! A challenge!' Cliegg roared.
'Not so much of one from where I'm sitting,' Beru dryly returned, and she and Cliegg began exchanging some good-natured insults, with Owen chiming in every now and again.
Shmi hardly listened, too engaged in merely watching Beru. Yes, she would certainly fit in, and well, about the moisture farm. Her temperament was perfect. Solid, but playful when the situation allowed. Gruff Cliegg could verbally spar with the best of them, but Beru had to be counted among that elite lot. Shmi went back to her dinner preparations, her smile growing wider every time Beru hit Cliegg with a particularly nasty retort.
Intent on her work, Shmi never saw the missile coming, and when the overripe vegetable hit her on the side of the face, she let out a shriek. Of course, that only made the other three in the room howl with laughter. Shmi turned to see them sitting there, staring at her. From the embarrassed expression on Beru's face, and from the angle, with Beru sitting directly behind Cliegg, it seemed obvious to Shmi that Beru had launched the missile, aiming for Cliegg, but throwing a bit high.
'The girl listens when you tell her to stop,' Cliegg Lars said, his sarcastic tone shattered by a burst of laughter that came right from his belly.
He stopped when Shmi smacked him with a piece of juicy fruit, splattering it across his shoulders.
A food fight began-measured, of course, and with more threats hurled than actual missiles.
