"You woke me while you were out here stomping around," Benjin said with a lopsided smile.
"We're getting old," Wendel said.
"I may be fat, lazy, and out of practice," Benjin said, "but watch who you're calling old."
"Catrin will be up soon. I don't want her to know we were both out here like a couple of worried hens."
"She won't hear it from me," Benjin said, and with a wave over his shoulder, he wandered back to his cabin.
Catrin was still asleep when Wendel returned to his bed, but it seemed only moments later that she began to stir.
Chapter 3
Anything worth having is worth working for. Anything you love is worth fighting for. -Jed Willis, turkey farmer
***
Catrin woke, feeling oddly refreshed, happy to have slept well, and ready to face the day with more optimism than she would have thought possible. After dressing, she stirred the stew, which hung over the banked coals of the fire. More flavorful than it was the night before, it made for a good morning meal.
She stoked the fire and hung a pot of water over the flames, warming it for her father, who said washing with cold water made his bones ache. Benjin wandered in from outside, looking barely awake but smiling appreciatively as Catrin handed him a mug of stew. While he ate his breakfast, Catrin ladled a mug for her father, who had begun to stir. She knew he would be hungry when he emerged. He grunted in acknowledgment as he accepted the food, and she left them to their meal.
Lighting her lantern, Catrin left the warmth of the cottage and walked into the damp coolness of the early morning air. Millie, a gray and white tabby cat, greeted her at the door, weaving in and out of her legs. By the time she reached the feed stall, a mob of cats surrounded her, demanding attention and, more emphatically, food. Catrin kept a supply of dried meat scrap and grain in an old basin, and she used a bowl to scoop out enough for all of them.