The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [67]
“Dnnys is up in the loft,” said Mry when Wesley entered the barn. She was in charge of feeding the rabbits and was busily preparing bottled milk for their next meal.
Scooping up one of the young animals, Wesley stroked the long ears and marveled at the soft texture of their fur. “You get wool from the sheep and milk from the cows, but what do you do with the rabbits?”
“We eat them,” said Mry.
He looked down at the soft brown bundle. “Eat them?”
“Of course. Why so surprised?” She reached her hands out for the animal he held.
“I don’t know.” He gave over the rabbit, but not without a pang of remorse. “I guess I just assumed you were vegetarians.”
“They are cute at this age,” agreed the Farmer as the rabbit licked at the bottle. “But they also taste good. And the fur is warm.”
“Watch out!” cried a voice from above, but not soon enough for Wesley to sidestep the load from a pitchfork. Dnnys peered down over the edge of the loft and grinned at the sight of his friend coughing his way out of the loose hay. “Come on up where it’s safe.”
Wesley scrambled quickly up the ladder. At close quarters he could see the strain behind the Farmer boy’s smile.
“How did I do?” whispered Dnnys. He stabbed the pitchfork into a cut bale, rustling the dried grass to cover the sound of their voices.
“I checked the test answers this morning. Passing grade, but just barely.”
Dnnys frowned for a moment, then sighed in resignation. “If I had more time to study, I think I could do better.”
“I know you could,” said Wesley. “You’ve picked up the math concepts really quickly and you’ve got a lot of practical experience from your journey. Now all you need is more practice.” He took the pitchfork from Dnnys’s hands and tossed a load of hay over the edge. “So get to work. I can’t cover your chores for more than an hour.”
Dnnys scrambled to the back of the barn and pulled a book out from under a loose board. The pages fell open to the middle of the volume. Squinting in the dim light of the loft, the boy began to read.
Iovino plucked the last green grape from a denuded stem. Several other bare branches were scattered about the table. “Grape?” she asked, enunciating clearly.
Moses nodded vigorously and reached out for the piece of fruit. Snatching the food from her hand, Moses placed the grape against tightly pursed lips, then sucked. It entered his mouth with a faint pop. He held out his hand for more.
“That’s enough grapes for now,” said Iovino. The boy had eaten nothing else that day, but it was a good beginning on solid food. He even recognized the sound of the word. Another more serious difficulty remained, however. He refused to swallow liquids. Perhaps the food on his homeships had provided sufficient water, but on board the Enterprise he was chronically dehydrated.
Iovino had a plan for changing that.
Making a deliberate show of her actions, exaggerating all her body movements to capture the boy’s attention, she reached for a glass of water on the table. A brightly colored straw stuck up from the rim. Iovino slowly lifted the glass up to her mouth and sucked noisily on the straw until her cheeks were puffed out with the water she held in her mouth.
Pushing her face up to his, Iovino squirted the liquid right at Moses. Water dribbled down from his forehead over his face and cheeks and down his chin. He laughed with delight at the trick.
“You like that one?” she asked. “Want me to do it again?” He didn’t react to the words, but when she lifted the glass again he crowed.
She repeated the sequence several times, then presented the boy with the drinking straw. He didn’t need any coaching on its use, which added an interesting note to his sparse file, and filled his mouth